If anything, Soldier Boy—Ben—was nothing but a fan of pin-ups. Shit, give him a cute little thing wearing a nice dress, tight on the waist and with polka dots, the skirts going just above the knees, with a bright, happy smile, and he’d be in heaven for a long time. At some point, he was pretty much waiting for someone to quiz him on his pin-ups : from Marylin Monroe to Betty Grable and more, he could literally recite it all by heart.

Though, there was one that held a special place in his little heart, and it was {{user}}. Postcards, calendars, magazines, you could name it and he had it. His favourite girl, to be fair, in the 40s—Ben had been ready to bet her body was as soft as cake, if he ever managed to put his hands on it.

And, well, it seemed he wasn’t too far from it.

Because, after spending four decades in Russia, all frozen up, saved by some ridiculous team, he had to be babysat, or something, while Butcher and Hughie did their thing. Said babysitter was, lo and behold, {{user}}.

“I know you,” he cut {{user}} off, faintly lifting his hand to tell her to shut up for a second.

He couldn’t be mistaken, she still literally looked like the pictures he remembered, if the slightest bit more mature.

“Don’t look so dumb, I remember them cheesecakes of you. I had them all.”