Every New Beginning... (Chris Evans AU)

.36.

Opal POV

Knock, Knock. The sound coming from my knuckles hitting the light wood of the door lightly. "You decent, old man?"

There's a quiet chuckle coming from the other side of the door before I hear the usual, "Never."

I slowly open the door to Pop's room at the rehab. He's been here now almost three weeks, trying to get strong enough to go back home on his own. So far he hasn't given an answer about the new treatment, but the doctor did at least continue the one he was already on.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Pops!" I exclaim once I am out of the doorway and further into his room. "I come baring Mila's Thanksgiving feast." I wave the covered plate around in front of my body.

"Stuffing?"

"Yep."

"Sweet potato souffle?"

"Of course."

"Smoked or oven roasted turkey?"

"She went smoked this year. Is that a problem?" I ask.

"My recipe or hers?" He's narrowed his eyes at this question, watching my expression.

Let's see if all those straight faced, white lies in my youth can still hold true today. "Yours, of course. She knows not to mess with your recipes."

He leans his head back just a little, still watching. "Good woman that Mila. She still married?"

"Good gravy, old man! You still on that?"

"Of course I am. She's a redhead," he tosses a wink my way. "Come sit. Tell me all about the happenings in Opal Lucas' life."

I place his plate down on the table next to the chair he's occupying, choosing to sit on the edge of his bed facing him. I breathe out a long sigh, unaware that I'd even been holding it in. "The happenings, huh?"

"All the happenings," he says again with a wiggle of his brow.

"Let's see. We've got our Friendsgiving day after tomorrow at Lily and Jameson's place. Laura and I both will be each other's date this year since neither of the boys can make it."

"How's that going, by the way?" He's digging.

"The undercover thing, or the 'me and Chris' thing?" I ask wanting to be specific and not speak on things he doesn't actually care to know about. But knowing him the way I do, I know he wants to know it all.

"All of it. Spill it, Ope."

"Truth is, I'm not sure on any of it, honestly." I kick off my shoes and pull my legs up onto the bed, pulling my legs up to my chest, resting my head on top of my knees. Pops motions for me to continue.

"Well, we've not actually spoken in over a week. Even texting has been pretty sporadic. He can't carry his usual phone with him when he's out and about completing whatever meeting or task they have him doing, at the time, ya know fear of someone realizing he's not who he says he is. So, our relationship is basically at the mercy of the Atlanta police department."

"I'm sorry, sweetie. But, you knew this going in."

"I know," I whine. "But-"

"But it doesn't make it any easier. I know, angel," he interrupts me, completing my thought.

"Even when I text him back, it's sometimes hours before I hear anything from him. Most of the time it's in the middle of the night, or like 4 AM. I know it's nothing he can help. I'm just ready for it to be over."