FF->PP: Post 31: FIC: Stars, Marvelverse, genderflip AU, gen
More of Stella's origin. Okay, so I guess technically this is pushing the gen thing. But, dude, it's not like it goes anywhere further than this, and it's still the kind of entirely character-and-plot-focused-thing that gets filed in my brain as gen.
(Like, I had this moment when I was reviewing fic for my website, and I was paging through the the DMVs, which is also a thing I think of as gen, and there's, like, two people in bed together. And one of them gets up and she's naked. Not, like, graphically described, totally something you could do on network TV, but I was looking at that thinking, dude, some people might not think of this as gen.)
But it's not like gen definitions have ever been, y'know, clear.
Anyway.
MIDNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT.
*****
Virginia, Camp Lehigh, winter of 1942
Doctor Josef Reinstein, who would be honored to be called Josef by a lovely American girl, drives her carefully off-base to a modest restaurant, and looks at her for a moment after the car stops.
"I don't suppose you would be happier if I came about to get the door for you?"
Stella laughs and tugs the latch. "I never liked that. I can open my own doors. Always have."
He locks the car, and they walk up side by side. Could be holding hands if he was standing closer.
He doesn't pull out the chair for her either. The waitress looks distantly offended.
They talk about war as the drinks come. Countries and politics, fear and death, which dominos will fall where across Europe. She does about three quarters of the listening. Asks him how much was true, what the old Jewish couple had said, and he just bows his head and murmurs, "All of it. Why I defected."
She pushes her fork through mashed potatoes, thinks about it, just really thinks about it, for a moment, and keeps burning to save the world.
Families, it turns to, and his whole family's back in Germany, he says. He had to leave them. Can never speak with them again. Stella just swallows hard, and when it comes to her own family, he just looks at her for a long moment and shakes his head with a smile.
"And this is what makes America different. You're Irish."
"I was born on American soil. A few years after my parents came over."
"And, see, what makes America different. To anyone in Europe, you would be always be Irish. My family lived in Germany for sixteen generations, and to anyone in Europe, I will always be German."
Democracy over dessert.
She loses track of the time, and then the restaurant's closing. They sit on a bench outside in the cool damp night. Long lull as they stare out into the dark, towards the east. Like they could see all the way to the ocean, all the way to Europe.
"It's a human enhancement project," Josef murmurs, out of nowhere. "The super soldier, they call it."
She freezes. "Can you even--"
"No," he says. His voice is heavy. "I can't tell you. But what would you do with it?"
She laughs. "I could be a cunningly disguised spy."
He just turns his head and looks at her. "No, you're not."
She's just a pretty girl from New York City, scraping together pennies with her pencils, who wants to save the world and doesn't have a damn way to do it.
"They call it the super soldier," he says again, voice low. "It's the culmination of years of work in physiology. Raising any individual to the peak of human physical potential. Strength, agility, endurance, everything." He pauses for a long moment. "You see why I had to take it out of Hitler's hands."
"Does it work?" she breathes, after a long moment. The idea exhilarates her or scares her, she isn't sure which. Trying to imagine what a man who'd been through it would be like.
"It's untested. The sick boys, the volunteers who get rejected--we're looking through them. The weaker the subject, the more radical a desired improvement, the easier it'll be to see the results. Or it could fail. Or kill them."
It's just silence after that. Stella can't think of anything to say. She just sits and feels gawky.
He checks his watch. It's an old silver fobwatch, and beautiful. He sees her looking at it, taps the case.
"It game with me from Germany," he murmurs, a little hoarse. "I--should go back, Stella."
"Me too, probably. The nurse I'm staying with will be wondering where I am."
"Well."
They stand. Drive back in silence, though not a particularly awkward one. More stunned.
In an empty doorway in the still, quite base, he stops. Light from one of the yard lamps catches the side of his face, his neatly trimmed beard.
"Would a lovely American girl," he says slowly, "find it in herself to honor a completely forward request from a tired old German man?"
He looks older this time. He's holding out both his hands, and she takes them. They're warm and dry. She's always been a bit tall; she doesn't even have to go on tiptoes.
"If I may ask a favor in return?" she says, smiling slightly. Coy, somebody had called that smile once.
"Anything," he says.
He kisses her very gently. Raises one hand to just barely brush her blonde curls, the side of her face, the narrow lines of the side of her neck.
Their lips part, and his fingertips are still resting on her jaw, and she closes her eyes for a moment, looks up at him, and whispers, "Test it on me."
*****
This post is part of the Fanfiction Frenzy for Planned Parenthood, which is wired_lizard's outing for Day of Blogs, and has raised $235 so far. Like what you see? Please consider donating!
(Like, I had this moment when I was reviewing fic for my website, and I was paging through the the DMVs, which is also a thing I think of as gen, and there's, like, two people in bed together. And one of them gets up and she's naked. Not, like, graphically described, totally something you could do on network TV, but I was looking at that thinking, dude, some people might not think of this as gen.)
But it's not like gen definitions have ever been, y'know, clear.
Anyway.
MIDNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT.
*****
Virginia, Camp Lehigh, winter of 1942
Doctor Josef Reinstein, who would be honored to be called Josef by a lovely American girl, drives her carefully off-base to a modest restaurant, and looks at her for a moment after the car stops.
"I don't suppose you would be happier if I came about to get the door for you?"
Stella laughs and tugs the latch. "I never liked that. I can open my own doors. Always have."
He locks the car, and they walk up side by side. Could be holding hands if he was standing closer.
He doesn't pull out the chair for her either. The waitress looks distantly offended.
They talk about war as the drinks come. Countries and politics, fear and death, which dominos will fall where across Europe. She does about three quarters of the listening. Asks him how much was true, what the old Jewish couple had said, and he just bows his head and murmurs, "All of it. Why I defected."
She pushes her fork through mashed potatoes, thinks about it, just really thinks about it, for a moment, and keeps burning to save the world.
Families, it turns to, and his whole family's back in Germany, he says. He had to leave them. Can never speak with them again. Stella just swallows hard, and when it comes to her own family, he just looks at her for a long moment and shakes his head with a smile.
"And this is what makes America different. You're Irish."
"I was born on American soil. A few years after my parents came over."
"And, see, what makes America different. To anyone in Europe, you would be always be Irish. My family lived in Germany for sixteen generations, and to anyone in Europe, I will always be German."
Democracy over dessert.
She loses track of the time, and then the restaurant's closing. They sit on a bench outside in the cool damp night. Long lull as they stare out into the dark, towards the east. Like they could see all the way to the ocean, all the way to Europe.
"It's a human enhancement project," Josef murmurs, out of nowhere. "The super soldier, they call it."
She freezes. "Can you even--"
"No," he says. His voice is heavy. "I can't tell you. But what would you do with it?"
She laughs. "I could be a cunningly disguised spy."
He just turns his head and looks at her. "No, you're not."
She's just a pretty girl from New York City, scraping together pennies with her pencils, who wants to save the world and doesn't have a damn way to do it.
"They call it the super soldier," he says again, voice low. "It's the culmination of years of work in physiology. Raising any individual to the peak of human physical potential. Strength, agility, endurance, everything." He pauses for a long moment. "You see why I had to take it out of Hitler's hands."
"Does it work?" she breathes, after a long moment. The idea exhilarates her or scares her, she isn't sure which. Trying to imagine what a man who'd been through it would be like.
"It's untested. The sick boys, the volunteers who get rejected--we're looking through them. The weaker the subject, the more radical a desired improvement, the easier it'll be to see the results. Or it could fail. Or kill them."
It's just silence after that. Stella can't think of anything to say. She just sits and feels gawky.
He checks his watch. It's an old silver fobwatch, and beautiful. He sees her looking at it, taps the case.
"It game with me from Germany," he murmurs, a little hoarse. "I--should go back, Stella."
"Me too, probably. The nurse I'm staying with will be wondering where I am."
"Well."
They stand. Drive back in silence, though not a particularly awkward one. More stunned.
In an empty doorway in the still, quite base, he stops. Light from one of the yard lamps catches the side of his face, his neatly trimmed beard.
"Would a lovely American girl," he says slowly, "find it in herself to honor a completely forward request from a tired old German man?"
He looks older this time. He's holding out both his hands, and she takes them. They're warm and dry. She's always been a bit tall; she doesn't even have to go on tiptoes.
"If I may ask a favor in return?" she says, smiling slightly. Coy, somebody had called that smile once.
"Anything," he says.
He kisses her very gently. Raises one hand to just barely brush her blonde curls, the side of her face, the narrow lines of the side of her neck.
Their lips part, and his fingertips are still resting on her jaw, and she closes her eyes for a moment, looks up at him, and whispers, "Test it on me."
*****
This post is part of the Fanfiction Frenzy for Planned Parenthood, which is wired_lizard's outing for Day of Blogs, and has raised $235 so far. Like what you see? Please consider donating!