He's sitting in the corner booth, the one that everyone in the goddamn diner knows is hers, talking to the owner of the diner, with a sketchpad with a half complete drawing abandon by his elbow and an elderly woman named Lulu, who's father, Mr Capek, had owned the diner when Maria's grandparents first moved into the neighbourhood in the thirties. Lulu's laughing at something he said, tears of mirth running down her aged face. It's odd to see him out of uniform and it takes her several seconds to realise that it is, in fact, him.

Besides the fact that he's sitting in her booth, the booth Lulu'd let her sleep in when she got into fights with her parens and ran out of the apartment, the booth she'd had her first kiss in, the booth she'd crashed in after prom when she was too drunk to go home, the booth that she'd scratched her initials on the jukebox that sat on the end of the table. It was her fucking booth and Steve Rogers had no right to be there.

'Maria!' Lulu's hailing her to come over now and Maria does so, even if she is slightly disgruntled.

'Lulu, Rogers.' Maria's being a bitch, she knows that, but she can't seem to help it. Acme is her turf and can't she have on little thing not get sullied by the goddamn Avengers?

'Oh, you two are acquainted already?' Here Maria, and evidently he, flounders for a second.'Why didn't you tell me you work with the Avengers Maria?' Lulu's tone is jokingly accusatory but Maria cringes.

'Work protocols.' Maria eventually decides. It's the truth, the easiest of lies really.

'Another float, Hon? How about something for you Maria?' Maria nods and Lulu signals a waitress that Maria knows is her granddaughter. 'Lola, get Maria her usual.' Maria sees Steve's forehead crinkle slightly, as if confused by the idea that she has a usual.

'So, how do you know Lulu?' Maria asks. The woman herself has bustled off to go deal with some other regular so it's just Maria and Steve sitting stiffly across the table from each other.

'My mother. Mr Capek used to give her work when we were short on money, Lulu and I grew up together.' This makes Maria feel guilty for being a bitch, knowing that, no matter his monetary station now, his mother once had to work three or four jobs just to feed them.

'Oh.'

'It wasn't really that bad. People died and lots of the time we didn't have enough food to eat, but I really learned to appreciate what I have.' And there he goes again, making her feel guilty for her white, middle-class, 1980s upbringing.

'That's nice, I guess.' She knows it's not enough. In no way is 'That's nice, I guess' good enough when sympathizing with someone who grew up in one of the world's greatest economic disasters. But really, what else can she say? Yeah, she knows she can defiantly say more without even cracking her bitchy, hard-ass exterior, but she doesn't.

They sit at the booth of the diner, Maria eating her fries and hamburger, Rogers with his sketchpad. They sit like this for hours. He leaves before her, the crumpled remnants of a piece of sketching paper lying on the table. She grabs it, curious, and smoothes it out on the table. It's a sketch of her, which is weird on so many levels. She's twirling a fry, the tip dipped in ketchup, between her fingers as she stares pensively out the window (Pensive, hah, she was trying to decide if she still had some of the meatloaf her mother sent over in her fridge or if she'd have to go shopping.) He's made her look beautiful, airbrushed her like a supermodel in one of those magazines her niece reads. She's gorgeous, and for one little second she wonders what was going through his head when he drew it.

Whatever, he's just an Avenger.