Shall We Dance - A Steggy Fanfiction

Two

Steve's PoV

The radio.

That was the first thing he heard as he woke up. His ears slowly tuned in to the match that was being broadcast as he lay there, his eyes still closed. He gradually opened his eyes, blinded at first by the streams of light that filled the room. He blinked, trying to get them to focus. He looked up at the ceiling, letting the rest of his senses wake up. He heard the sound of the street outside and of the rotary fan above him. He could feel the breeze blowing through the window to his left and to his right. He noticed that he wasn't actually in the bed, but laying on top of the covers.

As he woke up, he continued to listen to the match. He couldn't help but feeling like something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Steve sat up slowly, looking around the room. He took in the normal look of it; the radiator, chairs, chest of drawers and the bed. He spotted the radio, sitting on the chest of drawers and listened carefully. The match sounded familiar, but he didn't know why. At first he thought it was the commentator or the teams, but that didn't fit right.

Steve sat on the bed, eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out this sense of recognition. He focused in on the details, what was happening in the game.

That's when it hit him.

The sense of familiarity, it wasn't the commentator or the teams, but the game itself. It had already happened. He knew why he was so certain.

He had been to that game.

Something was not right. He could feel it. Something was very, very wrong.

Just then, a woman dressed in military uniform walked into the room. Her flaming red curls bounced as she moved. She wore a smile on her lips and a lipstick shade to match her hair.

"Good morning." She said to him. He didn't reply, he just stared at her, trying to figure out what was happening. She paused and looked at her watch. "Or should I say afternoon," she added, before stepping further into the room. She stopped at the foot of Steve's bed, standing up straight, with her arms clasped in front of her. Her looked at her skeptically.

"Where am I?" He asked, confusion evident in his voice, but with an assertive tone.

"You're in a recovery room in New York City," she said, still smiling. He looked her up and down, checking her uniform for fault, but it was perfect. He turned back to the radio, the game getting more and more exciting, but he knew what would happen. He had seen it firsthand.

He looked back at her, clenching his jaw. They almost had him fooled. Almost.

He could see it in her eyes that she realised that he knew. He knew and he wanted the truth.

"Where am I? Really."

She chuckled, smiling slightly at him again.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she said, tilting her head to the side, feigning confusion.

He held her gazed, wanting to see her reaction.

"The game. It's from May 1941. I know because I was there," he replied. Her façade dropped slightly. "Now. I'm gonna ask you again," he calmly, but his voice full of authority so she knew not to mess with him. He slowly stepped closer to her. "Where am I?" He asked again, keeping his cool.

Her façade dropped completely as he neared her, leaving her looking scared. His eyes bore into her, telling her to answer and answer quickly.

"Captain Rogers..."