"Why not?" Tony Stark said, pressing his hand against the observation glass.

"In all the recordings my father left behind—texts, video logs, the whole archive—he talks more about his inventions than anything else. But second to that, it's Steve Rogers. Even we don't get that much attention. We're ranked behind a seventy-year-old frozen war hero."

He stared through the glass at the unconscious man lying on the medical bed.

"From the way he wrote about him, you'd think Captain America was some kind of myth. Just pure praise, top to bottom. Like he wasn't even human."

Tony turned slightly toward Malrick, his expression unreadable.

"I want to see just how human—or not—he really is."

Malrick gave him a knowing look. "So… you're jealous?"

Tony scoffed. "You think this is about jealousy? You think I want to bring Captain America into the Avengers just so I can one-up him in the headlines?"

Malrick didn't answer right away. The silence said enough.

The truth was obvious. Tony had only been praised a handful of times by his father, and most of those were buried in backhanded compliments. Meanwhile, Steve Rogers got full-blown admiration—hero worship, even.

Of course Tony was bitter about it.

He just wasn't going to admit it.

"Jealous?" Tony repeated. "Please. I'm not jealous of someone who's been on ice for seventy years."

That was definitely a nerve. Malrick could tell.

"Do you see Coulson over there?" Tony pointed to the other side of the glass. "The guy's a Captain America superfan. If it weren't for him pushing this rescue op, I'd have left Mr. Ice Pop right where we found him. Frozen. Preserved. Shelved for another decade."

"I'm being a humanitarian, and you think this is about me being jealous?"

Malrick looked past the glass. Coulson was standing by Steve's bedside, staring at the unconscious soldier with a kind of awe in his eyes. It wasn't just admiration—it was reverence.

Now that he thought about it, Coulson had looked at him with a similar gleam during past missions.

"Maybe you're right," Malrick replied, not fully committing either way.

Then he turned toward the air and said aloud, "Jarvis, what do you think?"

Jarvis's voice responded from the speaker next to him. "Young Master Malrick, I can confirm that Agent Coulson is indeed a devoted admirer of Captain Rogers. However, the initiative to begin the recovery mission came from Mr. Stark."

Malrick smirked and raised a hand toward Tony. "See? I don't doubt your intentions. I doubt your narrative."

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. Jarvis having opinions was quickly becoming a problem.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'm a little curious, okay? But I'm not jealous."

"Sir, I also don't believe you are," Jarvis added cheerfully. "Jealousy has never been one of your dominant personality traits."

Tony grinned. "See? Jarvis gets me."

Malrick shook his head with a chuckle. "You're unbelievable."

He glanced back toward Coulson. "Why's he still here, anyway? Isn't he Fury's guy? You're mobilizing Avengers now to handle the Skrull situation—shouldn't he be packing?"

"Soon. Once Rogers wakes up, Coulson's heading to Wakanda to open talks. Right now, he just wants a minute with his idol before he ships out."

Tony sighed. "Besides, even if Coulson is loyal to Fury, that doesn't mean he trusts the Skrulls."

"When we reorganized S.H.I.E.L.D. into the Avengers initiative, both Hill and Barton flagged the Skrulls as a major security threat."

"Can't really blame them," Malrick admitted. "Any species that can shape-shift into anyone is going to trigger red flags. That's instinct."

"Exactly," Tony said. "Even Nick Fury hasn't convinced half our people that they're trustworthy."

"Speaking of," Malrick tilted his head. "You think Fury's plans for integration are actually viable?"

"No clue what Fury's thinking," Tony muttered. Then he glanced at the clock. "Seven minutes left. You sure Ice Pop is fine?"

He frowned at the glass. "Jarvis said he'd be conscious by now."

"He's healthy," Malrick assured him. "All his cells are intact. It's borderline miraculous. Neural activity is picking up. Jarvis's timing is close—he'll be awake soon."

He paused, then added with a smirk, "But doesn't this feel like we're a bunch of dwarves anxiously waiting for Snow White to wake up?"

Tony laughed. "Maybe he's just waiting for his Prince to kiss him."

"You volunteering, Prince Tony?"

"Sorry, Pepper has exclusive kissing rights now," he replied, tapping the glass with a grin.

"Besides, anyone who's read Captain America's storybook knows he owes Peggy Carter a dance. Maybe we should be calling Agent Carter instead."

Malrick's smile faded slightly at the mention of Carter.

On the other side of the glass, Steve Rogers opened his eyes.

They were a sharp, icy blue—filled with disorientation and fragments of the past.

The first thing he saw was a ceiling he didn't recognize. The smell of disinfectant filled his nose. His senses, dulled by decades of cryostasis, were rebooting all at once.

The crash.

The ice.

And now... this?

With sudden alertness, Steve sat up halfway, instinctively gripping the blanket as a potential weapon.

"Where am I? Who are you people?" he demanded.

He scanned the room with trained eyes, taking in the layout, exits, positions of personnel, and anything he could use to defend himself.

It was pure instinct—Super Soldier conditioning.

The bed was medical-grade. High-end equipment lined the walls. There was one exit. A one-way mirror. Posters of technological advancements from the 1950s to the 2000s. Each marked with dates and filled with images—televisions, satellites, phones, vehicles, cityscapes.

He was seeing the world evolve in snapshots. The future in time-lapse.

And it was overwhelming.

The confusion in his eyes slowly turned to something deeper. Not fear. Not hostility. But sorrow.

Then Coulson stepped forward, awkward and nervous, like a fan meeting his childhood hero.

"Captain," he said gently. "You're awake. Welcome back. It's 2008. You've been out for nearly seventy years."

Steve stared blankly at him.

"Seventy… years?"

He turned back to the posters, each one revealing more of what had changed, what had been lost.

People. Friends. Moments. A dance.

Gone.

Frozen in a different kind of time.

Steve Rogers sat there in silence, trying to process a world that had moved on without him.

---

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