Adaptation is something of a learning process, he's come to realize. For every new thing he gets used to, there's about three new ones that catch him by surprise. But then, that is to be expected when you go under in 1918 and are somehow brought back to life nearly a hundred years later.
Steve's nothing if not adaptable, though, and after a few weeks of doing close to nothing, he started to get fidgety. He was eager to work again, to do something, to be useful in any way he could, and... well, there was only so much he was good at.
Being a soldier, for one— but war was very different these days. He was a skilled pilot and marksman, but above all that, his training as a spy was apparently a rarity even in 2015. So, he started working towards the goal of getting back into that line of work, and when a few months later SHIELD offered him a position, he was all too eager and quick to take it, lest they changed their minds.
So that's how he's ended up here. After a series of tests, easier assignments and simpler missions, he's now tasked with keeping an eye on some magnate with the ultimate goal of uncovering any information whatsoever that'll prove he's actually financing both sides of a civil war, with the intent of usurping the position as president from the person currently running his country. Granted, not America, but no less important because of it.
Steve has no doubt SHIELD has other interests at play in this, but it's not his job to question them. (It also doesn't mean he won't poke around and try to learn more about that, but anyway.)
The gala tonight is a big event, with plenty of very famous and very public faces, all of them with very deep pockets. Steve has been assigned along with Agent Romanoff, whom he informally calls Natasha more often than not, particularly since she's never once corrected him. He's never worked with her much, but they trained together a lot as he recovered, and she helped him learn a great deal about the world when it was just a strange place to him. Whatever her reasons, and regardless of being told to do so by her superiors, he's grateful for all her help.
And she will have to forgive him if that time they've spent together has made him grow to care a good deal about her.
"I think I need a hand with this... damned thing," he huffs at the mirror on the closet door. He's in a black pair of suit pants and shoes, a perfectly tucked white shirt while he struggles with a bowtie he apparently can't seem to tie properly. The blazer completing his outfit lies waiting on the bed of the bedroom hotel under their names— their fake names, of course. Happily married, supposedly. Steve can't say he has a lot of experience with that.
"That's it. I quit." He throws his hands in the air, groaning and rolling his eyes. Defeated by a plain bowtie, go figure.
for unmakeme
Steve's nothing if not adaptable, though, and after a few weeks of doing close to nothing, he started to get fidgety. He was eager to work again, to do something, to be useful in any way he could, and... well, there was only so much he was good at.
Being a soldier, for one— but war was very different these days. He was a skilled pilot and marksman, but above all that, his training as a spy was apparently a rarity even in 2015. So, he started working towards the goal of getting back into that line of work, and when a few months later SHIELD offered him a position, he was all too eager and quick to take it, lest they changed their minds.
So that's how he's ended up here. After a series of tests, easier assignments and simpler missions, he's now tasked with keeping an eye on some magnate with the ultimate goal of uncovering any information whatsoever that'll prove he's actually financing both sides of a civil war, with the intent of usurping the position as president from the person currently running his country. Granted, not America, but no less important because of it.
Steve has no doubt SHIELD has other interests at play in this, but it's not his job to question them. (It also doesn't mean he won't poke around and try to learn more about that, but anyway.)
The gala tonight is a big event, with plenty of very famous and very public faces, all of them with very deep pockets. Steve has been assigned along with Agent Romanoff, whom he informally calls Natasha more often than not, particularly since she's never once corrected him. He's never worked with her much, but they trained together a lot as he recovered, and she helped him learn a great deal about the world when it was just a strange place to him. Whatever her reasons, and regardless of being told to do so by her superiors, he's grateful for all her help.
And she will have to forgive him if that time they've spent together has made him grow to care a good deal about her.
"I think I need a hand with this... damned thing," he huffs at the mirror on the closet door. He's in a black pair of suit pants and shoes, a perfectly tucked white shirt while he struggles with a bowtie he apparently can't seem to tie properly. The blazer completing his outfit lies waiting on the bed of the bedroom hotel under their names— their fake names, of course. Happily married, supposedly. Steve can't say he has a lot of experience with that.
"That's it. I quit." He throws his hands in the air, groaning and rolling his eyes. Defeated by a plain bowtie, go figure.