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"So the Dodgers are tied, 4 to 4, and the crowd well knows that one swing of this bat and this fella's capable of making it a brand new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field. The Phillies have managed to tie it up at 4 to 4, but the Dodgers have three men on," a man's voice crackled through the speaker of the radio across the room.
Steve Rogers sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. A car horn blared outside and he quickly turned toward the open window. As the announcer continued his commentary, Steve focused on what he was hearing, or rather, hearing again. He tensed for a fight as the only door to the room opened and a pretty brunette in a military uniform walked through.
"Good morning," she said with a soft smile as she checked her watch. "Or should I say afternoon?"
"Where am I?" Steve demanded.
"You're in a recovery room in New York City."
Steve looked the woman from head to toe, noting her lack of rank and insignia on her shirt. Everything about this woman was wrong. He glanced at the radio, still broadcasting the Dodgers/Phillies baseball game. His eyes met hers as he asked, "Where am I? Really."
She demurred with a scoff. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"The game. It's from May, 1941. I know 'cause I was there." He watched the woman's demeaner become serious, so Steve stood and slowly approached her. "Now, I'm going to ask again: where am I?"
"Captain Rogers," she began, then stopped. She huffed. "I told them this wouldn't work. You have an eidetic memory. It's in your file." He saw her glance behind him before stepping closer to him and speak barely above a whisper. "You're in a S.H.I.E.L.D. office in downtown Manhattan. Out this door, a set of double doors, and to your left is the main exit. Go!" She moved away to his right just as two men in black uniforms burst through the door.
Steve shoved both men through the wall and jumped over the debris. He looked back at the woman, seeing her nod. He had nothing to lose and decided to follow her advice. The double doors were twenty feet in front of him. He shoved them off their hinges as he barreled through, knocking over an agent as he made his escape. He heard an alarm go out over the intercom as he ran to his left. The glass exit doors were exactly where she said. He took care to not break these doors as he hit the streets of Times Square.
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Khristina grumbled under her desk as she changed out the surge protector for her desktop computer. She crawled backwards out of the cubby hole, using her chair for leverage as she struggled to her feet. "I'm not even supposed to be here today! Fucking tech illiterate people. It's a PHONE. It's not hard to use. Jesus Christ!" she ranted while digging around the file folders and searching for the one she needed. "They're pre-set. All you need is turn it on, unlock it, and GO. Fuck my life."
Someone knocked on the jamb of her open office door. "Hello," the someone said, getting her attention. She looked over at Captain Rogers and sighed loudly. Someone had taken him clothes shopping. He wore khaki slacks and a light green, gingham dress shirt with a white t-shirt underneath.
"Are you the one with the phone problems?" she asked.
"I'm one of the 'fucking tech illiterate people'," he replied with a small grin, holding up his mobile phone. She held out a hand and he gave it to her. Steve closed the door as she examined the device.
"It's a touch screen, not a punch screen," she stated as she pointed to the shattered screen.
Steve slid his hands in his pants pockets. "I needed a reason to see you." He watched as she worked, quickly changing out the broken screen for an unblemished one.
"You could tell Fury we're soulmates." She held out his newly repaired phone.
"I never wanted to be a lab rat," he replied.
"You know, we could apply for a research grant. Call it Operation: Reproduce. We'll require at least a year before the first prototype can be launched." She grew animated, gesturing with her hands and reminding him of Howard Stark. "Are you going to take this, or ...?"
"Oh. Thank you." He took back his mobile and placed it in one of his front pockets. There was momentary silence of the pair looking at each other. He gestured with his eyes at one of the corners of the ceiling. "Does Fury know about us?"
Khristina waved it off. "This office is bug-proofed. They keep planting them and I keep finding them. I have a feed loop that rotates scenes so the cameras are pointless. No sound either." She tidied the rest of her desk as she spoke. "My bosses can't be mad. I was hired because of how good I am with computers and tech surveillance. Besides, the soulmark on my file is listed as gray, meaning my soulmate is dead. Also, it's illegible. Have you always had shitty handwriting?"
His face grew warm with embarrassment. He looked at the floor and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It's gotten better. I did have to sign a lot of autographs during the USO tours." She chuckled, causing him to relax. "May I see it?"
"Sure," she said and stood up. She gave him her back and started pulling her top from her waistband.
"Oh, you don't-" Steve said as he quickly put his hands on her to stop her.
She glanced over her shoulder. "It's not anywhere bad, Steve. Well, not bad for 2012, but for the 1940s ...ehh." She wiggled a hand back and forth. "It's at the base of my spine, just above my ... uh, you know."
"Ass crack?" he supplied with a grin.
"Oh shut up." She held her shirt tail up while pulling her waistband down. There is was in bright red; his initials written in his chicken scratch.
"That's definitely my handwriting. Damn, it was bad." He'd been thirteen and attempting an artistic scrawl to sign his drawings. He gently swiped his thumb across the mark, absorbing the warmth of her skin. "My turn." She stayed facing away, hearing his clothes shift. Steve was thankful for the courtesy. "You can look now."
"Oh my God!" she squealed and proceeded to giggle. "I haven't written my initials like that since I was nine. Ugh, it even has the sparkling lines at the end of the y." She brushed two fingers along the area below his left hip bone. "Khristina Ann Yarnell, in case you didn't know."
"Steven Grant Rogers, in case you didn't know," he teased back. They adjusted their clothing to a semblance of presentability.
"Well, you should get going. God knows somebody's keeping an eye on you," she said. "Is there anything else you need?"
Steve bit his bottom lip, thinking hard. He decided to go for it. He stepped closer to her, slipping his arms around her waist. "Operation: Reproduce, you said?" She barked a laugh and raised herself up to kiss him on the mouth.