Ｒｅｔｒｏｕｖａｉｌｌｅｓ

。⓪④

The flight to his destination is uneventful, with only crap telly in Hausa to keep travellers occupied. It is when such poor entertainment choices have been zoned out that Steve opts to ride the majority of the trip with face shaded beneath his cap.

Yes it is indeed a complete waste of a good window seat and if he hadn't been blindly sleeping his way there, Steve would have surely traded places with the little boy who is constantly straining his neck to catch a glimpse of the sky and clouds outside. Unfortunately for the lad a broad chest and shoulders block his view.

Though it has slowed immensely from its prior rapidity Steve's clock is still ticking and his thoughts are predicting the possible outcomes of his little homecoming, not that there is anyone waiting for him.

Rogers had rented his place out to a seemingly decent couple. But as we all know looks can be deceiving and he wholeheartedly hopes that he will not return to a littered apartment that has him sneezing five seconds after entering.

Typical; Tony Stark – the iron man, receives an unfathomable fortune with all the wealth and fame one could ever wish for. Whilst Steve Rogers – the captain America, the man who saved his country innumerable times, can hardly afford his ever so decent place in Brooklyn. We must agree that there is something seriously wrong with this picture.

Well when the obstacles of security and crowds who know his face are behind, Steve can finally catch a breather and upon obtaining his luggage from the carrousel, commences to draw a deep sigh. With every step he takes towards his home, the stiff frame of the commander relaxes a little bit more.

Not up for walking the several blocks away he is from his flat Rogers hails a cab and reloads his belongings. The drive that follows is quiet up until a growl emanates and registering it to be the stomach of his cabby Steve is reminded of his own hunger he suddenly feels the need to satiate.

So a detour is taken to Katz's Delicatessen. And the captain orders a reuben.

"Will that be on rye bread?" asks the girl who holds the goods. She is smiling sweetly at the specimen nonetheless inwardly loathing the length of her working lunch shift. Despite this she gathered that a customer as smartly appealing as he deserved her best performance.

"Yes."

"Seeds, seedless, or marbled?"

"Marbled, please."

Five minutes later and Steve is holding a piping hot sandwich in his hands.

"Here you are mister, enjoy."

"Thank you." He turns to exit.

"Next time Rogers, it's on the house!" A different voice calls after him, it drips a thick New Yorker accent and is much more friendly in nature though with a gruff intone.

Steve pivots to see the one who had spoken. It takes him awhile before he eventually recognises the face to be that of the owner. One he had formed quite a tight and close bond with back in the day. As in 1939.

The man has aged as expected – unlike himself, but Steve need not explain. The vast majority of all his home state already know his story and they wear that fact on their sleeve with pride.

"Will do."

So smiling happily Steve heads back to his transport that has acquired another passenger.

He pays no attention to the person who has taken residence in the spot beside him and tries to ignore the irritating clicking of nails that tap at their phone screen without a seconds pause. Steve does however peer over to see what they are doing.

After doing so he tries not to think it odd that a full grown adult would be so engrossed in a game of Marvel's contest of champions. Unable to perceive the face of the player he grumbles before wolfing down his meal.

➖➖➖➖➖

His fellow passenger has since disembarked the ugly yellow automobile as the wheels slow to a stop in front of the apartment complex that houses what is his abode. Rogers is content to find that all is spiff inside and that the renters have regard for a punctual exit time – their presence absent.

Yet as soon as he enters his homely establishment does he leave it again for want of fresh air. And it is on this casual stroll that he happens upon an ongoing flea market on the popular Delancey street.

The lighthearted aura that encompasses the bustle makes the captain grin. He and Bucky used to make frequent trips to venues such as these.

The browsing that follows is aimless, that is until Steve comes across a very familiar looking book thats faded title sends a surge of fond nostalgia to course through him.

He stops in at the booth to survey its cover and content, opening it to the synopsis.

The pages are torn and tattered, discoloured from years of being moved from place to place no doubt. He wonders how many people have carried it... the nerds who added their scribbled notes, proud to hold yet another original copy in their extended and enviable collection. Little girls who thought it was a fairytale and highlighted in pink all the fancy words and phrases they didn't know. Old folks who appreciated a classic, reliving the joy and learning they gained from it.

And him.

'A Tree Grows In Brooklyn.' he says to himself softly.

Battered as it is the man is inclined to take it. He could well do for a good day of reading, however old fashioned it may seem. The infamous telltale of him being in his 90's follows him wherever he goes. So why not revel in it for once?

A streak of faint script catches his eye as he scans for the printed date. The previously pitch black ink has all but diminished into an almost unreadable scrawl. Still Steve is able to decipher that it is signed with an address and previous owner's name.

Rogers reads it aloud. "Gabrielle."