Cold sweat. It was two thirty in the morning, at least that's what the clock on Steve's nightstand said. He was breathing hard, did he scream when he woke up? It had felt so real. Re-living that day back in Germany. Losing Bucky again.
There's a knock on the door. Yeah, he must have woken someone up. That's the problem with small apartments in Brooklyn. Thin walls. He heaved a sigh and got up, walking barefoot across the carpeted bedroom floor. He needed to vacuum. The living room's linoleum tile was cold. He flipped the light switch by the door before opening it.
"Hey." There was a woman standing there, in flannel pants and a faded black tank top. Under different circumstances, Steve might have blushed. But it was 2:30AM and he had been violently forced awake by a nightmare. A memory. "You okay? I heard you yell a minute ago." There was the slightest hint of a British accent in her voice.
"Oh, yes. Sorry I woke you."
"You didn't; college kids don't sleep," she smiled, "how about some tea? Wanna talk for a bit?"
Tea sounded good. Coffee sounded better. Steve didn't know if he could go back to sleep, or if he even wanted to.
They ended up, after some convincing, in her apartment, sitting on an overstuffed fluffy couch. The tea kettle on the gas stove had just started to whistle at them. "My name's Jenny by the way."
Steve realised, embarrassed, that in the fifteen or so minutes they had known each other, he still hadn't introduced himself, and here he was sitting on her couch. "Steve Rogers."
"Well Steve, here's your tea," she handed him a mug, "I have lemon, sugar and milk if you want it, no honey though."
"This is fine, thank you." The warmth from the mug crept into his fingers. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent deeply. He sipped it slowly, "It's delicious, hawthorn?"
"And linden. Most people around here don't know what hawthorn is, I'm surprised you recognised it."
"I've been to Europe before…." he spoke softly.
"Tell me." She pulled down a throw blanket from the back of the couch and drew up her knees, the blanket was draped over both their laps - a comforting weight.
"Not much to tell really. I lost a friend, he was more like a brother to me." He didn't meet her eyes, instead listlessly watching the steam rise in little swirls through the air in front of him. They sat there like that for a little while, until all the tea was gone.
Back in his own room again, Steve realised it was almost 4 o'clock, he could still get a few more hours of sleep before reporting to SHIELD in the morning.
—-
"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Steve was back at Jenny's apartment, sitting on the same overly plush couch. It had been a few days since his first visit. She had insisted he eat comfort food this time. Even if it was long past midnight.
"Only half my family is English, Steve. Fortunately I get my cooking skill from my mothers side."
—- End?