[RP for
starspangledcap, locked to same]Friday night at the mall. Sally was nearly dancing through her shift. Pansy let Sal pick the music, again, and it was one of those nights in retail when everybody left the counter in a better mood than the one they brought in. Sally had a smile for everyone
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And she opposed the Registration Act. In a world where almost 70% of civilians supported the act, where she had to know that any random stranger was very likely to have the opposite of her feelings on the subject, she was unafraid to express that opinion. Steve had always admired his daughter's bravery and commitment to her ideals, and he would have felt his heart swelling with bittersweet pride even if she'd espoused a pro-registration viewpoint with such unapologetic candor. But knowing that she had supported him and his cause... it meant more to Steve than he could have imagined.
But, unable to say anything that would reveal his true identity, he was forced to reply with generalities. "I agree. It completely violates basic human rights and American ideals." He saw the surprise in Sally's eyes - she hadn't expected that response. "And it's nice to know that some young people care enough about those things to try to make a difference. Your parents must be proud."
"But I have to say I'm glad the superhero civil war is over, at least," Steve continued, somberly. "The heroes should be protecting civilians, not knocking down buildings to fight each other. Captain America" - he avoided glancing at Sally's shirt, or stuttering over his own use of the uncomfortable third person - "did the right thing, in the end."
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"Captain, the church my mom - Toni - and I go to is having an International Workers' Day potluck this Sunday afternoon. Would you like to be my guest?"
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But Steve knew that lying to Sally long-term would start to kill him, little by little. That being around her without really being around her would only hurt him more. And he also knew that, eventually, he would go back to hero work - either as Captain America or as some other alias - and he would have to leave her, for the sake of practicality and her safety. He couldn't let that happen. It would hurt too much, for both of them, to be separated after all of that.
"I wish I could," he said, regret evident in his voice. "But I'm only in town for a couple of days, visiting the family that couldn't... couldn't make it to Sarah's funeral." He looked down again at the counter, eyes glazing over an array of stickers advertising bands he'd never heard of. He could never tell his lies to Sally's face.
Then he looked up again. He wasn't about to leave until he was sure, absolutely sure, that Sally's life was a happy one, and that meant getting as much information as possible without seeming suspicious. "Thank you for the invitation, though. It sounds lovely. Do you and your mother live alone?"
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Sally couldn't figure him out. She squinted at him, trying to see what didn't fit. What was not right. Well, the silly hair dye wasn't right. Sally started with that. Why would he disguise his looks? She studied him openly, brazenly, not caring that he was watching her back. What color was his hair? Not darker. Lighter, obviously. Blonde, maybe?
Sally froze.
Blonde.
I really shouldn't try to figure out who he looks like, she thought faintly. He opposed the Registration Act. Soldier. Stop now. You don't want to know, Sally told herself firmly.
"Are you . . . " Sally couldn't tell him about herself, about her mom. Not this very strange man. This . . . whoever he was. But she wanted to trust him. Everything in her said trust him. "Are you a good man?" she finally asked, staring at his dark -- contact lenses, she could see, now, colored lenses -- his dark eyes.
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"I'm not a bad man," he answered, carefully. "I'm sorry, you must think... I'm sorry. I should have left before."
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Sally turned and pulled a folder out of her bag. Emil looked at her, a wide-eyed glare that the Captain couldn't see. What are you doing? he mouthed at her. Sally shrugged. She set the new folder on the counter and began filling out scholarship applications, letting the tension ease. Dropping the subject, letting this weird man with his bad dye job say what he needed to say.
Sally sighed a bit. She wanted to go to summer classes at the U, but there was no way Mom could pay for it. Hence the applications. She somehow didn't think the Wayzata Rotary Club would be impressed with the sit-in she held last year to protest the removal of The Handmaid's Tale from the school library.
"My mom and I get by," she said, answering his previous question. "I do my part." Sally tapped the scholarship forms with her pen. "And swing shift pays a night differential for hours after 8 pm, so she brings in enough."
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He glanced down at the scholarship forms that Sally had brought out, listened to what she had to say about her financial situation. Her family seemed to be a close one, for which Steve was grateful, but it made him sad to think that money was such a problem. It reminded him of his own childhood: selling newspapers, helping his mother at the laundry she'd set up in the basement, working as a delivery boy, all just to keep food on the table in a single-parent home. Sally wasn't nearly as poor as he had been - she certainly wasn't malnourished, and this wasn't the Depression, after all - but it was still a far cry from the luxuries she'd known as Tony Stark's spoiled only child.
That thought gave him an idea. "Have you thought about applying for a Maria Stark Foundation Scholarship?" Steve asked, motioning to the forms. "You seem like just the sort of student they look for." This was partially true - Tony's charity did give out scholarships, and they tended to look for good, enterprising students with strong science and math leanings. But Steve also had a feeling he could ensure that this particular girl would be a scholarship winner for completely different reasons. Tony hadn't been upset about Sally's loss like Steve was, but that mostly seemed to be because he didn't think of her as "real." If he knew that she was, Steve doubted he'd deny her the chance at a good college education.
Still, he probably needed a better reason for being so sure, and so he added, by way of explanation, "My daughter got one. She would have used it to take summer classes at NYU, if she'd had the chance. And if you're as much like her as you seem to be..." He trailed off.
Steve felt the sudden urge to reach out, to touch Sally's cheek or hair, to show some bit of affection like he always had and reassure himself that she was really there. But there was no way he could do that with this Sally, this Sally who'd never known him, and so he kept his hands still at his sides.
Other people were coming into the store, now; soon they would want to check out, and Steve would have to end this, to let Sally go back to her job, to her life that didn't include him. He tried not to let the thought fill him with despair.
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Captain Buchanan looked so sad. Maybe . . . ?
"Wait a sec," Sally said, dodging around the counter. She grabbed one of the American Hero shirts, a 3x from the bottom of the pile. Back behind the counter she grabbed a Sharpie from the pen cup. Turning the hem of the shirt up, Sally wrote her email address on the inside of the shirt, secondchancesal at gmail dot com.
"That's what my mom calls me, when she's proud of me," she explained a little sheepishly. "There was some sort of accident when I was a kid, and she always says we are both on a second chance. But, don't turn out to be some sort of weird stalker, okay? And email me anytime." She handed the shirt to Captain Buchanan with a smile. "The shirt's my treat."
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He rolled up the shirt, stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. Another patron - a teenaged boy with a green mohawk and piercings in places Steve wasn't aware one could be pierced - was standing next to him with an armload of CDs, looking impatient. It was time to go.
"Good luck with those scholarship applications. It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Sally." Steve stuck out his hand for a handshake, knowing it was the only chance at physical contact he would be able to get, and looked into her daughter's eyes for what he knew would be the last time.
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"Sometimes, girl, I do not know how your head works," Emil said. Sally began stripping the security tags off the cds and rang them up. "What makes him okay and that guy who was in on Monday a creep?"
"Dunno, Emil," she answered. "That other guy was a creep. I just know. This one?" Sally glanced up at the store entrance, but Captain Buchanan was gone. "He's a good man. I hope his life turns around soon. I hope he's happy again."
Sally finished checking out the kid in front of her and turned to fiddle with the iPod in the player. "No lip from you know about the music," she warned Emil.
There's a somebody I'm longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be someone to watch over me . . .
The strains of Gershwin filled the store and Emil rolled his eyes. "This crap?"
"This crap," Sally said, glancing one last time at the door. "It just seems right."
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