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breakinglight11Forever Captain:
“The Show”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: Steve’s teenaged great-granddaughter cajoles him into going with her to see Rogers: The Musical. And like any good theater experience, they’ll laugh and they’ll cry.
Previous chapters:
1. Balcony Seats
2. The Overture
Chapter summary: The show begins. Steve finds it off to a rough start.
“The Show”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: Steve’s teenaged great-granddaughter cajoles him into going with her to see Rogers: The Musical. And like any good theater experience, they’ll laugh and they’ll cry.
Previous chapters:
1. Balcony Seats
2. The Overture
Chapter summary: The show begins. Steve finds it off to a rough start.
~~~
3. Kids From Brooklyn
To the strains of the big band overture, heavy blue velvet curtains swept apart to reveal a tableau of New York. A backdrop of stylized, sketched-out skyscrapers towered over a stage that soon filled with an ensemble of people in trench coats, wiggle skirts, and victory rolls, bustling about in a facsimile of the city in the 1940's. From this hubbub a figure emerged, to stand downstage beneath a streetlamp. He began to sing in a light, energetic baritone, and Steve got his first look at the man they'd chosen to represent him.
"When you're the little guy, they tell you,
You're gonna get kicked around.
The trouble and strife, the drags of life,
And there ain't no breaks to be found."
The guy was blond and, he thought, blue-eyed, in a sweater vest, bow tie, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. If the heavy-handed nerd styling didn't do it, the stature of the man was enough to give him pause.
"The Depression's made life depressing—
Tough for the best of us to pep up!
But now the world's at war, and more and more,
I feel it's time for me to step up…"
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Hm. Big healthy fellow, isn't he."
"What did you expect? I've seen your old pictures, Granddad. You were a beefcastle."
"I was a what?"
"You know! A big, handsome guy."
He'd actually had the experience of meeting himself during those years— being a time traveller meant stuff like that happened sometimes —and he had to admit, that serum had done good by him. "Still, whatever you call it, I wasn't any such thing before the procedure. Those are the pictures they never show you." Nobody kept that one around, except for Peggy, who'd put it in her office to remember him by.
Angela waved her hands around. "What do you want, a skinny dude quick-changing into a muscle suit? What's he supposed to do?"
Okay, she had a point there. But still, there was something vaguely hilarious watching a young man built like a Ferrari hunch his shoulders in a sweater vest and horn rims, trying to look like a shrimp.
"But I'm just a kid from Brooklyn—
Just a kid from Brooklyn…
What can I do?"
As if that were their cue, a pack of other fellows soon emerged from the crowd, flanking show-Steve and cracking their knuckles in comically obvious displays of threat.
"Ooh, they gonna start snapping like West Side Story?" Angie snickered, as they closed in around him, shoving him back and forth between them as they lobbed cheesy insults.
"Hey, pipsqueak! What did we tell you about hanging around on our turf?"
"Easy, fellas," show-Steve said warily. "Just on my way to the recruitment office, to do my duty like everybody else." Because apparently this version hadn't been trying every trick in the book at every office in the tristate area to get around that damn 4F.
One of the bullies let out with a cackling laugh, though because of a different absurdity. "You? You think the army would take a scrawny little shrimp like you?"
"We've all got to do our part," show-Steve rejoined bravely, as the tallest jerk pushed in close. "It's the right thing to do."
"Oh, yeah? In that case, let me do my part right now." And he threw a right hook so wide that anybody in a real fight would have seen it coming from the top of the Empire State Building. Show-Steve took it on the chin, with a spin that turned him entirely in the opposite direction. "By keeping the recruiters from having to turn your skinny tail down!"
Angela clucked sympathetically at the beatdown, and Steve had to roll his eyes. "Oh, he can take it."
"Oh, yeah, excuse me that I don't like to think of you getting your ass kicked in alleyways."
"Yeah, most people prefer to think of it in the French countryside or the Battle of New York. Chitauri hit a lot harder than those jokers, let me tell you."
At last one bully seized show-Steve by the collar and yanked him in close. "Had enough?"
But the plucky fellow just lifted his chin in defiance, and, with a slight turn of his head out so that the audience could see his face, said, "I can do this all day."
Steve shook his head with a groan, while Angie joined the rest of the audience in a cheer. "Look at that!" she exulted, as if impressed. "Somebody did their research, I guess!"
But Steve was significantly less so. "If taking a walk around a room in the Smithsonian counts. Could do that on a lunch break." For whatever reason, the exhibit had really latched on to that quote, emblazoning it on a wall next to an image of the Howling Commandos. He guessed he had said it a lot, enough that when asked about him later in interviews post-war, the other guys would bring it up.
"Hey, at least it's something accurate! I'd think you'd be glad they actually got something right."
"Yeah, yeah. Let's see if they use anything they actually had to crack a book to get." A couple of the Commandos had even put out memoirs; Gabe Jones had published the journals he'd kept during that time, while Jim Morita had written his with the help of his grandson.
In the meantime, the trio of bullies seemed to have resolved to crack open show-Steve's face. Before long, two of them had our hero by the shoulders, holding him in place as he struggled. The third bully paced in a circle, making a big production of winding up for a punch. He turned to show-Steve and let loose for the blow— but that was the moment that another big, handsome actor strode out onto the stage and countered with a haymaker of his own.
The actor didn't really look like him, not even at this distance. But Steve supposed they got the broad strokes right— the strong shoulders, the thick dark hair, and something of the old confident swagger, from before the years made them wiser men.
"Woooo Uncle Bucky! You show 'em!" Angela cheered at the newcomer, who paused for the moment of applause before he set about driving off the bullies with a few well-placed blows. Then he paced over to where show-Steve had fallen and extended a manly hand to help him up.
"Aw, geez, Bucky, you didn't have to do that," show-Steve grumbled. "I had 'em right where I wanted 'em."
"Sure you did, buddy. You had their fists in your face."
Show-Steve pulled a mug to give the audience a moment to laugh, then looked over show-Bucky's Eisenhower jacket with envy. "You got your uniform on?"
"Yep!" show-Bucky said proudly. "Shipping out in just a few days. Gonna go punch Hitler in the eye and send him back to Germany with his tail between his legs."
Show-Steve heaved a dramatic sigh. "Sounds like a good time, Buck. While you're off being a hero in Europe, you're going to forget you ever knew me."
The actor playing Bucky put his arm companionably around his shoulders. "No chance of that, pal. I'm with you 'til the end of the line."
"Awww," the audience hummed, including Angie beside him.
"You gotta admit, Granddad— that's a good line."
"That's for sure. But they can't take credit for that one. Bucky used to say that to me all the time."
She turned in her seat to look at him. "Really? He actually said that to you?"
"Yeah." Steve smiled at the memory. "You have to understand, honey. What it was like back then."
"Folks were really rough on you."
"This wasn't the half of it. My ma and me, we were on our own since my dad died in the Great War. She did the best she could, but she had to work all the time in the TB ward. Then there was me, this sickly Irish brat, didn't have nothing and nobody. Ma did the best she could, but when I lost her…"
He sighed, remembering. Angela wound her hands around his arm. "When I was hungry, when I was lonely, when I was scared… he was there for me. Not just when those meatheads came after me— he brought me to dinner at his mother's table. He bucked me up when I was down. When I had nobody… I had Bucky." He thought back then to every moment his friend had saved his life— down to the moment he told Steve to seek out the life he truly wanted. "He was with me through it all."
Angie laid her head against his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Wow," she murmured. "No wonder that's the line they put on the back of the T-shirts."
Steve snapped around to stare at her. "Are you kidding me? The T-shirts?"
Angela looked up, lips pursed in mock-confusion. "What's the problem, Granddad? You don't like your relationships merchandised?"
He sputtered. "Yeah, you think so?"
"Imagine that! I guess if you don't want folks monetizing your personal life, you should be less quotable next time."
"I'll try and remember that," he grumbled. "You know, for the next time somebody steals my life to put on Broadway."
"Well, if you liked that, you're gonna love this…" Angela grinned impishly. "Can you guess what the next song is going to be?"
Steve smacked his forehead into his hand as the rollicking strains of the duet began to play.
"The storm may be raging, the war may be waging,
But no matter what, it's all gonna be fine!
'Cause I'm with you…
'Cause I'm with you…
I'm with you 'til the end of the liiiiiiiine!"
"Wonder if Uncle Bucky has a better sense of humor about this than you," Angie murmured.
~~~
Next chapter: 4. So Damn Lucky
3. Kids From Brooklyn
To the strains of the big band overture, heavy blue velvet curtains swept apart to reveal a tableau of New York. A backdrop of stylized, sketched-out skyscrapers towered over a stage that soon filled with an ensemble of people in trench coats, wiggle skirts, and victory rolls, bustling about in a facsimile of the city in the 1940's. From this hubbub a figure emerged, to stand downstage beneath a streetlamp. He began to sing in a light, energetic baritone, and Steve got his first look at the man they'd chosen to represent him.
"When you're the little guy, they tell you,
You're gonna get kicked around.
The trouble and strife, the drags of life,
And there ain't no breaks to be found."
The guy was blond and, he thought, blue-eyed, in a sweater vest, bow tie, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. If the heavy-handed nerd styling didn't do it, the stature of the man was enough to give him pause.
"The Depression's made life depressing—
Tough for the best of us to pep up!
But now the world's at war, and more and more,
I feel it's time for me to step up…"
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Hm. Big healthy fellow, isn't he."
"What did you expect? I've seen your old pictures, Granddad. You were a beefcastle."
"I was a what?"
"You know! A big, handsome guy."
He'd actually had the experience of meeting himself during those years— being a time traveller meant stuff like that happened sometimes —and he had to admit, that serum had done good by him. "Still, whatever you call it, I wasn't any such thing before the procedure. Those are the pictures they never show you." Nobody kept that one around, except for Peggy, who'd put it in her office to remember him by.
Angela waved her hands around. "What do you want, a skinny dude quick-changing into a muscle suit? What's he supposed to do?"
Okay, she had a point there. But still, there was something vaguely hilarious watching a young man built like a Ferrari hunch his shoulders in a sweater vest and horn rims, trying to look like a shrimp.
"But I'm just a kid from Brooklyn—
Just a kid from Brooklyn…
What can I do?"
As if that were their cue, a pack of other fellows soon emerged from the crowd, flanking show-Steve and cracking their knuckles in comically obvious displays of threat.
"Ooh, they gonna start snapping like West Side Story?" Angie snickered, as they closed in around him, shoving him back and forth between them as they lobbed cheesy insults.
"Hey, pipsqueak! What did we tell you about hanging around on our turf?"
"Easy, fellas," show-Steve said warily. "Just on my way to the recruitment office, to do my duty like everybody else." Because apparently this version hadn't been trying every trick in the book at every office in the tristate area to get around that damn 4F.
One of the bullies let out with a cackling laugh, though because of a different absurdity. "You? You think the army would take a scrawny little shrimp like you?"
"We've all got to do our part," show-Steve rejoined bravely, as the tallest jerk pushed in close. "It's the right thing to do."
"Oh, yeah? In that case, let me do my part right now." And he threw a right hook so wide that anybody in a real fight would have seen it coming from the top of the Empire State Building. Show-Steve took it on the chin, with a spin that turned him entirely in the opposite direction. "By keeping the recruiters from having to turn your skinny tail down!"
Angela clucked sympathetically at the beatdown, and Steve had to roll his eyes. "Oh, he can take it."
"Oh, yeah, excuse me that I don't like to think of you getting your ass kicked in alleyways."
"Yeah, most people prefer to think of it in the French countryside or the Battle of New York. Chitauri hit a lot harder than those jokers, let me tell you."
At last one bully seized show-Steve by the collar and yanked him in close. "Had enough?"
But the plucky fellow just lifted his chin in defiance, and, with a slight turn of his head out so that the audience could see his face, said, "I can do this all day."
Steve shook his head with a groan, while Angie joined the rest of the audience in a cheer. "Look at that!" she exulted, as if impressed. "Somebody did their research, I guess!"
But Steve was significantly less so. "If taking a walk around a room in the Smithsonian counts. Could do that on a lunch break." For whatever reason, the exhibit had really latched on to that quote, emblazoning it on a wall next to an image of the Howling Commandos. He guessed he had said it a lot, enough that when asked about him later in interviews post-war, the other guys would bring it up.
"Hey, at least it's something accurate! I'd think you'd be glad they actually got something right."
"Yeah, yeah. Let's see if they use anything they actually had to crack a book to get." A couple of the Commandos had even put out memoirs; Gabe Jones had published the journals he'd kept during that time, while Jim Morita had written his with the help of his grandson.
In the meantime, the trio of bullies seemed to have resolved to crack open show-Steve's face. Before long, two of them had our hero by the shoulders, holding him in place as he struggled. The third bully paced in a circle, making a big production of winding up for a punch. He turned to show-Steve and let loose for the blow— but that was the moment that another big, handsome actor strode out onto the stage and countered with a haymaker of his own.
The actor didn't really look like him, not even at this distance. But Steve supposed they got the broad strokes right— the strong shoulders, the thick dark hair, and something of the old confident swagger, from before the years made them wiser men.
"Woooo Uncle Bucky! You show 'em!" Angela cheered at the newcomer, who paused for the moment of applause before he set about driving off the bullies with a few well-placed blows. Then he paced over to where show-Steve had fallen and extended a manly hand to help him up.
"Aw, geez, Bucky, you didn't have to do that," show-Steve grumbled. "I had 'em right where I wanted 'em."
"Sure you did, buddy. You had their fists in your face."
Show-Steve pulled a mug to give the audience a moment to laugh, then looked over show-Bucky's Eisenhower jacket with envy. "You got your uniform on?"
"Yep!" show-Bucky said proudly. "Shipping out in just a few days. Gonna go punch Hitler in the eye and send him back to Germany with his tail between his legs."
Show-Steve heaved a dramatic sigh. "Sounds like a good time, Buck. While you're off being a hero in Europe, you're going to forget you ever knew me."
The actor playing Bucky put his arm companionably around his shoulders. "No chance of that, pal. I'm with you 'til the end of the line."
"Awww," the audience hummed, including Angie beside him.
"You gotta admit, Granddad— that's a good line."
"That's for sure. But they can't take credit for that one. Bucky used to say that to me all the time."
She turned in her seat to look at him. "Really? He actually said that to you?"
"Yeah." Steve smiled at the memory. "You have to understand, honey. What it was like back then."
"Folks were really rough on you."
"This wasn't the half of it. My ma and me, we were on our own since my dad died in the Great War. She did the best she could, but she had to work all the time in the TB ward. Then there was me, this sickly Irish brat, didn't have nothing and nobody. Ma did the best she could, but when I lost her…"
He sighed, remembering. Angela wound her hands around his arm. "When I was hungry, when I was lonely, when I was scared… he was there for me. Not just when those meatheads came after me— he brought me to dinner at his mother's table. He bucked me up when I was down. When I had nobody… I had Bucky." He thought back then to every moment his friend had saved his life— down to the moment he told Steve to seek out the life he truly wanted. "He was with me through it all."
Angie laid her head against his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Wow," she murmured. "No wonder that's the line they put on the back of the T-shirts."
Steve snapped around to stare at her. "Are you kidding me? The T-shirts?"
Angela looked up, lips pursed in mock-confusion. "What's the problem, Granddad? You don't like your relationships merchandised?"
He sputtered. "Yeah, you think so?"
"Imagine that! I guess if you don't want folks monetizing your personal life, you should be less quotable next time."
"I'll try and remember that," he grumbled. "You know, for the next time somebody steals my life to put on Broadway."
"Well, if you liked that, you're gonna love this…" Angela grinned impishly. "Can you guess what the next song is going to be?"
Steve smacked his forehead into his hand as the rollicking strains of the duet began to play.
"The storm may be raging, the war may be waging,
But no matter what, it's all gonna be fine!
'Cause I'm with you…
'Cause I'm with you…
I'm with you 'til the end of the liiiiiiiine!"
"Wonder if Uncle Bucky has a better sense of humor about this than you," Angie murmured.
~~~
Next chapter: 4. So Damn Lucky
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