Seventy years, Steve was seventy years older than he felt like he had any right to be. He didn't feel 96 years old.

Then again, he didn't look it either.

Steve Rogers looked the same age he'd been when he sabotaged the Red Skull's plot to attack America. He felt the same way he'd felt during the War.

It had only been a couple of weeks since they'd thawed out his body - reviving him from what he believed was certain death when he plunged into the water. It wasn't clear if it was the serum that made him into a super-soldier, some side effect from that damned glowing cube or just divine provenance that kept him alive, but Steve Rogers was feeling in a praying mood as of late. He had a lot to be thankful for and a lot more people who needed someone to pray for them.

World War II they called it. It was a distant memory for most people today - an apparently fond one given that America won. Winning was a relief but "fond" didn't really describe Steve's memory of fighting the Nazis or of the horrors he'd seen on the battlefield. He didn't know the full magnitude of what had happened after he disappeared, not yet. Shield was slowly feeding him the details of the war at the suggestion of his doctors. They were worried that too much information too quickly, would damage him psychologically.

Steve was made of sterner stuff than they gave him credit but honestly, he too happy war was over to bother fighting a man a third his age who labored under the impression that a lab coat provided absolute authority. Steve would learn the details of what they these men afraid would break him. He would mourn the losses and cheer the victories in time. He could enjoy peace for a moment.

He leaned back on the bench, chewing on his bagel and enjoying the view of central park as he sipped at a hot cup of coffee. New York had changed, but not so much that a man couldn't get a buttered bagel and a black cuppa Joe. He pretended not to notice the Shield Agents doing their best to inconspicuous around him. He hadn't actually expected Fury to allow him out of the house without supervision and the Head of Shield had been polite enough not to mention the protection detail when Steve informed his doctors of his plan to go mass.

Not a request, not a suggestion and definitely not a wish. It was his intention to go to mass. Steve was patient but unless there was a pressing medical reason to do so, he would not be denied his right to worship.

There had been some resistance at first but only at first. Nobody wanted to be the guy who denied Captain America the right to pray. It wasn't a great look.

Steve wasn't Catholic but St. Patrick's Cathedral was a landmark he recognized and he figured that God wasn't going to get all bent up about something so annoyingly political as a denomination of prayer. The experience had been simultaneously comforting and deeply confusing - not the least of which because the service had been conducted entirely in English. Steve hadn't been looking forward to speaking or singing in Latin, his grades in Latin and Greek had been garbage in school, but for the Priest to speak entirely in English just felt wrong. Not that there had been anything objectionable about the Priest or his sermon.

Steve had quite liked it. He didn't understand half of the references the man made but it had been about loving each other and understanding the needs of your spouse. It was just generally nice to spend an hour around people devoting themselves to betterment and hoping for the best in the world.

He couldn't quite tell if he'd shown up horrifically overdressed or if most people had just showed up incredibly under dressed. There were plenty of men and women who showed up in what he would recognize as appropriate church attire but most of them were old enough to have been born before the Great War ended, WWI as they called it now. In an effort to feel like the belonged Steve just pocketed his tie and undid a couple buttons but he doubted he'd ever show up without a proper suit. It just wasn't right.

Though, as he lingered in Central Park enjoying his breakfast, he couldn't help but realize that the shorter sleeve shirts favored by most men in the park would be a lot cooler than his tweed jacket. It wasn't like the heat bothered him, the Super Soldier serum had more or less rendered him immune to extreme temperatures, but it would probably be slightly nicer for hadn't undergone the treatment.

A couple sat down on the bench across from him, a young man and woman - clearly in love. The man cradled his lover in his arms, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. It was a scene as normal to Steve's time and as alien as any he'd seen thus far. Necking wasn't exactly unknown for young lovers on a park bench, even in the 30's. Interracial necking, however, was something that Steve still wasn't quite used to seeing in public but given how prevalent it seemed to be, that was just another way that society had changed.

He smiled at how in love they were. They made a cute couple.

He finished his bagel, brushing off the knees of his pants legs and standing up with a grunt as he twisted left and right to work the kinks out of his back. His joints popped wetly, sending satisfying waves of relief as his spine realigned from the effort. He binned his trash, walking away from the lovers as their public display started getting more public than he felt was strictly proper for a Sunday afternoon in the park.

He strolled along the path, just taking in the sights. Central Park was delightfully verdant, smelling of flowers and wet earth. People were eating picnics as families, playing frisbee, and generally mucking about with their free time. Men and women were seated in various locations with their wares laid out on blankets, offering portraits, personal items and parephenatial of all descriptions for a modest fee. Police Officers on horseback patrolled the park, going to the places that the otherwise ubiquitous automobiles of modern NYC couldn't.

It was amazing how little the city had changed in spite of how different things were. Flying cars didn't seem to have been the game changer advertised by Stark Industries and there were a lot fewer robots than he might have hoped to see. He wandered vaguely in the direction of the Zoo, wondering what new animals he might see that hadn't even been discovered before the war.

A dog scurried over the path in front of him, leash trailing behind it as a woman's voice yelled, "Marco! Come!" in vain desperation in spite of the dog's disinterest. Steve stepped on the leash, pinning the eager creature in place before reaching down to pick up the lead. The dog strained against the leather, looking up at Steve in apparent disbelief having seemingly never previously been unable to break free if it felt so inclined.

It was painfully clear that this woman was entirely out of her depth.

"Sorry Fido, can't have you galavanting around like you own the place." Steve apologized to the bemused canine.

Marco's owner, an exhausted looking woman red in the face from running, came up to Steve near doubled up from exertion. Steve stood there, smiling and waiting for the woman to catch her breath before holding out his hand. "Steve."

"Carol," The woman said in a single, exasperated exhalation. "Thanks… he's a handful when my Husband or sons aren't around."

"I can't say I've seen a dog like this one before." Steve reached down and ruffled the dog's fur. It sat in layers, round floppy bits of skin hanging over each other like a stack of flapjacks. The dog leaned into the petting as Steve shoved the wobbles up and down the dogs body.

"He's a Shar Pei." The woman replied, a Puero Rican lilt returning to her voice as she recovered. "They're from China."

"I've never seen one before." Steve knelt down to rub the dog's belly as it flopped down, pointing its legs skyward and lolling it's tongue out the side of his mouth.

"I'm not surprised, they're not common." The woman smiled as Steve offered her the leash. "They're also not generally fond of strangers."

"I like dogs." Steve replied, standing up and brushing the dust off his pants leg. "China? Really?"

"Oh yeah, it was a big deal a while back." The woman scratched the dog's neck, earning a happy groan from the critter. "The Communists were killing the breed off as a decadent practice so a bunch of Americans mass imported the breed to save it from extinction. It's pretty much just an American breed now."

"Ah - I see." Steve lied. He was going to need to start making a list of this stuff. There was just too much to keep track of without a pen and paper. Steve grinned at the dog. "Are you going to be good to get that one back home."

"We'll see." Replied the Carol jokingly. "He generally doesn't misbehave but every once in a while even a good dog forgets how to be good."

"Aint' that the truth." Steve snorted, noticing the Shield Security detail out the corner of his eye. They didn't seem overly worried about the woman and her dog. Mostly they just seemed like they were putting excessive effort into pretending not to eavesdrop.

"I love the retro getup." Carol said, looking from the leather shoes, to the fitted pants and jacket.

It didn't feel retro to Steve but he supposed that, in and of itself, was a hint to how dated it actually was. The Shield provided wardrobe was full of clothing that was familiar to Steve. He was going to need to get used to the clothing favored by his new contemporaries - regardless of how it would have been considered outright pornographic seventy years ago.

She gestured to his wrist. "Can I?"

"Sure," Steve replied, pulling back the sleeve and showing her the wrist.

"Freaking cufflinks for the park?" Carol let out a whistle, then a laugh. "You going to a wedding or something."

"Church." Steve replied, shaking his sleeve back into place.

"Your girl dress you like that or you do it yourself?" Carol smiled, clicking her tongue against her teeth in thought.

"No girl, ma'am. Just a Sunday." Steve replied, his mind drifting to the woman for whom he would happily have dressed to the nines and the dance he never got to have. "Not really a lot of women in my life."

"Oh, sorry mijo. I didn't realize!" Carol snorted. "It's always the pretty ones."

"I'm lost." Steve blinked. "The pretty ones do what?"

"You're gay." The woman shrugged. "I should have guessed from how well put together you are. Gay men seem to have the best sense of style.

"Oh, yes." Steve nodded. He was, after all, generally happy with his lot in life. "I've got a lot to be gay about these days."

"I've got a perfect guy for you mijo. My buddy John. He's always going on about how hard it is to meet people in this town and he'd love your style." Carol rooted through her handbag and pulled out a slip of paper, writing a telephone number in neat script upon it. "That is, if you're looking to make a new friend?"

"I actually don't have much of a social life lately." Steve replied, taking the slip of paper from her and considering it. He didn't really know anyone and it would be nice to spend time with someone who would just interact with "Steve" and not "Captain America." Who knows, if they got along well maybe they'd go on a double date or something? He hadn't done that since before the war and Joe would probably be able to set him up on a blind date. "A new friend sounds nice."

Steve considered his plans for the next weekend. He'd been trying to catch up on everything he'd missed, starting with the stuff he never quite got around to in the 40's. And he had, come to think of it, booked two tickets for next Friday. There had been a two for one sale and Steve's depression era sensibilities wouldn't let him turn down anything free. "Do you think he'd want to go to Annie with me? I've got an extra ticket."

"You're gonna get along, just fine mijo." The Puerto Rican woman rolled her eyes. "He's a backup dancer for Rent."

"Oh, really?" Steve nodded thinking about it. He'd spent enough time in the USO to be able to have some common ground with this new friend. "I was actually a headliner. Definitely paid the rent for me."

"You are too much mijo." Carol passed him the telephone number and walked away with her dog. "Just tell her Carol set you up with him - and that he owes me one."

"Yes ma'am." Steve pocketed the slip and walked back down the path, making a mental note to ask Fury why his Shield security detail seemed to have gotten a fit of the giggles. Today really was a remarkably beautiful day.