Patriotic

SUMMARY: He's my neighbor, though we don't really talk to each other. That until I found out that he was Captain America. (slow romance build up)

My bad day started when I woke up to hear an annoying stream of incessant knocking. It was a Sunday, for crying out loud, and it was the only day of the week that I could sleep in. Normally, I woke up around the afternoon, so you could guess the explosive expression on my face when I rolled off my bed and read that it was 7:45 AM.

I practically threw open my door and growled out an unpleasant "What?" It took all my self-restraint not to, now that I found myself facing before my neighbor, Blondie.

Blondie frowned, obviously displeased about my disheveled appearance. He once nagged to me about keeping up a good lifestyle by waking up early every morning, but it wasn't like I really listened. "Miss Won," he said curtly.

I nodded. "Morning," I said.

There was a stretch of silence.

"What?" I asked.

His frown deepened. "If you don't mind," he articulated with patience, "could you please spare a cup of sugar? I'm afraid I don't have time to make it to the store today."

These were one of those rare moments when Blondie would request something from me, and the disapproving looks and speech decorum always followed. But, really, how can I refuse? Despite having the appearance of a typical class-A jock, Blondie possessed a look that all unhappy mothers would kill for, not to mention the power to nag. So, deciding that I could use one less mom, I retreated back into my apartment and grabbed a box of sugar.

And, of course, Blondie would have a cup ready in his hand.

Normally, I wouldn't bother making small talk with Blondie, but I couldn't help but be curious. "Why don't you have time to run to the store?" I asked, opening the tab of the box. "You usually wake up early to jog, yeah?" I gestured to his work-out clothes he had on.

"I did plan to buy sugar on the way, but…unexpected business came up, so I couldn't go out. I only have time to make oatmeal cookie dough for the retirement home."

The little knowledge I had about Blondie was that not only did he keep a ridiculous (well, to me it was) morning schedule, but he volunteered at random places. His official job—whatever it was—called him whenever he was needed, and sometimes he would be gone for long periods of time—days, weeks—and he would come back with these cuts and bruises.

I was initially wary when this first happened, but I eventually got over it. Maybe it was because every time I passed by my neighbor's door, I could literally smell red, white, and blue wafting up my nose. It wasn't like he stamped patriotic stickers all over his doorframe or had an American Flag welcome mat. He just seemed like the genuine old-fashioned American man. I mean, the guy volunteers to help the old and the poor, and give cheesy ethical lectures and nags—you'd think he'd be the golden and glory personified.

Blondie's forehead creased as he continued talking. I was a bit surprised to hear him in a talking mood. "Which is rather disappointing because I really did want to surprise one of the ladies there with my cookies. She didn't believe me when I said that I enjoyed baking."

"Mmm." I poured the sugar to the brim of his cup. "Well, there's always next time, and that'll be the time when you get back from your business." Whatever it was.

He shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Yup."

"Thank you for the sugar, Miss Won. I do appreciate it."

"No problem." I closed the door with a slight slam, eager to get back to bed.

My bad day continued when I stepped on my other foot and fell face forward.

XOXOXOXO

My bad day continued on my way to the grocery store. On my way there, some kid tripped and smeared his ice cream all over my sweater, and then I had to explain to an angry mother that it wasn't my fault. Seriously—I was victimized by a fuming lady who went on a ten minute rant about how "young adults should watch where they're going!"

Then, once that was out of my hair, Iron Man flew across the skies in a blur of red and gold, which I later found myself within a loud and pushing crowd of people—someone jabbed me in the ribs, and there will be a bruise right there.

Of course, if Iron Man's here, then Captain America, the Hulk, that Viking guy who wields a hammer, and two other people show up. Curious as to why they're in Brooklyn, but if they're here then that might just mean that danger is on the loose.

"Get the civilians to safety!" shouted a faint blue figure to the police officers. It was Captain America.

Again, I was being pushed and shoved by flailing arms. One arm smacked me on the nose.

This really sucked. Not just because there was trouble in the streets, but because I had nothing at home to eat! My dinner, and tomorrow's breakfast and lunch were supposed to be bought today—and yet this happened.

And what sucked even more? The fact that all the civilians were pushed into the subways, and I had to be squished against Gary Abbas. Gary—freaking—Abbas. It was as if my day couldn't get any worse.

Apparently, with my back turned facing him, he couldn't see that it was me, so I kept my position that way. Unfortunately, I was breathing in a hobo's lovely aroma from a rather personal distance, but, hey, sure beats turning around and show Gary Abbas the pretty chocolate picture painted all over my sweater.

Finally, after thirty minutes of just standing and suffocating, the Avengers' fight was over. Heck, I didn't know what they were fighting against, but I'm sure I'll find out in the news. We couldn't leave until everyone was all checked and accounted for, and then we were all instructed to go home.

So. No dinner. No breakfast or lunch either.

Well, the goodish news? Gary Abbas never noticed that it was me who was before him. I think he was too immersed talking about the Avengers with his peers; he always gets excited whenever it came to the Avengers. It was Captain America in high school, and then the Avengers.

Gary Abbas was cute and all, but he should tone it down with the super hero infatuation.

XOXOXOXO

"What happened to your forehead?"

I was taking a nap because any sane person would after a hard Sunday, and Sunday's weren't supposed to be hard at all. Today was such illogicality—such hardships on a Sunday should be illegalized. I swear, the next guy who runs for President and promises to make it the 28th amendment or whatever, I'll even drag Captain America to vote for him. Anyone would vote for someone if Captain America approves of the person—duh.

While I was sleeping, ever so comfortably on my comfortable couch, I was startled awake by knocking. Unremitting knocking that will never end unless I open the door. One guess who that could be.

So, I literally fell off the couch, gained another bruise to match the one that an elbow gave me, and called Blondie a stupid butthole under my breath before opening the door. As if I'll ever take the risk of calling Blondie that; he might melt me down with his death-ray glare of disapproval.

Blondie stood there with his hair mussed up, his face covered in sheen of sweat and dust, and small cuts and bruises littered his skin. Seeing him like this wasn't out of the norm; I think he worked for an agency or something.

Blue eyes zeroed in on my forehead, and thus came the blurted question: "What happened to your forehead?"

"I tripped," I said honestly. Usually, I would just lie to him so that he would go away, but the "I tripped" excuse would have been both a lie—depending on my intention—or a truth—which it actually was.

Blondie, of course, was not convinced. And, judging by that firm line from his lips, I could say that he had another lecture to give me. Was that all our discussions could ever be limited to? Our short meets 'n greets and berates from Mr. Priggish? I think he's been hanging around those old people too often. He sometimes even talks like them.

Instead of giving me an earful, he said, "Miss Won."

"Oh, come on," I groaned, exasperated and tired—more so tired. "I really did trip! What? You thought that some guy just started swinging his arms around and elbow my forehead for no reason? Because that'd be really weird; I got an elbow bruise on my ribs, actually, from the time when the Avengers came to defeat a monster or whatever villain." Oh my gosh—I must've been really out of it.

He blinked. "You—you got injured?"

"No! Just—when the civilians had to be out of the way by Captain America's orders, we were all clumped up in a squished crowd, and everyone was panicking, so…yeah," I said, gesticulating nonsensically.

"Oh."

"So…" I began. "Was there something that you needed?"

"I, um." He looked down. "Never mind. I'm sorry to bother you, Miss Won."

I shrugged dismissively. "Yeah. Sure."

"And, also, may I advise something?"

Ah, no.

"I suggest that you take more protein supplements," he said. "I have noticed that you're often suffering from exhaustion from day to day, and you bring over little groceries."

Was this Blondie's way of being a good neighbor? Okay, not only was he doing a terrible job at it, but he was totally nitpicking my refrigerator, intentional or not.

"Gee, thanks," I said, trying to keep my teeth from grinding. "I'll keep that in mind."

I made sure to slam the door a little harder than this morning.

XOXOXOX

The next morning, I was utterly miserable.

I was tired.

I was hungry.

And I totally forgot that essay I had to do over the weekend.

Life sucks.

As I dragged my miserable, miserable, pathetic self out the door, wishing that a meteor crashed onto the building my classes were held in, I almost collided into Blondie.

"Oh, Miss Won," he said.

"Hi," I muttered.

I turned on my heel and was about to walk down the stairs until he called out, "Miss Won, I wanted to know if you would like some cookies that I baked last night. I happened to make an extra too much."

Cookies made by Blondie's magical baking hands? Heck yes. Though the man was a total butt sometimes, the few times I tried his baking were the sweetest moments of my life. Second to when Gary Abbas helped pick up my dropped books when we knocked into each other in our first year of college, but still.

Plus, I didn't have breakfast.

"Yes," I said, grinning.

I had better days, but Blondie's food always brightened up my mood.