Captain Stephen Rogers felt the cool Brooklyn breeze on the back of his neck. He'd looked at the cracks in the sidewalk for three blocks. He'd looked up not once as cars drove by, shop windows rattled with talk. It was 9pm, a time for cruising that he never took advantage of in his small young years.

Deep down into the black cold he'd reposed, he'd waited. Perhaps it was fate for him to follow the power of Hydra, the confusing magic or technology of alien gods. He'd pounded through an army that had never been before beheld by the eyes of man. Their monstrous skin looked like the wrinkles of a willow-tree trunk. They had a multitude of thumbs and snarling displeased faces. They looked like animals to him.

Then he thought how we must have seemed so like animals to them. But The Avengers avenged. For Coulson, for the lost New Yorkers in the rubble; rubble that was still full of the sting left behind that faithful day in September more than a decade before the good Captain's thaw.

These thoughts and the Youtube footage ran through him like an old newsreel. He could hear the announcer's voice still affected as if recounting a battle in France, but talking of terrifying planes slamming into buildings so momentous that Rogers could barely imagine staring up at them in wonder.

He'd left S.H.I.E.L.D until they'd need him again. He flew off on two wheels with a smile on his face. But while he remained hopeful, his constant history lessons weighed him down. And this brisk evening he felt mopey. He'd thrown on his new non-standard uniform of jeans and a button-down shirt in a subtle plaid. He'd marveled at how many different types of plaid and checkers there existed in shirts. It seemed as though everything had become more complicated, even clothes. Yet he tried to remain hopeful that he might one day even figure out fashion.

The pocket of his leather jacket buzzed and tickled a jaunty tune. He was startled. After all, this was only the fifth text message he'd received in his entire life. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the complicated smartphone. He'd asked Stark if he had something simpler, but the playful rogue had insisted that if Cap could "Will Smith" an alien horde (whatever that meant), he could be brave enough to handle a touch screen.

So Steve Rogers held a tiny, powerful computer in his hand. He thought about how such a thing would've come in handy during the War, more handy than just for finding directions to a local pizza joint. Cap tapped the screen, hunted for the alert, and discovered that the text message (as the other four had been) was from Tony.

"Pepper thinks you're lonely, and I think you're the ultimate designated driver."

Rogers dropped a giggle. He'd come to find Stark endearing; he was like a concentrated version of his father.

So he tapped the text box and a keyboard sprang up. "True," he admitted to both counts, "but I'm busy." He sent the text. And even though he wasn't entirely forthright about the nature of his business, he did not particularly feel like "partying" with Tony Stark. Clubs and bars and flashy clothes were a bit too fast for him at this point. He consoled himself that, simply, it just wasn't up his alley. His humor couldn't handle another young girl in a tiny dress sliding her body against his without so much as an introduction.

"I guess I'm old fashioned," he thought to himself, "but maybe that's not so bad." Declining Tony's offer actually lifted his mood. Suddenly, Cap felt his boot stick and slide. He stopped and turned. A big wad of gum stretched into a string as he lifted his foot. He grumbled and scraped the sticky stuff off onto the cement.

Rogers filled his barrel of a chest with cool air and looked out at the changes in Brooklyn. Gum on the street. What a shame.

He decided on coffee. Without hesitation he turned and walked briskly eight steps to the corner and hung a hard right.

With that committed movement he slammed right into a shorter figure who yelped. Cap was startled and instinctively began to step back. But he stopped in a second as he realized he'd not only slammed into a young lady, but that young lady was about to fall backwards onto the sidewalk. He swung forward and caught her in his arms.

The scene was romantic and embarrassing. For a truly fleeting moment he held her and looked into her face. She gazed at him with wonder. Her expression was clear and pronounced. Brown eyes dilated at the pupils, she blinked once with soft lashes caressing the tops of her cheeks, and her pink mouth formed the most subtle smile.

Rogers breathed in and felt her soft brown hair brush against the back of his hand. He became aware of his surroundings and let go of her once it was established she could stand on her own.

"I am so..." he flushed as her expression of near wonder remained on her face, "so sorry, ma'am..." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I should've paid closer attention. Are you alright?"

Her smile twinkled. He looked away from her face, but flushed and regretted further when he glanced at her cute and feminine body. He'd held her. How worrisome.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry I didn't pay attention either." She clicked her heels together and stood up taller. But she still stood eye level with his soldier's chest.

"It's fine, ma'am. I'm just glad you aren't hurt." He smiled in spite of himself. She seemed quite nice. His awkwardness around women usually resulted in their frustration and anger.

But suddenly she tilted her head and studied his face. The simplicity of her nose, the gentle way her long hair laid across her shoulders like a blanket, and the way her eyes and smile illuminated them all was arresting in the most welcoming of ways. She seemed full of the best kind of mischief.

"Are you Captain Steve Rogers?" She asked with frankness.

The Cap's eyes widened. He shot his gaze to the ground. When he looked up he tried to muster USO charm. "Yes, ma'am, I am..."

"Well, lucky day for me!" She beamed and leaned forward on her toes for a moment like a fidgeting kid. But then she stood still and pronounced, shooting her hand out to him with respect, "Birgit Wolf."

He took her hand and they felt warm together. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am..."

"Birgit."

He acquiesced, "Birgit."

"I have to say, it is a real pleasure bumping into you." She giggled. He couldn't think of anything to say. But that didn't matter because she seemed perfectly happy to continue the conversation herself. "I'm an admirer, of course, of your accomplishments. And I hope you're not tired of hearing it, but thank you for your bravery in saving the entire planet from extraterrestrial enslavement."

He blinked at her ease. He was used to people stuttering or women practically quaking in his presence. Hero worship.

"Thank you ma' - Birgit." He smiled a tight-mouthed smile.

"You're welcome, Captain. Well, I hope I haven't kept you with my blathering. I just figured I'd not likely get another opportunity to thank you."

"No problem. I was just going for cup of joe... Call me Steve" He worried about his slang. But she seemed to understand.

"May I join you, Steve?" Her mouth crooked to the side up into a quizzical, anticipating stare. Seemingly fearless, the mark of the terrified and brave.

He opened his mouth but could not formulate a response. Having no other seeming alternatives he nodded and took his hands out of his pockets. He gestured for her to continue ahead of him. And they walked quietly down the block and into an Italian cafe.

When she walked up to the counter he puzzled over whether or not he was supposed to buy her a cup of coffee. In his day, yes, that would have been the standard move. But then that pattern of thinking had been halted by time and her invitation. A dame asking a guy to coffee. What a new world. So he held onto formality and watched her place an order and pay for it without even a subtle side-eye of judgment.

He ordered espresso. They sat in a corner table, Birgit in a chair and Cap on a bench against the wall.

He found an ice breaker, "You know, I never could find a cup of coffee strong enough. Espresso has been a nice thing to wake up to." He'd started to enjoy puns about his resurrection.

"That's cute," she noticed. "I like it, too, but I can't drink it often."

"Oh?" he asked after a pleasant sip.

"I get a little loopy from all the caffeine!" she giggled and crossed her eyes. He blushed.

"Well then it's probably a little late to start having some now..." he glanced down to her cup.

"Well, I figured it was worth staying up late tonight given my unexpected company."

He smiled and nodded. For someone he'd known for about fifteen minutes, she was more pleasantly easy to talk to than he'd have otherwise thought. In dark jeans and a tight green sweater, the curve of her thigh into her waist and the soft shape of her breasts cut a truly lovely figure. She was a looker, but approachable. Cap wavered between nervousness and pleasure.

"So far I'm enjoying the unexpected company," he tried to push his shoulders back into something confident. He didn't know how well he succeeded, but he did spot her assess his physique. She didn't leer, but he could see her chest rise in a small gasp before she returned her eyes to his face. That truly was a pleasure.

"So, can I ask you a question? I hope it's not too personal." His smile fell. Constant, constant questions.

"Yes..." he agreed, not wanting to be rude.

"How is it that you survived in ice? What is it about the serum that allowed for your cells not to break down? I mean, when you freeze a strawberry and thaw it out, it turns to mush since the crystallization breaks the cells down... but then again, you're not a berry... But oh, yes, how?"

Rogers gaped at her. "Uh. Well..." He tried to search out his memory on everything about him that was super. "Part of the serum's effects includes a heightened regenerative ability."

"Oh yes, I can see that, but to the point of protecting cells against crystallization and the breakdown in thawing?" She'd leaned forward with glee and curiosity.

"Yes." He answered with finality. "I mean, apparently so, right?" He flashed a USO smile. She blushed.

"Yes, I guess it's apparent. It's just a curious thing..." she bit her pink bottom lip and he found it difficult to look away from it and back to her eyes. "I couldn't find any scientific explanations. I guess they're classified."

"I would imagine so, ma'am." He sipped the last of his coffee.

"Birgit," she corrected.

"Birgit," he repeated.

"Do you want another espresso?" She asked.

He looked into the glass, only then noting it was empty. "Oh. Yeah... but..." She took the cup and saucer from him and bussed them before going to the counter to retrieve another espresso and a cup of hot chocolate.

"You didn't have to do that," He blushed. A dame buying him coffee. Amazing.

"I know. Is it ok for a dame to buy you coffee?" She smiled. He nearly choked.

"Yes... ok..." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "I'm just not used to it. I'm not used to a lot of the ways people interact now. Women were different..."

"And men?" She tilted her chin to the side.

"Yeah, them, too," He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know?" he began curiously. "It's strange, when you asked me if you could ask a question, I thought for sure you'd ask how I was holding up, 'adjusting.'" He affected the final word.

Birgit became serious. The shift in her face was sudden. "Well," she began, "I can't imagine you'd want to talk about something so personal with a complete stranger."

He smiled and looked down at the table. He nodded. "I wish other people thought like you."

She grinned. "I'm a unique butterfly."

"Not a snowflake?"

"No, I like the spring."

"Me too." They both sipped at their hot drinks and sat in silence for a moment.

"You researched me?" He asked, suddenly remembering her comment.

"Oh, yes..." She said only hesitating after she'd confirmed. "When I was younger I did a project on you for a history class."

He looked at the table and closed his eyes, "Now that's strange. How old?"

"Fourteen."

"Oh boy."

"Don't feel old."

"I don't feel it. But I am." He looked back up to see her head cocked. "But you looked into the scientific data?"

"Well, I did that later, of course, after they found you and your crew saved the world. I was curious again. I spent a lot of time studying the Second World War."

"For school?" He sipped the new coffee.

"Well, more personally. I was born in Germany." He cocked an eyebrow, thinking of her name. "My country in the 20th century was radically altered by two wars. You were part of one. In stopping Hydra, Hitler, you saved my people, too." He took a soft breath in at her appreciation.

The evening progressed. They got to know each other over two hours within a warm coffee house.

"What do you do?" Cap asked her after discussing motorcycles, old movies, and mp3 players.

"I'm finishing my doctorate in physics." She gave a small, proud flick of her eyebrows.

He whistled, "Now that's impressive."

"Thank you! It's very fun. Really, it's just me and a bunch of my buddies breaking things and firing lasers."

"Now that sounds like a fine time." He laughed a little too hard for a moment at the thought and finished with a cough.

"Caffeine getting to you?" Birgit asked.

"No actually. My metabolism runs too high to be affected by any drug." He looked sheepish.

"Well then you're the ultimate designated driver." She beamed. He blinked and covered his face in a laugh. "Whoa, good joke, eh?" She asked.

"Oh, it's just that Tony... My friend... made the same joke a few hours ago." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Tony Stark?" She asked without a hint of nervousness.

"Yeah. He's a character." Suddenly he felt his pocket buzz and whistle.

"It seems like it." She glanced to where the noise came from.

"Sorry... It's my telephone." He patted the pocket.

"I don't mind if you check it. I got one earlier. We can be rude together." She reached down for her purse. Cap pulled the phone from his pocket with hesitation. He looked down at the message.

"Still busy in the amusement park called Brooklyn?" Tony's text slithered.

Cap tapped, "Yes I am."

"What are you doing?" He responded almost immediately. Rogers marveled at how Stark could type so darn fast.

"I'm having coffee with someone." He moved to put the phone away, but it buzzed again.

"Pepper wants to know if it's a pretty girl."

Rogers giggled and looked up at Birgit. She was chewing on her lip and staring at her phone, just like him. He felt very modern for a moment. And bold: "Tell her she is." He grinned broadly as the message sent.

"The lies of an old man," he snapped back instantaneously.

Cap sat the phone down on the table, unable to think of a pithy retort. Birgit was pretty. She was lovely and sweet, and looked at him in the eyes and not the pectorals (most of the time). She'd stowed her phone away with a smile. But then she frowned. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Rogers was startled, "Wrong?"

"You were looking at me very seriously." She tilted her chin down and fanned her eyelashes, puckering her bottom lip.

Cap let out a small laugh. "Oh, just a message. I was thinking..." Then suddenly he remembered something. "Hey, you know these things take pictures? They got a camera in 'em, right?" He held up the phone.

"Yes, they do." She smiled an unpatronizing smile.

"Well, that's something." He looked down at the device. "I hope you won't be offended... Well... I mean... May I take your picture?" He couldn't make a suave face with such a request.

"Oh, sure!" She turned and looked around her with glee. She spotted an employee wiping down the glass of the dessert display. "Excuse me..." she asked with a small wave. The man looked back at her with black eyes. "Will you take our picture?" He nodded.

Rogers gulped. "Well, you know..." he began with the intention of telling her that he didn't want to be in it, images of that old costume and flash bulbs flashed through his memory. But he stopped. Why not take one with her?

He scooted over as she was suddenly next to him, sliding onto the bench. "Your phone, right?" She said. He started and reached for the device. He was lost for a second, but she pointed him to the proper icon and the camera started up. Cap handed the phone to the man, who stepped back. Birgit gently laid a hand on his bicep and leaned her face close to his jaw.

Rogers took a deep breath and thought, "Don't smile like a fathead." The digital flash blew up the room. But the picture had warm tones. He and Birgit genuinely looked to be having fun.

"Thank you..." Rogers said to their photographer. Birgit slid back to her seat and he missed her. "Thank you, too."

"What's it for?" She asked, strangely. Why not ask before?

"Oh well..." He looked down and mulled over actually sending the picture to Tony Stark.

"Are you going to send it to someone?" She guessed, hoping he'd say yes. Rogers looked up and nodded with a tinge of shame. "Oh, to whom?" No judgment in those eyes yet again.

"Uh, well, to... Tony..." He shrugged.

"You want to send a picture of me to Iron Man?" She covered her face and giggled intensely. She stomped her feet a couple of times and Cap remained bewildered. She suddenly stopped, her face red. "Okay. I don't mind..."

With that permission, Rogers took a deep breath and sent the image.

"Why did you want to send it to him?" She asked.

He felt unable to lie. Not the American Way. "Well, he'd wanted me to go out on the town... I didn't want to. Just now he asked what I was doing and I said I was having coffee with someone..." He hesitated, "He asked if you were pretty and I said yes... But he thought it was baloney." She licked her lips and seemed to hold her breath.

"I'm flattered. Color me flattered." She giggled again and looked down at the table.

Cap's phone buzzed again with fury. He tapped it: "Well I'll be a son of a gunmaker." Cap laughed. Birgit looked puzzled and curious. So he slid the phone over and let her look. They shared the triumph.

Another hour went by and the cafe was set to close; not exactly an all-night establishment. So the funny pair gathered themselves together in an effort to move on. Rogers suddenly worried about what would happen from then on, where she would go, where he'd see her.

"So," she interrupted his contemplating, "Can we talk again?"

Oh, now he felt like he could lay on some charm. "Yes, ma'am, I would really like that."

"Well, then tell me your phone number. And don't put me in your contacts list as 'ma'am.'" He acquiesced. She took his number and called him on the spot.

"Captain America speaking..." He answered.

"Yes, I have an alien singing in my shower and he's using all of my soap."

"I'll be right over, doll, and I'll pick up a fresh bar on the way." They walked out into the night together. With a few cute words they bid each other goodbye. With another firm handshake they departed. Cap turned the corner back toward home. He reached for his phone and punched in another text, "It was a gas to meet you. I hope to see you again." He attached their photo to the message and felt proud of himself.

Just as he put the device back in his pocket it buzzed: "I love this picture. And you will."