RETIRED.

     There’s a number of things in the world that look a lot different, since they pulled him out of the ice. Dancing is one of those things. Everyone  ( Natasha, especially )  is always telling him he needs to get out more. But half the time when he tries to, he ends up like this: standing, watching, feeling a little too much like the man out of time he keeps trying to prove he’s not.

     One thing that hasn’t changed, is the look of what he sees going on at the other side of the room. Chasing. Grabbing. Refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. …And that’s enough of that. Steve Rogers may not be able to dance the way everyone does these days — but there’s something he learned a long time ago that’s no less useful today than it was seventy years in the past. And that’s how to take out the trash.

     He cuts through the crowd a lot more smoothly than might be expected of a man of his size, and his eyes and jaw are both rock-hard by the time he gets where he’s going.

     “Listen, pal — ”  A big hand clamps down on the shorter man’s shoulder. Right at the base of his neck. Steve squeezes. The man’s grip on the woman pops free — maybe because he doesn’t have any choice but to gasp and let go. 

     ( And if Steve’s fingers leave a bruise or two…? Well then that’s just too damn bad. )

     Nearly dragging him bodily, Steve swaps their places. Now he’s between the woman and this nuisance, and can look him in the eye.  “She shouldn’t have to tell you twice.”  A little tilt of his head adds emphasis.  “I’m not going to.”  His hand snaps open like a bear trap, and the man’s knees buckle, a little. Steve gestures with his chin.  “Beat it.”

     The very picture of the tail between his legs metaphor, the ill-mannered kid obeys.

     And, heaving an annoyed sigh and shaking his head, Steve turns around. There’s an almost-smile threatening to appear, but that depends on how she reacts. A jerk of a thumb indicates the jerk recently departed.  “Hope you don’t mind me butting in. Some days I just can’t help myself.”  He backs up a little, careful not to crowd her, despite the press of people around them.  “You okay, ma’am?”

  It’s a rare event that moves too fast for her. But what just happened?

  She doesn’t say anything --- no need, anymore --- but she’s certainly having an eyebrow journey as she watches. It takes another moment for what’s-his-name to disappear around a corner, and for Argo’s hands to drop to her sides. Her palms cool. A very slight sheen of gold dissipates, like dust motes, into the air.

  Her eyes remain just a little narrowed. It’s odd, to see such a large person move so carefully. So conscious of the space he’s taking up. That’s enough to make her less wary, and, besides ---

  He did step up, after all.

     “Big moral compass man,”   she says, appraisingly.   “Thank you.”   She’s no more used to saying that than she is to other people getting her out of jams, particularly ones she has under control. But the gratitude is all the more genuine for it.

     “I’m well enough. But I think I’ve had enough dancing for one night.”   Admitting defeat, if that’s what it is, leaves an ashy taste in her mouth. Then her head tilts. It wouldn’t be accurate to say she perks up, but a low hmm escapes her.

     His chin stabs down. Rest of his head tilts the other way from before. It just… does that.

     “When’ve I ever gotten anythin’ easy outta you?”

     When’s he ever gotten anything easy outta life, wonders that relentless, self-pitying voice that’s always chiming in. ——PLAY THE TINY VIOLIN A LITTLE LOUDER, SAD VOICE, WE CAN’T QUITE HEAR Y’.

     “What’s y'r game, then?”  It’s just an idle wonder. He’s just playing. Isn’t like he’s got much of anything better to do.  “What pries th’ secrets from y'r claws? A good flatterin’ o’ your ego? My life secrets?”  His eyebrows about pop off as he very precisely enunciates, teeth on every consonant,  “Cat treats?”

     “If I made it easy, when would you have any fun?”

  There’s a lot of warmth in the Argo, and not just the running-engine, star-fueled kind. It comes close to the surface when she’s paid --- well, any attention, really. Flattering of the ego isn’t so far off the mark. Even if he’s teasing, even though they’re both teasing, even though she’s still not going to tell him.

  She lets the dig about cat treats pass her by. It is, to be fair, a game only a cat person would play. Folding her arms, Argo leans back. Bites at the end of her tongue.

@goldsailor liked for an au starter

‘ ––– i don’t usually start with telling people i’m an angel. it always gives people an excuse to start hunting for flaws, in my appearance or demeanor - some deep space idiot spread the rumor that we look like whatever’s most beautiful to the beholder. this is how i want to look, so i simply … do. ‘

( how she wants to look is apparently lithe and efficient, blaster holstered at her hip and wrinkles and dirt pressed out of the crisp blue tunic she wore. taller than most humanoid women seemed to come, and if you looked at her for too long without blinking, you could swear by the afterimage of wings. )

‘ not to be blunt about it, but what are you? ‘

     The Argo is nothing if not open-minded, and she has to admit she’s curious --- how the angel could look, if she wanted something else, why she chose this, how much wanting and choosing overlap.   “Well, I like how I look and look how I like, too. But someday I might not. And then --- ”   She snaps her fingers.   “I’ll change it. I find I don’t take well to limits.”

|| @goldsailor.

     “Here, ship — ”  Sideways bob of his head accentuates the verbal pay attention, I’ve got somethin’ t’ say t’ y’.  

     “Y’re always after askin’ me things I like — what about you? Y’ve been all over. Where’s th’ place y’ liked the best?”

     She tosses her head back, regarding him.   “Fynn, how would you like it if I called you mortal all the time?”   She does call him mortal all the time. But only in a general sense --- you humans, you mortals, you with your linear futures all stretched out before you. Not, like, in direct address.

     But the Argo smiles, like he’s said something cute.   “You’re not going to get it out of me so easily, you know.”