She was fourteen, too old for this he thought. Still, she was a long way from home, thrown into unfamiliar territory. He knew what that was like. Steve leaned back in the armchair and took a good look at the girl who was curled up in his lap. Well, as good a look as he could take in the dim room. The only light came from the New York City skyline outside the window. Stark often boasted that he had the best view. Steve was beginning to think he may be right.
A small squeak and a sniffle jolted him from his thoughts. Looking down, Steve saw the girl's shoulders had begun to shake again.
"Shhh, shh, don't cry." Steve soothed. He was useless at this, and he knew it. Stroking the girl's dark brown hair, Steve tried to think, tried to remember what his mother would do. "You know," he began, "when I was sick my mama used to sing to me. Do you think that would help?"
"Maybe." The girl answered, her tear-filled brown eyes noting the concern in his baby-blues.
Holding the girl closer, Steve began to sing. His soft baritone voice filling the room as the lyrics to hymns and lullabies came rushing back to him. The girl in his lap eventually fell asleep, as did Steve. They were so tired they didn't wake up when Loki and the girl's sister tucked a blanket around them and took pictures. When Steve and the girl did wake they sat still and silent, watching the sun rise over the city.