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"–I need those reports on my desk by 16:00. Don't let me down, Nielson. Because you know what happens when you let me down. You let Joan down, and nobody... wants... that."

The plain-clothes that just crossed the threshold stops in the middle of the room. He doesn't look particularly distressed, but he's poking around with his cane, obviously perplexed.

After about twenty seconds, he cracks a smile.

"Oh, this place again. You know," he says, addressing the great expanse of nothing; "a little warning would be nice. You know, for those of us who are expecting a chair seven steps in front of us."

He shouldn't drink while he's on the clock.

But a light beer shouldn't hurt.

Bridget laughs.

"I'd think you'd be used to it by now," she says, twisting to address him over the back of the couch.

Steph Rogers opens the door to the bar. No, not that one. The one that leads to the forest and lake. Idleness is a concept she's still working on, in the most constructive ways possible, and as cathartic as tearing open a row of heavy bags in her local gym is (really is), she'd like to avoid that in the closely populated space of Milliways.

Running is good that way. Running is helpful.

So there's a very tall, kind of sweaty woman coming into the bar, wearing running shorts and zipping up a hoodie over a plain white t-shirt. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail and her face is flushed with a runner's high as she asks - and receives - a bottle of water from Bar.

Bridget glances up at her, then back down at the game.

—Then up again, with an almost comical double-take.

Steph turns as she lifts the bottle, surveying the room before taking her first drink. It's habit and one she doesn't feel the need to break. Nothing wrong with knowing who's in a crowded room with you, where they are, what they're doing. So she notices the first glance.

It's not until the second drink she notices the double-take.

There's a moment of surprise on Steph's part first before she lowers the bottle, grins, and gives the woman a friendly nod. Sometimes folks will do that when they first notice her height, although Steph's seen a few women in Milliways who could give her a run for her money.

She hesitates for a moment—a long moment, at least a few seconds.

Then she says, tentatively, "Captain Rogers?"

And that would be the other reason some people stare.

Steph pauses, looking a little caught-out for a moment, and then puts a smile back on. She wasn't expecting to have to do this now, but she doesn't mind all that much. Especially since the woman hasn't asked for an autograph yet.

"Yes, ma'am," she says, switching the water bottle to her left hand so she can step closer and offer her right for a handshake. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," she says a little wryly, pausing her game and reaching forward to shake Steph's hand. "Again. I'm Bridget—Bridget Banner."

Well, that knocked the smile right off her face.

"Er. Excuse me?"

She'd ask about a sister, honestly, if she hadn't already met a Steve Rogers, and if the woman hadn't said 'again.'

"I know another Captain Rogers. She goes by Steve. The resemblance is uncanny. Let me guess—you know a Bruce?"

Familiar blue eyes blink at her.

Then, with a heavy sigh, Steph rounds the seating area to find an empty chair nearby, a furrow between her eyebrows. "I do, yes. And it is good to meet you, Dr. Banner."

By way of being friendly, Bridget sits forward a little on the couch and sets her tablet down in her lap.

"Alien invasion, extradimensional artifact, rogue Norse god? Just so we're on the same page. In my world she turned out to be a goddess but I'm given to understand that's not, so to speak, universal."

Steph settles back in her chair, one leg tucked beneath her, and smirks a little at the sum-up. "No, I suppose not. But then, your Steve Rogers - or a Steve Rogers, I guess," and isn't that a weird thought, "told me he works with Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton.

"But Loki was a man-- well, he was male anyway."

"Clint and Natasha," Bridget confirms. "And me and Thor and Tony. But our Loki was a woman."

Her smile flickers, struggling to keep down a full grin of amusement.

"Claire and Nikolai, Thor, Tony, Bruce, and me."

"That's an interesting point of divergence between universes," she muses. "I have to think that whatever controls the door to this place is picking us out on purpose."

"For fun?" Steph guesses, skeptical. She takes another drink from her water and runs a hand through her hair, a little abashed to be caught sweaty and unmade up in an- acquaintance's? - presence. Though Bridget doesn't seem to care.

"Have you met your, um... have you met Bruce?"

"I have not," she admits. And no, she doesn't care about Steph's sweat and lack of makeup. She is perhaps the last person in the world who'd care, considering. "I'm not entirely sure it would be a good idea. It's not likely that we'd argue, but if we did..."

It wouldn't be pretty.

Right.

It's not that Steph didn't like Steve, exactly, but she hadn't met him at a good time for either of them. He'd taken it all right, she thinks, but Steph... well, she's not entirely proud of how she took the news.

She's not sure how to continue the conversation either. Drawing attention to Bru-Bri- Dr. Banner's condition doesn't seem right, but neither does ignoring it completely.

"I don't think that'd be specific to you, if it helps," she finds herself saying, glancing up at the woman hesitantly. "It's bound to rattle anyone, coming up on a- a double like that."

Oh, yes, the dodging. Bridget is familiar with the dodging. She tries not to hold it against anyone, especially people like—Cap, who is so genuinely nice it's almost painful to think about.

"Yeah. That would be what worries me," she says wryly. "Thankfully, I don't rattle easily."

"You'd probably handle it better than I did," Steph admits, smile equal parts friendly and sheepish. Dr. Banner's careful calm has always been something she's admired and it might have been really useful that first day.

"That might depend," says Bridget. "I like to think he and I would both be better than that, but in the place where I keep my secret ridiculous fears there's a mental image of him joking about me waking up naked in strange places."

...Possibly she should've thought about that one a little more before she let it out of her mouth. Well, too late now.

She might be surprised. Where Steve most likely would have blushed and stammered, Steph-- well, she does blush, yes, but it's far less scandalous for a woman to talk about being naked in front of another woman.

So she laughs a little, too, soft, and not without sympathy.

And, luckily, holds her tongue enough not to immediately reply with what bothered her the most about talking to Steve.

"Honestly," she says after a moment, deciding on the lesser of two evils that had upset her, even if it's the one she's least proud of, "just the fact that there even was a Captain America who was a guy made me mad. He didn't need to do anything more than that."

"Yeah." She nods. "I get where you're coming from."

She quirks a smile.

"Did he do anything more than that? I mean, I can't exactly imagine him being rude about it. He's still, fundamentally, you."

Steph considers this for a moment, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together.

"Thank you? I think."