It had been a harrowing few months trapped in the ice, before he was found and he never wanted to do anything like that ever again. So with Howard’s clout and his own influence, and Peggy’s plan, he was able to melt back into society as a private citizen. On paper he was Grant Stephen O’Connell, his mother’s maiden name. Stephen Grant Rogers was dead, according to all the paperwork and all intents and purposes. Captain America was lost at sea still with his best friend Howard Stark still looking for him, according to most papers.
Now he was living in an apartment across the street from Peggy’s boarding house, a lovely walking distance from work. Well, his new work. Stark had gotten him an in, and Peggy had worked whatever magic she normally did and got him assigned to her same unit. Now was the tricky part.
They had to play like they had never met before, like they never had once laid eyes on each other. To hell with the idea that they were almost engaged, it was talked about but he hadn’t made it official, they were just coworkers. Today being his first day and their first real test. He wanted to pull the hat down low over his face and turn his collar up, shrinking into the wardrobe that Stark had bestowed upon him. Then he remembered that this was New York, no one paid attention. And that was a huge comfort for him. He was on his way to work just like all the other men fresh back from the front.
The receptionist pointed him in the direction and he caught sight of his future section chief and hailed him. “Chief,” he called and jogged over to him. “Agent O’Connell, nice to meet you,” he offered his hand to shake.
“Ah, you’re the rookie.” He grinned and nodded. “Come on, we’ve got a lot to teach you and you’re already late.”
“I am?” Steve seemed surprised and thought he was actually 30 minutes early.
“Eh, if we’re on the same lift you’re fine, but if I’m in before you, you’re late.”
Steve thought that that was the most ludicrous thing but didn’t say a word. Damn Bucky would have snarked at this joker. “Duly noted, sir.” He instead responded and made a mental note to ask Peggy what time she got in the office and walk with her. He was not going to have a target on his back in the first week and this Thompson seemed like a bully.
He walked in and nearly smiled at his girl but instead his eyes widened when he heard the single most insulting thing he could have ever imagined. “Agent Carter! Is the coffee done?”
“It was done before you rolled in, get it yourself.” Another male voice called and he didn’t look up from his paperwork.
“Mind your business, gimp.”
“How about I make you mind my crutch over your head, Taylor.”
“Gentlemen! May I introduce the newest addition to our team, Agent O’Connell,” He called over the din, effectively ceasing any further fighting.
“Oy, an O’Irish boy? You’re a big fuckin leprechaun.” The same ingrate, Taylor, shouted.
“Born and made in Brooklyn, actually,” Steve responded calmly and tucked his hands in his coat and shrugged a shoulder dismissing the quizzical look.
“Made? Don’t you mean raised?” Taylor snapped.
“Ah, no, I meant made, didn’t your neighborhood make you who you are, Agent Taylor?” He asked as he followed Thompson past the offensive Agent and towards the empty desk, caddy corner to Peggy. He just had to look up and glance at her, this could make things difficult. But he was next to Sousa, and he seemed like a good man. He was pulling all sorts of Serum jokes this morning for Peggy and hoped she wasn’t too upset at him for wanting to make her laugh.
“We’ll have our first briefing in 30. Until then, make yourself comfortable and go over the desk contents. I don’t know what was left to you. Carter can get you anything you’re missing.” Thompson offered and walked away.
Steve took off his hat and coat and hung them on the coat rack before undoing the button on his bespoke jacket before sitting. He was nosing through, figuring what he would have to buy when he saw a stick entering his line of vision. He grabbed it before it could poke him and looked up at Sousa who was grinning.
“Just wanted to see if you were flesh and blood or a statue, O’Connell.” He offered, looking pointedly at Steve’s bicep in the suit jacket. “That’s not standard issue to most men.”
Steve let go of the crutch and shrugged. “Ah, no I suppose it isn’t standard issue.” He couldn’t help the smirk. “Neither is a brain standard issue to some around here.” He joked, meaning Taylor. He glanced at Sousa then at Peggy. “Am I right?”
