"Alright."
Stephanie laughed again.
"I have to admit, you're at least a very charming man."
"Hmm?" Lance glanced at her, mildly surprised by the assessment.
"Fury told me to come to Hell's Kitchen and find you. He said there was a lawyer here who would suit me best."
Stephanie leaned back in her chair. The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting broken shadows across her face.
"To be honest, I didn't understand it before. All lawyers seemed the same to me. If I had to choose, wouldn't S.H.I.E.L.D. already have its own legal team?"
"But after talking to you, I've realized you really are different from them. At least you treat me like a normal person, not a symbol or something fragile."
"And S.H.I.E.L.D... parts of it make me uncomfortable. Sometimes it doesn't feel like a place to rest. It feels more like a courtroom."
"A courtroom?" Lance raised an eyebrow. "That's my favourite place. Well, let's talk about your problems, shall we? Has pressure from the military and Congress gotten to you?"
"Not exactly." Stephanie shook her head.
"But to be honest, I'm lost. Like I said before, I'm someone left behind by the times. The military wants to turn me into a national weapon, which isn't any different from before I went into suspended animation. But Nick doesn't see it that way. I can tell he's trying to help me adapt to this society, at least on the surface. He wants me to think for myself, to form my own opinions. I know he's trying."
"But I don't know how to describe it. Lost, maybe. But 'cowardly' might be more accurate. I don't know what I should do anymore. I've lost my purpose."
As expected, Nick Fury's money would not be easy to earn.
Lance sighed, then turned his head toward the empty space behind him.
"I know you're listening. This little therapy session is free, but next time, I'll be charging you properly."
Stephanie watched him in silence as Lance turned back.
She probably expected a speech. Something grand. Maybe an attempt to stir her memories of the past.
Instead, Lance asked something completely unrelated.
"Stephanie," he said, "you walked here today. You saw everything along the way. What do you think of this place? I mean Hell's Kitchen."
Stephanie pressed her lips together.
"It's terrible," she said honestly.
"It's frightening. The wars I.. we fought for our nation.. so much time has passed... And the worst part is that nothing has changed since before I went under."
"Slums were like this in my time too. Dirty, chaotic. And most importantly, the people here live miserable lives. They have no tomorrow, and they don't care about the past. The gutters aren't just filled with filth. Sometimes there's a drunk lying in them, dead or alive, no one cares."
"The children grow up too fast. Instead of learning, they learn how to pick pockets. They don't care if they get caught. Whether they're beaten half to death or killed outright, it makes no difference to them."
"It's terrifying," Stephanie concluded quietly. "Nothing has changed."
"It's a slum. Just a slum. What kind of change were you expecting?" Lance asked.
"I don't know." Stephanie fell silent for a moment. "Maybe… maybe it could at least be smaller. Or their lives could be a little easier. Not this bitter. Not this hopeless."
"I see."
Lance nodded. He leaned back fully in his chair, studying her clear eyes.
"Look at it this way. You won war after war. In World War II, you defeated the fascists. You crushed them completely. That was a victory for justice. But those wars of justice were a long time ago."
"In your mind, you fought for what was right. For justice. So naturally, you believed that standing on the right side would make the world better. More prosperous. More civilized. As long as people could live better lives, you were willing to give everything. Even your life. I believe that conviction carried you to the very end."
"But now." Lance held her gaze.
"You slept for decades, then opened your eyes. You expected to see a completely different world. A better one."
"But when you actually looked at it, touched it, stepped into it, you realized something."
"This world is still rotten."
"Yes, evil has simply changed its form. White is no longer pure white, but darkness hasn't lessened either. Everything has blended into a shade of gray. Everyone lives inside that gray."
"You don't know if it's better. But you know parts of it are still rotten."
Stephanie said nothing.
Lance ignored her expression and continued.
"From the moment we met, you've said more than once that you're someone abandoned by the times. Abandoned by society."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Do you know what I think?"
"I think it's the exact opposite. It's you who chose to abandon this era. It's Captain America who refuses to integrate into it. You're not afraid, and you're not terrified. You're disappointed."
"Unable to integrate into society? Unable to learn new things? You're Captain America. The most complete warrior. A perfect soldier shaped by genetic enhancement. There's nothing you can't learn, only things you refuse to learn. You're resisting."
"What are you resisting? You're resisting the fact that this world isn't as beautiful as you imagined. You're resisting the reality that you and your fellow soldiers paid in blood, only to receive a world still full of suffering."
Stephanie gave another bitter smile.
"You're right," she said, her voice low and rough. "I ..am resisting."
"During the war, I knew exactly what I was fighting for. I believed my sacrifices would make people's lives better. I told myself that suffering was inevitable in wartime, and that once it ended, everyone would have a brighter future."
"But now, there's no war. No fascists. And yet people are still suffering. I don't know where the problem lies. I don't know who I'm supposed to fight or defeat to change this."
"So that's the issue." Lance leaned back in his chair. "You're trying to carry the weight of all of America on your shoulders. But your era is over. What you need now isn't to become some kind of war machine."
He paused, meeting her gaze.
"What you need... is to be Stephanie Rogers."
"Stephanie Rogers..." she repeated slowly, as if the name were unfamiliar.
"Names are just labels to me. I don't know who I am anymore. I can't find my place. I need to do something, don't I? I can't just... live like this."
"Why not?" Lance asked.
Stephanie froze.
___
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