THERE IS UNDOUBTEDLY A SENSE OF PURPOSE LOST AFTER the war had ended. It was of course a blessing that it had ended, and at that end, he was still alive. Breathing. The rest of his squadron and fellow brothers dead or missing. A curse. The pain of realising that waking up the next morning was the last thing he truly wanted. Each new day felt like another STAKE in his heart. Perhaps he didn’t turn to the drink as often as some of the other veterans, but there had been more than one occasion when he stared out at the ocean a little too long, only to drown the thoughts swirling through him with a flick of his wrist and the smoky amber liquid sliding down his stomach.
And then… a few years after the war, he wakes up…and he’s not in the 20th century any longer. In fact, he soon finds out, that he’s somehow in the 21st. And not in England - in the United States. Sense of time, sense of self - LOST. But there is this museum: one boasting of the BEST moments of WWII - Danny can’t help but SCOFF at those words every time - that emblazon its walls with newspapers and video footage and REPLICAS of spitfires he once flew not so long ago.
Isn’t exactly sure why he keeps coming back. Perhaps it’s the lure of the familiar, when everything and everyone around him wasn’t. Isn’t sure what he feels when he looks at all these…these exhibits. Not pride, not sadness, not -…anything anymore. But perhaps it fills a small part of him; a LONGING that no matter what else he does, it can’t ever completely replace.
Danny stares long and hard at the spitfire on display. In the background, a recorded voice is reverberating along the wall of the casualties at the Battle of Dunkirk. He pays no attention to that voice when another one interjects. Softer, but immediately heard.
Glances sideways, not quite turning to the other; pausing slightly as the man stands awfully close to him. “ -…Aye.” Danny responds, looking back over at the plane. If there is one thing he’s learned about New York City, it was a melting pot of different nationalities, races, and especially in this museum where different languages were being spoken by the second - he still feels a little out of place with his Scottish lilt.
But the man doesn’t move - seems to be WAITING, and Danny finally turns, asking if he needed something, but finds the words stuck in his throat. For the first time in a very long while, his HEART feels something - fills up with EMOTION, and though logic screams at him telling the former pilot it couldn’t be possible - that STEVE ROGERS had died, his eyes refuse to believe otherwise.
“ -…Steve-o?” His mouth feels dry as his heart feels like its going to thump out of his chest. Can barely get his voice any louder than a whisper. “Tha’s no’ -… you’re no’ – … siblin’ or somethin’, ey? Ye -.. cannae be here.” Takes a step back even though all he wants to do is step closer. “Ye haven’t aged a DAY.”
HE HAD STEELED HIMSELF, prepared to be hardly acknowledged, ignored even, and most surely of all, unrecognized --- but then the man replies and it shatters steve’s layer of protection, makes hope flutter in his heart with just one word. the accent, the voice . . . it’s so comfortably familiar that it hits him hard and knocks the air out of him, all at the same time filling him with a sense of home. he has to resist the urge to look over as the expression he wears falters, brows slightly furrowing while he tries to better understand the situation. in reality, it’s not any more likely that this man is who he looks like than it was before.
------so steve spends a moment just thinking --- steeling himself all over again. he doesn’t want to admit that his efforts are in vain but it’s too difficult to shake this familiarity or fend off the natural pull he feels towards the figure next to him. he almost considers that he should dodge out, leave before anything else can be said between them so he can avoid the disappointment he knows will come, but that’s not who he is. never has been. besides, it seems he has no time; when his name is spoken, the turn of his head is swift, eyes wide and jaw tight.
everything around them is drowned out in an instant, replaced in entirety with DANNY. he’s all steve can hear, all he can see, and the worry that this may be a hallucination or some type of flashback suddenly holds to him. that is still more probable, and yet he won’t accept it. his hope has now reached the point of rendering him stubborn. by the time danny’s finished speaking, steve no longer has any doubts.
“ i didn’t want to assume--- . . . ” he trails, thoroughly speechless. didn’t want to assume you were who i hoped you were. he’s nearly forgetting to breathe, oxygen stuck in his throat right along with his words. steve then fills back in what extra space was created between them and reaches to grab at danny’s shoulder, squeezing it to ground himself as if he’s afraid he’ll blink and lose this moment --- lose danny. it’s a hesitant, somewhat slow movement, accompanied by his line of vision breaking from the other man’s to search him, take him in because it’s the first time he’s seen him in what could easily be a lifetime. his thoughts linger on the mention of his age, and how impossibly young danny looks as well, but ultimately that’s not what takes priority in his mind. it’s bound to be complicated on both ends.
“ danny, ” he faintly yet assuredly confirms to himself, eyes again lifting to lock onto the former pilot’s. a feeling of lightheadedness strikes him but it’s not entirely unpleasant; just a bit overwhelming, like everything else right now. the physical contact he’s established is maintained by an unwillingness to let go.
“ i thought you were dead. ” a stupid thing to say, he realizes, gaping and trying to grasp at whatever words he can to make himself more clear. after this long, there’s gotta be a dozen ways steve could have thought danny was dead, not that he wants to contemplate on any of them. with another squeeze of his shoulder and a voice close to wavering, all he can manage is, “ -------killed in action. ”
