Four Seasons

by PhantomProducer

A meeting, a newly-made connection, and the paths of two people are altered as the seasons change from one to the next. What will come of it all? Modern, real-world AU (no superpowers, etc.). Complete.

2. Summer

Summer

The warmth of the earth grew with each passing day, the lightness of spring beckoning to the fullness of summer. The greenery in the park was permanently in place for the coming months, the corner of the globe housing Brooklyn, New York readying itself for the turn of the season. As the city began to warm and whisper about the approaching days, so too did its citizens.

"Seriously? Every weekend?" Holly wondered, resting her elbows on the end of the counter. As she was not scheduled to go into work until the evening, she had stopped by the studio with homemade treats that had been airmailed. In between ringing up customers and greeting newcomers, Steve welcomed her visit and her proffered treats, eagerly indulging in the repast when he could. In answer to her question, he nodded.

"Nearly. It's the first time I've been booked for art fairs throughout the summer in the city," he explained, excitement lining his face as he mused upon his good fortune. Since he'd established the studio, he'd had to do craft fairs and art shows to keep afloat in the outer community. He'd secured a slot at one of the bigger ones in March, but widespread exposure throughout New York would do just as well. Generally, he tried to keep a lid on such things, but when Holly had stopped by, he couldn't help but share. "Usually I have to comb through upstate or go out west to do so."

"Out west," his companion chortled, canting her head before propping her chin in her hand. "You make it sound like you're heading to Wyoming or something."

Visualizing the jagged peaks and dense vegetation such scenery could offer, he breathed distractedly, "Now that would be interesting to capture. Get some inspiration from the Rockies..."

"They are pretty," she agreed, her tone a touch wistful. Off his questioning look, she tilted her head. "We went to Yellowstone for a family trip one summer. Best part of it was the side trip to Montana. Minimum speed limit of sixty in some areas. I had gotten my license that year, and insisted I drive."

Steve barely managed to cut off his bark of laughter, though some of the customers on the far side of the studio shot him startled looks.

"And how many heart attacks did your parents have then?" he inquired, biting into a cookie soon after.

"None, but my dad said that if we'd stayed longer, his hair would've gone white," she responded, her own giggles petering off. Plucking up another treat for herself, she murmured, "Anyway, back to the art fairs and stuff..."

"Not much else to say. I go, I set up, I wait for people to take an interest, and then sell what I can. It's generally only a single day I get at these things, so I'm going to try and make a killing this year."

"Do you need any help for it?" she asked, looking at him almost hopefully. With the summer months stretching out before her, she didn't have a clue what to do with her time in between work, save for meeting up here and there when her new circle of friends got in touch with her. Moving to Brooklyn was supposed to mean having new experiences, and not falling completely into the patterns she'd submissively sat in for years after college had ended. Attending art fairs, better yet helping one of the artists for those art fairs, could accomplish that.

And, she posited inwardly, she wouldn't mind at all, since it would be Steve she would be assisting. As the days went on, she realized how much she enjoyed spending time with him, his touch of honesty and his self-effacing manner all the more likeable as time passed. For his part, Rogers let his lips curve into a half-grin, a hand coming up and raking through his hair, the strands flopping a bit as he thought about it. Worried that he might reject her offer, even politely, she opened her mouth, making her case.

"I've got a little extra time, and both jobs are flexible. It's an extra pair of hands around," she told him, unable to stop herself from adding, "and it would be neat to see more of the city."

"Actually, it would be nice to have some help," he confirmed aloud. Narrowing his gaze in on her slightly, he tilted his head to the right. "It's usually an all-day thing, though. You think you'd be able to put up with me for that long?"

Matching his expression briefly, Holly tapped her chin dramatically with one finger as her eyebrows scrunched together in thought.

"It will be a test of fortitude, I will give you that." When he rolled his eyes in jest, she stuck her tongue out at him and tapped his shoulder. "Nah, it'll be fun."

"Sometimes," he countered. When she inclined her eyebrows, he continued, "Sometimes it's a real pain figuring out how to get canvases on and off the train."

A shoulder lifted, her pleasant smile never wavering. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

And so, Steve gave her the tentative dates for the fairs and open markets he'd snagged spots for. Holly could easily work around the weekends he'd been enlisted for; the ones during weekdays would be a bit more of an issue—some she could help out with set-up, others with tear-down, and a few in August were too far ahead to plan out for. Marking down the ones she knew for certain she could help out with, she intended to do as she'd set out: help where she could, and see parts of the city she hadn't been to yet. The first weekend was interesting, in regards to set-up and tear-down; that one had taken place in the first floor of a wide office building, with it being more like a reception rather than a fair-esque thing. Still, transactions did occur, and with her manning the cash box and him chatting up whomever took an interest, they found a flow that worked. From Washington Heights to Harlem they would trek on the weekends, parks and even closed streets acting as the venues. The thriving community she had not had much of a sense of beat around Holly, Steve acting as her introductory guide throughout those first few weeks of May and into June. She placed herself in his expert care in that regard, and looked forward to whatever he could impart to her then.

Truth be told, she looked forward to spending time with him regardless of content, a fact that was becoming more and more obvious to her mind as the days stretched and temperatures rose. And, if his demeanor around her was any indication, he felt the same way. A fortunate friendship was found in him, and she was glad to maintain it.

"Whatcha got planned for Independence Day?" she asked the weekend before the holiday in question, with the intention of maintaining said friendship. Looking over at the artist extraordinaire after ringing up a sale for one of his prints, she waited for his answer. A muted wince shot over his face at that, but before she could wonder why he'd done so, a voice broke the air.

"Oh, you mean his birthday?" Bucky piped up from his perch, hopping off the unoccupied end of the table she was at. He'd also come along for the weekend, a few of his works on display in the tent as well since he worked on commission for Steve at times. With his few paintings hanging up alongside his friend's, he used the opportunity to break away from Brooklyn, clear his head of the back-breaking labor and hardness of the work he'd done during the week. It was also an excuse to trade banter and catch up with his oldest friend (and shooting discreet looks between him and the brunette girl that had come along, more often than not, during that time as well).

Holly's dark eyes went wide as she looked to Steve his arms folding as he settled against one of the tent's posts.

"Your birthday is the Fourth of July?"

The blond man nodded, his palm extending upward in mock solemnity.

"Hand to God." His hand dropped, landing on his thigh and picking at the seam of his jeans. (It was a bit too warm for them, but he knew he couldn't parade around in his ragged cut-offs there.) Shrugging a shoulder, he muttered, "It's...whatever."

Barnes rolled his eyes, not having his attitude at the moment. "You don't look cool if you hate a holiday just because it's the same day as your birthday, man."

Steve rolled his eyes and set his jaw. "I don't hate it."

"You just don't like that it earned you that nickname."

"What nickname?" Holly interjected, intrigued now. Ice blue eyes shot to her in alarm, before flicking back to the brunet man, silent warning in them.

"Buck..." he nearly growled, but Barnes lifted an eyebrow. Instead of feeling threatened, he took it as a challenge.

"He didn't tell you? Our unit gave it to him when they figured it out," he replied, pulling his hair back with the binder secured around his wrist (the undamaged one; maneuvers gone wrong had extensively damaged the left arm, Holly had learned, leaving him with terrible scars and being discharged a short time after surgery. All of which he'd either hinted at or she'd gleaned from Steve's few comments, the details still buried but the evidence on display every so often). Another groan was huffed out of Steve, and his jaw had stiffened mulishly.

"It wasn't funny then, and it's still not funny now."

"Oh, lighten up, Captain America," the brunet man ground out, causing Steve to drop his head in his hands, grumbling audibly. Glancing over to Holly, Bucky had the pleasure of seeing her cup a hand over her mouth, a surprised giggle cut off swiftly. Slapping his oldest friend on the back and sporting a shit-eating grin, he continued, "He used to be really into the holiday when we were kids, all about the fireworks, stars and stripes, the whole shebang. Well, until a couple guys in the unit figured it out. Gabe and Morita had a ball with it, getting in red, white, and blue banners for him one year."

His grin widened, and even Steve couldn't help the touch of amusement and fondness lighting his irises. Despite the teasing, it was worth it. When the CO had secured permission for the guys to do the set-up, it had turned into a bastardized version of the holiday out in the desert, and none of them could really find fault in that. Brought back into the present moment by another clap on his shoulder, he felt the amusement drop slightly when Barnes continued to spill.

"I'd never been gladder to be a sergeant in all my life; lower rank meant getting messed with less."

Steve clicked his tongue, unfettering his tongue then. "Uh-huh, laugh it up, Bucky Bear."

While Holly merely frowned in confusion, Bucky felt the blood drain from his face, his jaw slackening.

"How did you—?"

"Heard it from Nat. Well, indirectly." He coughed hard, some color flooding into his face when he struggled to complete his explanation, "She's quite a, erm, vocal person, when she wants to be. Particularly when she thinks she's alone. Or, um, when she thinks she and her partner are alone, not being visited by a friend who came in through the half-opened door."

A brief moment of silence followed, and Steve ducked his head as his two friends just stared at him.

Holly's jaw snapped shut, and she sputtered, "What in the actual fu—"

"And that's part of the reason why Buck and I don't live together," the blond hastily continued, not willing to let the silence stretch or to let Holly finish the thought. Shuddering his shoulders, he muttered, "Stumbling upon that weirdness already makes me nervous about the integrity of the horizontal surfaces in his place nowadays."

"How long have you been holding onto that?" Bucky asked, incredulity outlining his face before he shook his head. "Jesus..."

"Okay, I just wanted to know what you were doing for the day," Holly said, bringing up her hands in a palm out gesture, brushing away the conversation still lingering in the air. "Didn't need to hear that whole...mess."

Both men shifted a bit uncomfortably, gratefully latching onto her initially-posed topic. The day itself would be time off from work for Bucky, with him joining Nat and Thor for a day out in Manhattan. Steve, apart from ordering in food from his favorite diner, objected to having any sort of fuss made for his birthday; he had an art project that he'd been delaying working on for several weeks, and that would be his first opportunity to get a good crack at it. Fireworks were out of the question, both for him and Buck (haunted looks decorated their faces at that confession, and Holly didn't need any further explanation on the matter), but the Dodgers were scheduled to play, so he was happy enough to watch the night game. Holly nodded, clicking her tongue and admonishing him for not wanting to celebrate his thirtieth birthday in more style, but he countered her by pointing to all the prints and portraits surrounding them. He was inundated with enough style every weekend, his lame parry making her chuckle nonetheless and drop the subject.

However, she had inwardly resolved to get away with at least a minor observance. Which, on the day in question, was exactly what she was doing. She was off of work until the sixth, which gave her some time to poke around the few specialty shops a few blocks over from her apartment. One of them was an antique store that she'd entered on a whim (open for the morning, bless them), wondering if perhaps what she was searching for could be found there. Bending to examine an old turntable, she heard a throat clear beside her, and she straightened.

"What are you looking for, Holl?"

Looking to her left, she grinned at the petite girl next to her. Sarah Collins had been a roommate of hers during the last year of college. One of the other girls on the docket to live with her and a few other friends had dropped suddenly, and they'd scrambled to find a replacement. The blonde, curls flying and keen gaze flashing, had agreed when she was approached, needing someplace affordable, given that she was an out-of-state student. Almost overnight, the pair had become thick as thieves, working well together despite their differences (Sarah had a harder, brassier edge to her, while Holly—while forthright—tended to be slightly more reserved). After Sarah had completed her courses in Minnesota, she'd moved back home to Virginia, but Holly had made sure to keep in touch often.

When she'd learned of her best friend moving to a city much closer to her on the map, Sarah had tried so hard to either come up to New York or to have Holly come down to Washington, D.C., where she currently lived. With Fourth of July being on a weekend, and more to the point, free, she seized the opportunity, intent on making it a fun girls' weekend for them both. Holly was delighted to have her there, even in the cramped space of her apartment (a studio; thank goodness Sarah was under average height, or she wouldn't have been able to crash on the small couch that she could fit into the rooms).

Having caught a train up and meeting her outside her building, the petite woman had just enough time to dump her bags before being brought along for the expedition her friend was undertaking. Wandering around the shop herself, she couldn't wait to hear the answer her friend supplied.

"Oh, um, well, one of my new friends, it's his birthday today," Holly told the smaller blonde, keeping her gaze focused on the wares of the shop. "Wanted to get him something and I didn't have time for it until now."

"On bestie time? Shameful," her friend admonished jokingly. After a moment, her green gaze narrowed, and she shot Holly a look. "Wait, him?"

The brunette met her gaze (somewhat) calmly.

"Yeah. I've told you about Steve, and Bucky," she explained quickly, ticking the names off on her fingers as she went. "Also met this girl called Natasha, who is at that level of pretty that it's infuriating at times, and—"

"Okay, stop trying to make me jealous," the shorter blonde cut in, waving a hand in the air and smirking. "Am I going to have to fight for my place?"

Holly giggled as Sarah pretended to mock-box the air as though it were her competition. "No, your title of bestie is safe. Although, that would be an interesting fight to watch."

The blonde's chin tipped up proudly. "Because I'd win it."

"Totally."

Slyness returned to the bright gaze, no abating in the least as they moved towards the back of the shop, her finger running over a shelf of dusty books.

"But still, Steve," she ventured, watching as her friend's dark eyes met hers and skittered away again. Flicking her gaze down, she noted with amusement how Holly's hands tucked around the hem of her shirt, almost as if of cue. Recognizing the signs for what they were, she leaned against another shelving unit, tucking back a loose curl before crossing her arms. "You've talked a lot about him. What's the story these days?"

Boy howdy, had Holly talked about him. Sarah felt she practically knew the fella herself just from her friend's descriptions. Not that she minded at all; really, she'd wanted Holly to form new relationships and not be so lonely as she had been in the past. But this guy...he'd made quite an impression in such a short time, and Sarah couldn't help but stick her nose in a little further. Just a few details would suffice. If Holly were in a divulging mood. All teasing aside, it been quite awhile since she'd been so drawn to someone, and Sarah thought it was sweet. That, however, she kept to herself, for the time being.

The brunette woman shrugged, keeping her face turned away. "No story, just a friend."

The smattering of pink in her ears did not help her case in the least, and her best friend couldn't help but snort.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

A sharp intake of breath came, and Sarah stiffened her spine. It was a calming mechanism, one that Holly employed to ground herself. It was also a warning sign to quit while she was ahead. It would be best to back off the insinuations for the moment, or else she would risk a snapped trap and little else for the remainder of the evening. Holly was not a violent person, but she did have a temper like anyone else, and if she felt backed into a corner, she could lash out if she felt she needed to defend herself. Glancing back up, the taller woman blinked a few times, a tight grin cropping up on her lips before she shrugged.

"Look, I'm just trying to find him something quick, and then I can introduce you to more of Brooklyn's marvelous sights," she promised, pawing through a few old-looking posters still in plastic sleeves. Sarah sighed inwardly, allowing the change of subject with a forced chuckle.

"Ooh, like the back alley behind that bodega we passed? That would be quite a sight," she crooned, folding her hands together and making her face contort in awe. Holly began to laugh then, and she counted it as a victory. Striding up to her friend's side, she began to look at the discarded posters and plates she'd been dismissing. "So, you planning on getting him something themed? You know, because of Fourth of July."

Holly rolled her eyes at that, the gesture loaded.

"Well, actually...hold on." Stopping herself short, she delved deeper into the piling, smiling broadly as she found two things that she knew Steve would like. Holding them up in the fluorescent light, she crowed, "These are perfect."

Examining her find, Sarah could nod and cup a hand in the air. Holly certainly knew the man better than she did (which still irked her; all the creeping she'd done on the Internet had turned up a private Facebook page that had very little content, and the bio given for the guy's art studio revealed little more). However, with her friend completely confident in her choice, she had to conclude that she was most likely correctly. Particularly when she spotted something in the next store over, a devious grin on her face and a thanks given for supplying her with her initial idea.

The afternoon spun into the evening, the pair of ladies eating take-out and catching up on each other's lives. The petite woman was continuing teaching dance in her neighborhood, and she had set up a YouTube account for the dance company, short videos attached to show off the repertoire of the students and the efforts of the teachers to garnish more for the future. The IT guy on hand for the studio had given her a few pointers, along with his number. ("He was sweet, even with the general dorkiness that surrounds him," she'd defended him when her friend eyed her knowingly.) Holly told her about the news from back home, about her niece scoring one of the lead roles in one of the community theater's children's plays, and her parents discussing a new extension to be added onto the house. The sky darkened little by little, and soon enough they both were gathering up wallets, preparing to hit up one of the displays scheduled for the day.

As well as that, the assembled present sat in Holly's lap as they went, her phone in hand as she negotiated with the driver to make a first stop several streets over.

"You could invite Steve along," Sarah suggested mildly as the driver for the Uber negotiated a turn. Turning to look at her fully, Holly could see the nonchalant slant of her shoulders as she shrugged, her green eyes glimmering even as she pretended to focus out the window. "I wouldn't mind."

"You just want to get a good look at him," the brunette woman retorted, seeing right through her suggestion. Snickering lightly, she tapped a finger on the box in her lap before shaking her head. "No, I'll just drop this off, and then we'll do as God intended for us to do on this day: drink a couple beers in honor of our country as people blow shit up."

She raised a palm, and her friend gave her a ringing high five in agreement.

"Fine, but I maintain that you're no fun," she supplied, settling in just as the car began to slow to a halt. Peering out the window, she took stock of the building they'd stopped in front of. Detailed sketches and paintings sat on easels in the window, the sills themselves painted a bright blue to match the lettering declaring the shop's title. The 'closed' sign was flipped on the front door, but the inset glass was soon filled by a large form. Asking her to hold the Uber for a few moments, Holly gave her a nervous grin before climbing out, taking the wrapped parcel with her. At the same time, the figure in the door came out fully, and Sarah's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.

The Internet creeping had not done the guy justice, and she downright envied her friend's luck in that instant, no matter what she pretended inwardly. God, he was fine.

Masking the tight swallow in her throat with a wide smile, Holly trotted over to the front of the studio relieved that Steve had come out as she'd asked. Tucking his phone into his pocket, bemusement fluttered over his features, though a grin started to stretch his mouth.

"What's going on?" he asked her, curious as to why she was stopping by. A text from her had arrived a few minutes previously, imploring him to meet her on the curb outside his studio for a short while. He'd long since stopped working on his project for the day, but he had not expected her to show up on his door step. Not when he knew she had company with her for the next couple of days. Nodding towards the idling car on the curb, he murmured, "I thought you and your friend were heading out to the fireworks display."

"Yeah, we are. I just wanted to drop this off first," she told him, holding out the hastily-assembled present toward him. A homemade card was taped to the red paper surrounding the box, and she grinned at him tentatively as he scanned it.

"Thank you," he breathed, genuine happiness and pleasure lighting up his face. He hadn't expected anything from her, had not asked for anything at all. Her answering smile sent a pang through him, and he took a step closer to her. Tucking the box under his arm, he hooked his thumb back towards the studio. "You wanna come up for a few minutes?"

Not only did he rent the business space on the first floor, he also leased the second as his living quarters. He didn't have much on hand for drinks or anything, but he was sure he could find something for her if she came up. Holly's grin took on a wistful cast, and she shook her head.

"Can't. My friend Sarah is—"

"Come on, Martin!" a voice rang out as a window rolled down, feminine and strong. Steve looked over her to the car, catching wide green eyes set in a rounded face staring right back. "Clock's ticking!"

After a couple of seconds of silence following her friend's graceful display, the man and woman both chuckled a bit as the window rolled up again.

"—Waiting in the Uber," she finished, the last of her laughter huffing out of her. Shyly, she tucked back her loose waves, miming the motion for tapping out a message on her phone. "I'll, um, text you again later, okay? Maybe we can swing by when it's over."

"Sure," he replied, dipping his head before his mouth curled again. Holly nodded again, turning and striding back toward the waiting car, and he gave her a halfhearted wave. "Good night!"

Suddenly, she stopped halfway in her travels, turning nearly on a dime. About to ask if she'd forgotten something, Steve was almost bowled over when Holly trotted up to him, her arms winding around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. Surely that was what stole his breath as he hugged her back, but he didn't analyze it too closely. Instead, he accepted the warmth of her embrace, holding her fast against him.

"Happy birthday!" she crooned in his ear, a final squeeze dealt before she withdrew. Before he knew it, she was off and away, and he was staring down at the present she'd left with him, his bright expression never wavering. Striding back through the studio and locking up, he found himself humming under his breath as he climbed the stairs to the apartment, crossing the threshold with a veritable spring in his step. The baseball game blared on the television, but he seemed to take no notice of it as he sat down on the couch. On the other end sat Bucky, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. Having finished his excursion in Manhattan a few hours prior, he'd come over to present his best friend with a gift of his own—tickets to a game at Yankee Stadium in August. (They had been generously donated by one of the men he'd recently done a job for, and he knew Steve would relish the chance to cheer on any team that took on the Yankees.) Dinner was fetched up from the diner, as had been planned, but he hadn't counted on the slight interruption that followed.

Taking a sip from the beer in hand, Barnes put down his phone and nodded to the parcel. "What's that?"

"What's it look like?" Steve riposted, all humor and no venom in his voice. Shaking it slightly, he told him, "It's a gift from Holly."

"Aww," Bucky teased, his suspicions of who the giver had been being confirmed. Before Steve could do more than shoot him a look, he flapped a hand at the wrapped box. "Better open it, then."

Setting the box in his lap, he prepared to do just that. However, he fetched up the card that had been taped to the paper on the front. The blue construction paper had been given a cut from specialty scissors, and the looping handwriting was done with a light-colored pen. The content that had been spilled from that pen, though, was what mattered, and so he read the short message inscribed on the inside fold.

Thought you might enjoy these, old man. Happy birthday!

Smiling down at the card, he placed it to the side as he opened the box. The hastily-tapped wrapping paper fell away, followed by the lid, and it revealed two plastic sleeves. The contents of both were exposed when he turned them over individually, his grin broadening and his eyes lighting up. He confessed to Holly about his liking for 1940's advertisement posters; the stylization always spoke to him, for some reason, even when the contents could contain nothing more than a kid with a candy bar. The ones she'd found for him were in decent shape: the paper not bent or creased from what he could see, and the wear of age had only faded the colors slightly. One was a Coca-Cola advertisement, a young girl in a yellow dress holding two bottles of soda while roller skates were laced up by a Navy officer (it was Judy Garland, which he realized after a couple of seconds). The other made him blink, the advertisement for the silverware company minuscule in comparison to the picture upon it. There, a blond Army private had seemingly come home from battle, kissing his girl deeply and his hand threading into her dark curls. Something about the image brought heat into his cheeks, and he attempted to clear his throat twice. Ignoring the look his friend was throwing him at that moment, he set both the posters down, mentally weighing in where to hang them in the apartment when he noticed the tissue-wrapped lump still in the box. Tearing through the glittering navy-colored tissue, his eyes widened again.

"Oh, good Lord," he half-groaned, half-laughed when he realized what he was looking at. He tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling and shaking his head at Holly's playful audacity. Barnes spiked at eyebrow at it, and him, for several seconds, before verbally inquiring what else he was given.

Pulling the article from the tissue paper, he showed Bucky exactly what it was: a t-shirt. But it was not just a simple t-shirt, oh no; it was themed with a single, wide white star at the center of the chest, sitting on a field of royal blue. From the rib area down, the shirt was ringed with red and white stripes. As it was unfolded, an additional lump of felt dropped from within it, as well as an index card. As Bucky picked up the patriotic-colored felt, popping it out to reveal it as the Uncle Sam hat that it was, Steve fetched up the index card, turning it over and reading it.

Some extras for you, Captain America, was the inscription, the added indignity of a winking smiley-face drawn beside it making him blink rapidly. Still, a bubble of laughter coursed out of him despite that. Plopping the hat on his own head, Bucky leaned, snatching the card from his grip and reading it for himself. A sly smile bloomed on his lips, the smirk making his eyes glitter mischievously as he looked back up at his best friend.

"I like that girl," he said, approval given along with a magnanimous gesture. "She's fun."

"Shut up," the blond man growled out the side of his mouth, though the tiny half-grin he sported remained on his lips for a long while afterward.

xXxXxXx

Of course, the next time Steve saw Holly, he did give her an earful about the shirt. But, given that he had only done so after giving her a hug in thanks for the vintage advertisement posters, she could easily accept his chagrin. It simply gave her a bit more ammo to tease him with. Besides, he had ample opportunities to do the same to her. ("'Do or do not, there is no try,' Padawan Martin" he'd lobbed at her when she struggled to get one of his canvases off from its secure hangings to take with them, taking aim at her love for Star Wars. When she blew a piece of hair out of her eyes and flipped him off in retaliation, he let out a full belly laugh before coming to her aid.)

Near the end of July, Steve had brought her along to the next fair, the location being a sort of open-air market on the Lower East Side. Once they had found their assigned area, and the selected pieces were up and labeled properly, the pair had settled in for the browsers and buyers to stop by. The first few hours passed with little to remark upon, with Holly taking the chance to scope out the other nearby stands and checking out the competition, as it were. An artisan who made beaded jewelry was to the left, a caricaturist was to the right, and—she could not believe it herself—across the way was a fellow who specialized in the wolf paintings that she thought could only be found on cheesy t-shirts at truck stops. Thinking that could only bode well for Steve, she gladly monitored the cash box and marked off the sold pieces as the day progressed, pleased grins passing between her and her friend.

When the morning slid into the afternoon, that pleasure came to a grinding halt. Another sale had been made, and Holly completed the transaction for her friend, she found herself blowing out a mocking breath.

"Awesome. Now if we could only get that massive one to move, that would be even better."

Her thumb hooked at the canvas in question positioned along the back. It was a painting of the fields at Prospect Park at sunrise, the burst of light and color expanding out and enveloping the viewer in its beauty and poignancy. It also was a gigantic pain in the ass to get onto the train, and Holly had just about given up on getting it out there that morning.

Steve clicked his tongue, arms crossing over his chest. "And here I thought you liked that one."

Letting out a low groan, she rolled her eyes up at him. "I do like it. I'd like it even better if someone else took it and wrestled it onto the subway, instead."

The bigger fellow stepped closer to her, patting her back lightly.

"Well, if it doesn't get sold and we have to bring it back, I'll make sure you're amply rewarded for your efforts," he promised, his palm remaining in place as he grinned down at her. Her eyebrows rose, and she smirked.

"And what form is the reward gonna come in, Rogers?" she inquired, rubbing a forefinger and thumb together. The universal gesture told him exactly what she expected that reward to be, even if it was all teasing and joking. The hand on her back slid a little lower as he chuckled at her, a tingle running down her spine as his thumb started to rub small circles into her blouse. Barely suppressing a shiver, Holly was about to pursue the topic further when she was halted. A bright, feminine voice cut through the air, interrupting the banter between the two as Steve's name was shouted. The easygoing set of his face dropped as recognition set in. Turning to face the newcomer encroaching on the space, his hand fell away from her, and she scooted away from the table. Peering around him, she caught sight of a truly pretty young woman. Blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her brown eyes seemed to shine when the sun broke free from the clouds. Long legs brought her away from the stall two spots down, though Holly supposed the other young woman was no taller than herself. Still, she strode as though she were twice that height, the confidence in her form nearly overwhelming.

"Steve!" the blonde spouted his name again, extending a hand out when she got near enough. Familiarity filled her actions, and the brunette standing by let her eyebrows raise a fraction as she stepped around her friend. The blond kept her focus on the man, the barest flicker of a glance cast over Holly in those moments. "I thought it was you. How are you?"

The smile he sported was forced, at best, and it was so obvious that it made Holly wince.

"Sharon, hi," he returned the greeting, though he did not step forward or shake her proffered hand. An awkward silence descended as her grin dimmed, her fingers falling limply at her side. Whatever it was that stood between them, it was definitely something Steve was not pleased with. Holly caught the tiny flashes of his gaze he was throwing at her, a spike of dread rising in her gut. Her presence was not in any way an aid to the situation, or so she supposed, her fingers curling into the hem of her blouse as she stared out toward the middle distance.

"I'm gonna go...check on the thing," she stammered, the air around her suddenly turning heavy and oppressive. Her dark gaze darted between the man and woman before her, and she flapped a hand out at the path carving away from the tent. Her feet began to edge her closer to it, pulling her away from the spring of strange animosity that she couldn't aptly label. "At the other end of the market, I heard there was this really cool thing. I'll be back in a few."

Pivoting fast, she missed the desperate look Steve shot her, missed the quizzical quirk of the blonde woman's brows as she beat a hasty retreat. Scooting fast, she did not pause in her flight until she was well and truly stopped on the other end of the market. Mentally, she was berating herself for the terrible and obvious ploy she had gone with. Flopping down on a bench nearby, she took out her phone, keeping track of the passing time on the clock. She'd give them awhile, to work out the thing that stood between them before she would go back. Something inside was insisting she go back right away, but she stuffed those feelings deep down, instead losing herself in an Internet deep-dive to occupy herself. Ending her dive with a video of an infomercial selling a pedaling system that could be used while seated on the ground, she checked the clock again, determining that enough time had been passed. For good measure, Holly stopped at one of the food stands, grabbing a double-batch of cheese curds to share (if Steve was in the mood. If not, she reckoned she would be just fine eating them on her own). Treading slowly, she eventually found her way back to the tent assigned to her friend, with the fellow in question now seated at the table, his chin propped up in one hand and the other's fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. When both fell away, he spotted her standing just at the edge, a slightly bitter twist coming to his mouth.

"Smooth exit," he piped up sarcastically. The brunette ducked her head, shoveling in a cheese curd before going to his side.

"I didn't go into improv comedy for a reason," she supplied. Giving the tent space a cursory glance, she lowered her voice. "Is she...?"

"Left about ten minutes ago," Steve told her, catching on quickly. The bitterness drained, replaced by a muted form of apology. "You didn't have to go."

Judging by the drawn cast of his expression, perhaps it would have been better if she hadn't gone. She could have been a buffer for what had happened in her absence. Inwardly, though, she shot that idea down, brushing it away entirely.

"You probably didn't want me around for that...whatever it was," she conjectured aloud, a finger circling in the air at the space that had been occupied by the blonde girl. Steve snorted wryly, flicking open the cash box and idly thumbing through the bills there.

"Oh, you mean the awkward encounter from hell? Maybe not." He let out a slow sigh, chastising himself in his next breath. "That was a little harsh."

Holly let the statement hang for a few moments, another bit of her treat disappearing into her mouth.

"If you don't mind my asking, who was she?" she prodded him gently, wanting to banish at least a margin of her confusion. Shoulders shifted uncomfortably as Steve shuffled in his seat, his tongue detaching from the roof of his mouth after a second or two.

"She was my ex's cousin. Thought we could take a joyous walk down memory lane, I guess," he exhorted, leaning back in the chair. Tapping his thumb on the edge of the table, he went on, "She came, she talked, and she left. It's over."

Digesting that, along with another bite of her food, the brunette beside him tipped her chin up.

"Okay."

Light eyes trailed up bit by bit, coursing up her body to her face. Something like suspicion bloomed in his irises as he looked at her, and his head cocked to the left.

"You're not gonna ask."

Holly shook her head, resting her backside against the table then. "Nope. Not unless it's okay with you."

The curiosity was strong within her, but she knew better than to push and prod at boundaries if the person involved was not willing to divulge. And she got the sense that Steve definitely would not do so at that time. So, she resolved to keep her lip buttoned. He narrowed his gaze at her then; he knew how inquisitive she could be by that point, and couldn't resist pushing back a little.

"You trying to pull a form of reverse psychology on me?" he wondered, sitting up straighter in his seat.

"No, I'm not," she denied, markedly meeting his gaze and holding it. For a minute or two, they maintained their postures, neither yielding. Gently, she brought up the carton of food she'd brought back with her, holding it out to him and breaking the minor tension. "Cheese curd?"

The box in hand was shaken for effect, and the temptation to do so again when Steve merely stared was strong. Soon enough, though, he grabbed up a couple of the deep-fried treats for himself, the conversation left behind in favor of tidying up the small space that had been accorded for them. A few more people came to admire the landscapes and portraits on display, some actually completing a purchase or two, and their curiosity and questions were enough to fill in the quiet that had descended. The storm bubbling Steve's eyes had not abated by the time the coordinator had come over, informing them it was time to start packing up, and Holly physically bit down on her tongue. She really wanted to know and to understand what had happened between him and the pretty blonde who had shown up earlier. Context clues told her that it wasn't pleasant, at least not on his side, but she could also sense that it could be potentially dangerous territory.

The heaviness remained into the evening, well past the eventual tear-down and hauling out of the few pieces that did not sell that day (the giant one had been purchased and taken, thankfully), with the pair mired in quiet and their separate thoughts until they arrived back at the studio. Shuffling into the back storage room, Holly exhaled softly through her nose as she set down the pack she'd carried. About to grab up her bag and head on home, she was stopped by Steve leaning in the doorway, a hand raking through his blond tresses and the hard lines in his face barely relaxing.

"Well, I need a drink," he announced almost grimly, the backpack with the cash box and such stored in it shunted onto one of the bare shelves when he entered. Glancing over at her, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Want to join me?"

Blinking, she stiffened her spine, nodding once. "Sure."

Holly followed him through the back door, the studio locked down and the security system armed before he led her to the back staircase. The wide space of his apartment on the second floor was a mixture of cozy and sleek, a brown leather couch taking up most of the living room before a decently-sized digital television. Pieces of his own artwork was on the walls, joined by prints and photographs of the Brooklyn Bridge and the city skyline. A slight frisson of jealousy spiked through her; his place was much bigger than hers, with ample storage to boot. Rather than stay in the kitchen, he came back through the swinging door, a six-pack in hand as he trudged toward the window. Sliding it up, he motioned for her to follow, saying that the best spot was up one more flight. Dropping her bag, she climbed out after him, her heart dropping bit by bit as she climbed up the fire escape. The metal creaked, but it held as she slung a leg over the lip of the roof, her other getting caught and causing her to slip. The thought of bracing for the impact of falling on her face did not have a chance to be completed, as Steve had deftly put the pack down and caught her. The heat of his palms on her waist bled through the thin cotton of her blouse, and Holly could feel the burn surfacing in her cheeks as he made sure she was steady and unharmed. Once properly on her feet, he gave her arm a squeeze, the brush of his fingers remaining even as he stepped back and scooped up the beer again. On the other side of the roof, two lawn chairs were situated, overlooking the block. Since it was a Saturday night, there were plenty of people still milling about on the streets, the perch above perfect for such a thing. As they got themselves situated, Steve confessed that the privacy of it all made it a treasured spot, an escape which allowed him to see what was happening but let him find some peace. Caps were popped, and after saluting one another, the pair drank the brew he'd procured. Smatterings of the passersby and the horns of cars broke the silence, engulfing them for a long while. Holly, tucking back some of her hair behind her ear, started to sink back into her lawn chair, the tension of the afternoon melting little by little.

Well, as much as it could in between the fast glances being darted to her every so often.

"Still not going to ask?" Steve inquired after several minutes had passed. Blue eyes raked over her suspiciously, an eyebrow arching slightly. Her own rose in response, and she hummed low in her throat.

"Still acting like you don't want to talk about it?" she retorted easily. Tipping her bottle towards him, she went on, "I will note that you're the one bringing it up."

The eyebrow remained raised, though a corner of his mouth curled a bit. "Figured you were curious."

"Yeah, I am," she replied honestly, the bluntness making him blink in surprise. She wasn't going to deny the truth when he kept pushing for it; she wasn't interested in acting coy. Flapping a hand at him, she postulated, "It's up to you what you want to tell me. Seeing her bothered you, I can tell that much, but I'm not gonna pry."

One blink, then two, and Steve looked down again, rolling his beer bottle between his hands.

"She wanted to talk about Peggy."

Holly inclined her head. "Your ex, right?"

Steve nodded, a form of wistfulness twisting his features. "Sharon wanted to give me an update on Peg's life. I'm not sure if she did it to really let me know or to rub it in my face. That girl's a hard read. Either way, Peggy's apparently doing well."

Absorbing that, absorbing the tenor in which he said it, Holly merely sipped her beer, her dark eyes scanning him carefully. Little by little, as the night grew around them and the haze of the streetlamps glowed, he spoke about it. About meeting Peggy during college; she'd taken a chance, applying to an American college, determined to go somewhere her side of the family hadn't gone (her parents and brother were scary-smart, like her, and had been to the likes of Cambridge and Oxford). Once accepted, she made the journey, staying with her uncle's family (and therefore Sharon). The criminal justice major from across the pond had sought him out, given how they were in the same elective history course and seemed somewhat approachable in comparison to the others—he hadn't reached the end of his growth spurt, still somewhere in between. They'd hit it off from the beginning; she had spark, gumption, working night and day to secure herself in her future field. And she had heart, heart enough to see beyond the facade set up by the artistic army grunt to what dwelt within. He was in deep, from the first moment, and he'd thought she felt the same way. For two years, they were nearly inseparable, and he had thought, even with all his training days and her internships with prestigious firms in the city, it could remain that way. The admiration in his voice, distant though it was, was discernible, and Holly could only listen as Steve sighed.

Then came his deployment, just five months after graduation. Then came the tearful good-byes and broken promises, the months away that cut them deep with loneliness and heartache. The work he had to do, it deeply affected him, the things he'd seen and experienced...it had worn him down. Two tours, back to back, of grueling and heartbreaking work, four years of his life spent that way. It had worn him down to the point that it had left him listless inside for a long while, something Peggy could tell whenever he had the chance to email or even call home. She'd been patient with him for a very long time, understanding in her own way (after all, she had family members of her own serving out there as well as him). When he'd finally come home, honorably discharged, he attempted to pick things up where they'd left off, to pick up his own broken pieces and move forward.

But she'd grown, grown apart from him, and it was starkly obvious as the months went on, as they moved in and resumed life together. She'd pursued a master's degree, veritably galloping through the classes and using it to her advantage quickly. After building her reputation in the city between the firm she'd scored a place with and the police, and completing specific courses in her downtime, she'd forwarded her resume to Interpol and was accepted. Even at her relatively young age, they wanted her in the higher offices, and wanted her quickly. And while he'd known that she was making great strides and was incredibly proud of her for that, he hadn't known she would reach that far. Opening his studio and pushing to create so he could generate revenue, he was actively keeping himself busy, and so her pushes for her own future were not known until after her acceptance. The fight that had followed was not something he was proud of; he was so sure that she was it, the one, that he couldn't fathom her branching out away from him, and his words were harsh. She'd lashed back, stinging him hard with not caring or noticing enough to want to branch out with her. Her career was important to her, too important to give up (something which he had never asked her to do, he did note), and more to the point, she'd never meant to stay as long as she had. It was a chance for her to go somewhere closer to home.

Home wasn't with him, and hadn't been for a long time.

That had knocked the wind right out of him, the realization completely flooring him. After that, he could only remember feeling numb, and telling her that if that was the case, then she should do what she needed to do so she could feel at home. The next morning, two bags were packed and by the door, her standing in the frame with tears in her eyes. Apologies passed between them, the hurtful things they'd lobbed at one another forgiven as their final hour together ran down. A long hug and the ring of the bell at the front door of the studio echoed up, and Peggy was gone, off to stay with her parents for a couple of weeks before making the move to Lyon.

Since then, he'd heard very rarely of how she was, given how he wasn't exactly well-versed in social media and had utilized his lack of adeptness to create distance. He'd no doubt that her family had at least heard some of what had happened; Sharon had tried to facilitate a reconciliation a month or two afterward, but it had failed. After that, it had been radio silence, and his own pain digging deeper at him.

"God, that sucks, Steve," Holly said when he took a moment to breathe. When he'd started talking, when he finally let the words he'd been holding in all afternoon were given permission to flow, she hadn't quite expected all of that. She was not ignorant of the fact that Steve had lived with pain and sorrow; his army experiences were a testament to that, let alone what she'd learned about his own family (his dad lost in the Gulf War, his mom passing from cancer when he was nineteen). Heartache seemed to be second nature to him most days, the little break within his eyes sometimes barely stifled. The tale he'd told was just another piece of that puzzle, the sharpness of it being blunted over time. Still, even with all that, he somehow managed to look at the world around him, see it as something worthwhile, beautiful even, if his artwork was anything to go by.

That sort of fortitude was rare, and she knew it. Being left by his ex-girlfriend did not define him, but it did highlight and underscore the level that he had gotten to, and the strength it took just to keep getting out of bed in the morning. To actually smile and be happy. Maybe Holly didn't understand going through pain and sorrow left, right, and center, but she could appreciate it. She could appreciate the toll it really took when it was brought to the fore of the mind.

For his part, Steve took a long sip of his beer, which had grown warmer from the night air and from being gripped so hard in his hand. Shifting his fingers around the bottle, he passed it from palm to palm when he finished, a rueful smirk tugging at his lips.

"It is what it is. I can understand why Peggy wanted to break things off, and it was the best for both of us, in the end. Got me to really think about everything happening around me, and what I wasn't doing."

That was the truth. Once she'd gone, once he had nobody but himself to comfort him in the cold, lonely hours of the night, he could only reflect. And upon reflection, he found himself wanting.

Holly looked down, the fingers of her free hand fiddling with the hem of her blouse. "It still sucks, all around."

He let out a long sigh, canting his head in agreement. "...Yeah, it did. But that was almost three years ago. I'm over it."

A snort shot out of his companion, and he caught her eyeing him up in his peripheral vision.

"You look like it."

A shoulder lifted again, his expression remaining contemplative.

"I dunno. I had a lot to take care of, in regards to myself, that I was putting off. I wasn't the best…I just wasn't good. I was just doing what I thought needed to be done instead, starting the studio, getting a plan together. It's a different world out there, and it changes you. Changed me." A lot of what he'd said was over-simplifying, in his mind, but the harsh details of the event, of the downward spiral that happened after he'd returned from war, had been dulled with age. Some breakthrough pain could emerge, but at that point, he could start to look at it all objectively. He could look at himself and Peggy objectively. His therapist would be proud, he mused inwardly; so would the support group at the VA he attended every so often with Sam and Bucky, too. Coughing once, he murmured, "She saw it first, but she still saw me there, underneath it all, so she stayed. I don't blame her for needing to take care of herself after awhile. It was the kick in the pants that I needed to do the same."

Several beats of quiet followed that, and Holly could only shake her head sheepishly before focusing on her feet again.

"Can't imagine this is how you wanted your drink to go. Particularly with a Midwestern hick acting as your audience."

Steve let out a breathy chuckle at that, very little humor in it.

"Yeah. Then again, you're the one that stuck around to listen to a crusty, busted-up vet. What does that say about you?" he remarked, dryness in his voice and gaze. His eyes trailed over her, over the shift of her brown waves in the light breeze that was picking up, along the curve of her jaw and the line of her shoulders. Clearing his throat, he rejoined, "You're not a hick, just special."

A vein of hilarity lit up her irises as she looked up at him, and she jabbed a finger in his direction. "See, if it didn't have that little edge you think people don't pick up on and that shit-eating grin to go with it, I would've taken the compliment, Rogers."

A bubble of laughter course through Steve at that, and he refused to admit that was the case at all. Instead, he let his chuckling peter off slowly, hers joining in for a few seconds before the sounds of the city overwhelmed them. Distant sirens rang, and the glow of the lamplight cut across their faces, dimmed as it was by the time it reached them on the roof. Exhaling slowly, he rubbed the back of his neck, taking it all in as he shuffled in his seat.

"I think what's caught me the most is that I don't feel as…intensely about it as I used to. I lost…I lost, and it all came to a head," he tried to explain, dredging up what was truly bothering him underneath all of what he'd said. "But seeing Sharon, getting the reminder, it's, it's not like it was. And I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

Holly furrowed her brow at that, letting the silence that followed the statement ring around them for a few minutes.

"It doesn't make you a bad person if you don't feel worse than you do," she responded eventually, working out her own understanding of his plight. Perhaps it wasn't as complex or descriptive as she could have made it; her verbosity, in her opinion, stayed primarily on the pages of the stories she wrote on her downtime. Knowing he was now listening intently, she kept her focus on her feet, toes curling against the rubbery material of her sandals. "It's been awhile, as you said, and, you're right, things have changed. It's okay; I think that's a sign of healing, which is good, overall." Inhaling deeply, she risked a glance up, and just as she'd predicted, those ice blue eyes were on her, Steve's body rigid in his chair as she spoke. A corner of her mouth curled up, gentling her tone even further. "It doesn't lessen the memories, or who you are as a person. Peggy knows this, too; she wouldn't want you to feel like you have to always carry the weight." A hand cupped the air before falling onto the arm of the chair again, and she snickered humorlessly. "Most likely, I mean. I don't know her personally."

He chuckled then.

"No, you're...you're not far off the mark." A final pull from his bottle, and his beer was empty. So, too, was his mind, the weight that had been present throughout the day finally laid down. (Or, if not laid down, whittled into something manageable.) Steve looked at Holly as he put the bottle on the rooftop, gratefulness lighting his eyes as her dark gaze connected with his. "Thanks."

She smiled then, a tremor of confusion running over her face. "For what?"

"For...this." A palm came up, gesturing to the air and all that he'd eliminated from his mind that was now hovering between them. "For letting me unload for awhile." For letting him do so without judgment or censor, for being willing to listen and to tell him what she thought, genuinely, in return. She certainly deserved that much, if not something more. "The surprise visit just...caught me off-guard. And in advance for Bucky." He smirked; humor was a fantastic coping mechanism, and he was not about to lay it down just yet. "He's been with me through the good, bad, and ugly of this whole situation; you did him a favor by not letting me go to him."

"It was your suggestion to drink on the roof, I just went with it," she pointed out in jest, taking an exaggerated pull of her beer. Wincing a bit at the warmth of it, she softened her joke with gravity. "You're welcome."

Another grin was directed at her, and she swiftly finished her beer, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Mulling over all that he'd said, another portion of his speech stuck out in her mind, and she couldn't help but wonder aloud about it—despite wanting to kick herself later for it.

"Three years, huh?" she asked him, a weird dryness coming to her throat as she prepared to press the issue. He gave her a sidelong glance, grabbing up another bottle from the pack and popping the cap off.

"Yep."

Swallowing against the strange jaggedness, she grabbed up a second bottle for herself, getting it open after a few tries.

"A-and there hasn't been anybody since then? Nobody special?" she asked then, a flush decorating her cheeks as she stumbled over her words. That time, he fully turned to face her, squinting at her curiously as she finally got the cap off and took a long pull from the bottle. She lifted a shoulder when she'd finished, flicking a few fingers in the air as she scrabbled for an explanation. "I'm nosy, sue me."

"I just might. At first, it was difficult to schedule between the therapy sessions and keeping the studio in the black," he commented, his jesting tone surfacing in that instance. He ducked his head again, glancing away when a measure of heat rose through him as he thought back on the past few years. "A couple dates here and there, nothing outstanding."

Slowly, his gaze slid back over to her, measuring her reaction to his words without him fully realizing why he was doing so. Thoughtfulness spread over her face, but the pink in her cheeks hadn't dissipated. Overall, it looked quite charming on her, and before he could analyze his thoughts on that, he found himself drinking deeply from his newly opened bottle, a low grunt let loose when he'd finished swallowing.

"Well, I'm done dumping on you," he proclaimed then, forcibly pushing himself out of the quagmire he'd brought them both into. When she looked over at him, he quirked his lips, reaching out and tapping her shoulder playfully. "Got any stories about your exes that you want to share? Make me feel less like an idiot?"

"You're not an idiot," she countered, impishly batting his hand away. Letting out a long breath, she tipped her head back as she slid down in her chair, staring up at the looming blackness above. "I may have a couple of doozies, though."

Snickering, Steve mimicked her posture, a palm gesturing grandly towards her. "Floor's yours."

A few tales tumbled from Holly's lips, her own ex-boyfriend having taken her on a few adventures during the relationship. The guy seemed to be a sort of daredevil, pushing the limits with whatever off-terrain vehicle he could get his hands on. That had translated to an almost total disregard to safety in pursuit of his good time. Holly had nothing against thrill-seeking, per se, but when the guy had put her in danger a few times (launching over massive jumps on his snowmobile was one that stood out in Steve's mind; he himself owned a motorcycle, and he couldn't fathom intentionally popping wheelies on it to the detriment of his passenger), she realized how truly reckless he was. The emotional charge behind that break-up was nowhere near the caliber of his own, but it was still fairly high when it did end officially. Idle chatter wormed its way in after that, with a discussion of how the fair had been overall, and what the plan would be for the following week. The normalcy and warmth of his companion kept him anchored, kept the darkness of the past at bay the longer they spoke, and he couldn't help but revel in it, albeit silently. Soon enough, though, Holly was rising from her chair, marking the lateness of the hour and how she had to get home. Rising, he walked her down, going first down the fire escape and bracing her when her turn came. When they exited through his apartment and made it down to the street, he escorted her out in front of the studio, sticking by her side as they waited for a cab to pass by. After a few moments, he felt a mild tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he watched as Holly spread her arms, gesturing for him to step into her embrace. Taking the comfort she offered, he soaked in the feel and the heat of her body against his, the kindness and caring in her hug resonating deep within him.

"For the record, I don't think you're crusty or busted-up," she whispered after a few seconds, her breath ghosting over his ear. A stray shiver shot down his spine, his arms tightening around her at the sincerity in her voice. "Just a little rough around the edges."

His mouth curved at that, and when she pulled back, he could see it reflected on her face. A cab came speeding up to the curb, the driver calling out the window and asking if one of them needed a ride. With her chariot awaiting her, there was nothing left to do but part ways for the night. Promising to text him the next day, she climbed into the backseat, waving a little through the window at him when the door shut. Steve raised his in farewell just before the cab rocketed away from the curb, lowering slowly before being tucked into his pocket.

"G'night, Holl," he murmured to himself, tipping his head back briefly and staring up at the sky for several seconds more. Canting his head, he cast a fond look in the direction she'd gone before tripping back home himself.

xXxXxXx

One Monday in mid-August found Holly trudging in the early hours, a yawn shooting out of her as she walked to her destination. Archer's Café was a decent coffee shop, a good place to go for those sick of the chains and the commercialism of the big-name cafés (though the owner had said he wouldn't mind the pay-out that the big chains had, something she'd snickered and brushed off afterward). Unlocking the grate and the front door with the keys she'd been commissioned several months back, she entered the space. It was decently sized, the first floor dedicated to the bar and wide, open seating area. The eclectic furniture stood out among the earth tones of the walls and floors, the medium woods of the bar and boards bringing a sense of home to mind as she made her way to the counter. Once her backpack had been stored under the register and she'd swapped her shirt for the designated polo, she set about getting the floor to rights. The tables in front of the windows that flanked the door needed a good wipe-down, and the group of comfy chairs to the left had been pushed askew. As she was doing so, the door clicked open, another yawning face to greet as he wandered in. It was a new hire, a guy only a few years younger than her. Pushing the flop of his fauxhawk out of his eyes and adjusting his square-rimmed glasses, he wandered over to her and shook her hand in greeting. His name slipped her mind for the moment, but she figured she could get by with the training, to start with. Putting him to work with sweeping, she started pulling out the necessary accouterments for the morning. Her shift would last until 2 PM, and already she could feel her legs starting to ache. She'd spent Saturday working another art fair with Steve, during which she was on her feet for a good portion of the time. She'd thought she would've gotten used to it by then, but clearly that was not the case. At least his tent had merited a good amount of interest; sales for his work seemed to have spiked early on, and he had nearly run out when they had to pack up for the night.

And there were no surprise visits from significant people that time. Even with the browsing attendees, there were blocks of time where it was just him and her, teasing and talking as ever. Except, well...it had changed a bit, since that night on the roof. That wasn't to say it was a bad thing, though; she had liked Steve before that, and now...now, with more of the pieces of himself being brought to life, she reckoned that she was...

A clunk and a muted curse broke through her musings, drawing her back into reality. The new guy had tripped over the weirdly-angled coffee table by the couch, something she herself had done on her first day (and still did, on occasion). Grumbling, she commiserated with the kid, telling him that it was one of the pieces that the owner would not part with, no matter how many shins it damaged. It was character-building, or that was his excuse, at least.

With the clean-up performed, she and the younger guy had managed to get on their commissioned aprons, setting up the pastries and preparing the equipment in time for the morning rush to come through. Luckily, Mister Fauxhawk had experience as a barista before, so he had no trouble being on register and brew bar. Holly was left with manning the espresso bar, and any orders that needed to be cooked in their miniature kitchen area. Mostly, the morning commuters and such preferred picking from the baked goods they got from the bakery three blocks over, and she didn't have to worry about it overmuch. Those who stayed were relatively easy to handle that morning, taking their drinks and working off the Monday haze while utilizing the free WiFi. A rare few actually picked off the communal bookshelves near the back, perusing a chapter or two before downing the dregs of their mochas or lattes and heading out the door. Silently, Holly cheered them on; she couldn't be the only one reading the books in her downtime, particularly when there were some good titles on the shelves.

The major rush had come and gone by nine o'clock, and a few stragglers were left in various places around the shop. Taking the opportunity to tidy up a bit and collect the stray cups and mugs that were not returned, she had her back to the door when the little bell above it tinkled. Heavy footsteps stomped across the boards, right up to the register, and when she returned from placing the dishes in the sink for washing, she wasn't surprised to see who it was. A fellow of average height stood before the new guy, his layered tee sporting the band logo for AC/DC that day. He passed a hand through his close-cropped dark hair, the touch of gray at his temples and in his goatee seeming to stand out that morning. His expressive dark eyes darted over the guy at the till, before ricocheting to her, and the smirk he sported became genuine.

"Kiddo," he greeted her, one hand raising in a wave (wrist guard on again, and the other was too occupied with holding his ever-present leather case).

"Tony," she said, the name riding on her exhale as she stepped forward. The man was a veritable legend in the neighborhood, given how he had been head of the technical operations for Shield Industries. The energy and public works company seemed to have a finger in all the pies of New York City, and Tony was the one to push them toward the clean options. Rumor had it that he'd worked on contract for the military once, only to switch midway through his career, but that was all neighborhood speculation. To her, he was just one of the regulars, jonesing for his next cup of Joe. And he actually appreciated her treating him as such. Furrowing her brow, she teased, "Need the regular strength stuff or your fix?"

"The junkie needs espresso, stat," a lighter, more mellow voice came, the owner of it stepping up to the left of the man in front of the till. He adjusted the glasses that were perched upon his nose, brushing his hands down the yellow button-up and sporting an unassuming smile in greeting. "Decaf for me."

"You got it, Dr. Banner," Holly stated, hooking a thumbs-up at him and gesturing for the new kid to ring up the orders. The mild-mannered man tipped a nod in thanks; one would hardly take him as the foremost clean energy specialist in the city (all of which she'd learned after serving him several times; the man wasn't keen on bragging about himself). With it being slower, she could handle making both drinks. Measuring out the scoops and prepping the machines, she caught Stark eyeing up the newbie, his frantic gaze sliding over to her in reassurance. Deftly she tipped her head; she had his typical, super-charged Americano covered, as she had the last few months she'd been working there.

"Just a couple of thimbles and I'll be good to go," he muttered aloud, slipping the kid his card and paying for both drinks before Banner could object. Glancing at his work partner, he seemed almost giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet as she doubled the shot amount of espresso for his drink. "So close to hitting the break, can't give up now."

The good doctor crossed his arms, humming low in his throat. "Unless your heart gives out first."

"Then just give me an adrenal jump-start," the tech genius retorted flippantly, tapping his hand against his chest to mimic said jump-start. "Or the paddles, whichever is near at hand."

Banner gave an exasperated groan, rolling his eyes playfully.

"That's assuming I'd bring you back. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he assured his friend, tapping the free bit of counter space with his thumb. Before much longer, she produced both drinks, and the doctor shot her a grateful look. "Thanks, Holly."

Well-versed in their banter by that point, she handed over the drinks and grinned. "You're welcome."

Stark dipped his chin, practically falling on the oversized mug that seemed to be on reserve for him when he came in, several dollars tucked into the tip jar. Taking a healthy sip, he barely flinched as the espresso mixed with coffee coursed down his throat. Holly was sure that, if he wasn't certain that he'd destroy his throat, he would've downed it like a shot. Pivoting, he started to follow Banner as he walked away.

"Whenever you got a moment, toss me a grilled cheese, too!" he called over his shoulder, picking out his favorite specialty dish despite the fact that it was barely past 9:05. Waving his credit card again, he continued, "On the tab."

The new guy (what was his name? It would drive her crazy until she remembered) looked askance at her, and she just inclined her head, setting about the task. The next shift, he would learn about the few special meals they would whip up for customers, but she had that one covered. As the pair of mad scientists took up their usual spot, the small table set up by the left window pane, she shook her head, grinning affectionately at thin air. For all the seeming insanity that rolled off Tony in waves, he really was brilliant; she'd peeked at some of his blueprints while serving him, once or twice. They were designs for machines and projects that she had no clue about, other than the fact that they were based off handmade models that actually worked. At least he had Doctor Banner as a balance, she mused as she began making the grilled cheese he'd requested. The brain behind his engineered brawn, Tony liked to call him, and the other man would roll his eyes and rake a hand back through his messy curls, brushing it off in favor of getting to work.

The fact that they were habitually the tidiest and nicest regular customers (not to mention being consistent tippers) certainly didn't hurt, either.

A shuffle came from the curtained stock area, making the new kid working the till jump slightly. Used to it by then, Holly continued assembling the different cheeses on the bread and mentally counted down. By the time she got to two, the curtain was swept to the side, the tall and broad proprietor narrowly avoiding getting smashed by the stock. Blowing out a sharp breath, he shook his head, light eyes darting over the new kid for a minute before scanning the café. The sandy-haired man snorted then, sidling up to Holly and dipping his chin.

"So the psychotic is in today, huh?" he noted quietly, the hint of humor nearly always present in his voice picking up. He nodded over to where Tony was sitting, the brunet fellow suddenly tapping his friend with the end of a pencil and prodding him until he looked at something he'd sketched in his notebook. As Banner glanced over it, canting his head in denial and sipping his coffee, she snickered to herself.

"As per usual, Clint," she told him, smirking back. Clint was the owner, having purchased the space from a buddy of his twelve years ago in a bid to get a fresh start on life. By her second shift of working there, she'd dropped her politeness at his insistence, as he felt 'Mister Barton' was a little much for the owner of a coffee shop. It made things simpler in the long run, and an easy form of camaraderie had sprung up between them. A fellow expat of the Midwest, Clint would offer up jokes and barbs that she could get and add to (he could fire off something about the Vikings, and she'd come back with the fact that Iowa wasn't regarded enough by the league to even have a team, period; things of that nature).

"Jittery or excited this time?" he asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the patron in question.

Holly tipped her head from side to side as she cooked, deliberating. "Mixture of both, it seems."

"Hmm. Must be on the verge of discovery," Clint remarked sagely. Stark and Banner had been regulars of the café for years—he actually did claim them as friends, for better or for worse, with Bruce acting as godson to his newborn boy—and therefore knew them very well. He could tell when Tony was on a breakaway: wild eyes, flashing snark and fast movements illustrating it all. Canting his head, he also equivocated, "Or collapse. Either way, make sure he doesn't deplete our stock in one hour."

The young woman snorted at that. "Alright. Like he could, anyway."

"Gets pretty damn close sometimes," he grumbled mildly, casting a dubious look at the tech genius again. That time, Tony caught his glance, and returned it with a knowing smirk of his own. His espresso cup was raised, and he shook it a little, indicating that he was tapped out. If Clint was exaggerating, it wasn't by much, in his estimation. Sighing, he tapped the new kid's shoulder, indicating that he could go and start washing up the dirty dishes. The next shift person, Katie, would be in by eleven, and due to her work over the previous months, he knew Holly could manage on her own for a bit since it had quieted down. Checking over the register carefully, Barton continued, "Stark's your charge today; I gotta get the books done, or Laura's gonna have a fit."

Holly chuckled lightly. Her boss had done well with the business, but she reckoned a lot of it had to do with his wife. Nice and efficient as he was, he hated the paperwork aspect. Laura, all smiles and long, dark hair when she'd met her, housed a determination that rivaled anyone else that she knew. (Well, almost anyone.) No doubt some form of motivation gifted by her was driving Clint on, and Holly merely shrugged a shoulder, plating the fully-cooked sandwich to the recipe's specs and adding a dash of seasoned kettle chips around it.

"Fair enough," she said, accepting her duty and stepping out to serve the ordered sandwich. With another grin, Clint saluted her, two fingers tapped to his temple before disappearing down the back hallway to the office. Ringing up the charge for the food and filling up another cup for the tech genius, Holly soon found that the numbers inside the store had dwindled further. With the lull in foot traffic and orders, she carefully pulled her battered notebook out from the backpack stored there. In it were pages and pages of short stories, small project she'd worked at on and off for years. In the past, she'd committed a few to word documents and sent them off to a couple of online magazines, but nothing had been published yet. Still, she was not about to give up writing; it was a transport for her mind, a way for her to inhabit new worlds and communicate what she could not express succinctly. A pen was fetched from the jar nearby, and she picked up where she'd left off. Minutes were lost as she was absorbed in her writing, the pen flowing fluidly over the paper as she scribbled. Stalling on one character preparing to make a choice between staying in her place or moving onto a new world and life (somewhat autobiographical, but she wasn't about to announce that to the world), the bell above the door rang again, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Work, she was at work, and she could not afford to daydream at the moment.

"Hello, welcome to...oh, God," she groaned, her greeting lost as she fully realized who was on the other side of the till. The mop of blond hair was barely combed into place, the bright blue eyes lighting up as she looked upon him. Steve stood there, looking fresh from the shower and ready for the day. Blinking, her free hand tugged idly on the hem of the stitched polo she had to wear for work and breathed slowly out her nose. She had told him where she would be that morning, since he texted her and asked the night before, but she hadn't thought that anything would come of it.

"Steve, actually," he corrected jokingly, shooting her his little half-grin. Ignoring the flip-flop in her stomach, she rolled her eyes as he adjusted the zip of his dark hoodie to sit even higher than it had before.

"So funny, you should make that part of your stand-up act," she deadpanned, shaking her head and smoothing down the apron she wore—the bright purple was nearly migraine-inducing, but it was Clint's choice and one that she could not buck. Discreetly tucking her notebook into her bag, back on the low shelf of the counter, she asked, "What brings you by?"

Inclining his head toward the multicolored scrawls on the backboard behind her, he replied, "Well, coffee, for one thing."

"Uh-huh," she intoned, letting the corners of her lips curl up then. Given the distance between the café and his art studio, she highly suspected him having a different motive for coming to her place of work; there was a Starbucks just down the street from him, after all. And the studio was due to open in another hour, come to think of it. Without waiting for him to state what kind he wanted, she began to move automatically. Dark roast was selected, and soon enough she was pouring out a cup for him; she'd had to do caffeine runs during their mornings at the art fairs more often than not, and had his preferences down to a science at that time. Adding an overly cheery lilt to her voice, she announced, "Straight black, for the heathen artiste."

"Thank you, ma'am," he answered with faux politeness, grin stretching as he accepted the cup (she'd teased him about his preferences before, and he'd lobbed remarks about the way she doctored hers to become more confection than caffeine drink with alacrity). His credit card passed hands, the purchase made, and when she passed it back, he tucked it between two fingers before grabbing at her wrist. Stalled in moving away from the till, she waited as he murmured, "Hold on, I have something for you."

Her eyebrows inclined. "What?"

Furtively, he glanced around the café, wondering aloud if she had a break coming up soon. It wouldn't take long, he promised. Her free hand came up, a single finger extended and imploring him to wait another minute. Striding to the back, she brought the kid out from washing dishes so that the register was covered before she stepped out from behind the counter. Unbeknownst to her, the eyes of the doctor and the tech genius were tracking the pair across the room, eyebrows arching and lips twisting in good humor as she followed Steve to the couch by the bookshelves. Dropping onto the cushion beside him, she waited until he' d gotten in a couple sips of his coffee before prompting him to tell her what was up. He swallowed, his gaze dropping to his knees briefly as uncertainty laced his features.

"Well, you know this past weekend was the last art fair I was booked for, so..." he began, setting his mug down on the oblong coffee table. Reaching into one of the pockets of his hoodie, he fiddled with whatever was in there for a few seconds before withdrawing it. "Here's your cut for helping me this summer."

An envelope appeared, her name scrawled across the front in his cursive penmanship. Shock flooded her system as she stared down at it. The top flap was tucked in, allowing her to see several twenties inside. Quick math told her it was a couple hundred dollars, maybe a bit more, and she was stunned further. Steve had saved some of the earnings? For her? Unable to say a word, she continued to gape as his free hand came up and scratched at the back of his neck, the envelope pressed closer to her.

"I, I know it's not a lot, but—"

Jarred out of her staring, her palm rose, cupping over the hand holding the envelope and stilling its approach toward her.

"You don't have to give me anything," she told him, earnestness coming to the fore. She hadn't gone with him, set things up and worked at collecting addresses and payments for later shipping, with the intent of making a profit for herself, and she had to let him know. Her rejection was gentled with a small, true smile. "I wanted to help. Besides, I didn't really do anything other than set up and annoy your ass during the downtime."

He shot her a look then, his own grin becoming sardonic.

"Selling yourself short won't get you anywhere, Holl." Sighing, he lowered his hands into his lap, forcing her to hastily withdraw her contact. A little twist and jump registered in his gut, but he brushed it aside. Gesturing to the envelope now seated on his leg, he confessed, "Truth is, I did really well this year, and you did help make that happen. Even by 'annoying my ass.'"

He brought up his hands to put air quotes around the last few words, making her giggle. The musical sound had him chuckling, too, before he picked the envelope up again, taking one of her hands and pressing it into her grip.

"Please, take it."

Slowly, he pressed his fingers into hers, the calloused pads of his enfolding the soft skin of hers and causing it to close around the parceled bills. A couple brushes of his thumb, and then he let go, leaving the money in her grip. Her gaze was latched onto it for several long seconds, deep inhalations making her chest rise and fall. Her brow screwed up in thought during that time, her tongue clicking before she spoke again.

"This isn't charity money, is it?" she asked bluntly, shooting him a look. If that was why he'd given it to her, then she definitely didn't want it; she may not have been rolling in dough, but she was providing for herself. She didn't want him to pity her, for whatever odd reason that he would.

His brow furrowed at that; now he looked like he'd been insulted. "Of course not. You've earned this, trust me."

Chagrined by his answer, Holly chewed her lip for a second or two. She knew it wasn't cheap or easy to be an artist, particularly one with a studio to maintain and a lease to pay, on top of everything else. Steve deserved every penny earned, and she didn't want to take that from him.

"This is...you really shouldn't be..." she started, a catch in her throat stemming her protestations then.

"Well, I could take the money back and just buy you something." His tone was unaffected, but the quirk of his mouth and the slight spiking of his eyebrow belied that, and so she scrutinized him carefully. Lifting a shoulder, he went on, "I know you had your eye on those lovely horse figurines from that open market a few weeks back. I'm sure I could find the guy's webpage and—"

"No, no! Not necessary," she cut him off, a tremor of alarm ripping through her. Though she knew he was joking, she couldn't take the chance of calling his bluff. The horse figurines were horrendous, and had been the subject of mockery once they'd departed from the market that night. Huffing out a sigh, she glanced down at the envelope in her hands, staring at it for a few moments before folding it and wedging it into her jeans pocket. "This feels like blackmail."

A laugh coursed out of Steve's throat, and he inclined his head. "More like forcing the issue, but if it got you to take it..."

Her eyes rolled again, but the measure of fondness in her irises could not be pushed aside. Scooting the edge of the couch, she glanced up at the clock on the far wall. It had only been a few minutes, but she knew she needed to get back to her post as swiftly as possible.

"Shut up. I should probably..." she trailed off, noticing the peek of royal blue over the top of the zipper of his hoodie. Squinting at it, a suspicion formed in her mind. How had she not noticed it before? "Hold on."

Catching her narrowed glance, Steve followed it down, frowning at himself. "What?"

Her hand shot out, fingers snatching at the zip and wrenching it down swiftly. A little shocked by her move, Steve could feel a rush of heat flood his face as she revealed the shirt he was wearing underneath. Her eyes raked over the white star on the blue cotton, the white and red stripes below hinted at. The squint turned into a wide-eyed gaze, and her irises lit up impishly.

"I knew it. I freakin' knew it," she proclaimed, tapping her finger directly on the star. Despite his protestations, she knew he would like the shirt she'd gotten him for his birthday, jokey as it was. Crossing her arms and looking thoroughly satisfied, she could only smirk as Steve gaped up at her, his jaw quirking for a few seconds.

"I, I need to do laundry, this was clean," he stammered out an excuse, the pink smattering along his cheekbones becoming starker.

"Sure. Whatever you say, Captain America," she teased, bending forward and pretending to fix the collar of his tee. When it was supposedly straightened, she rested her hands on his shoulders, patting them for effect. His baby blues narrowed in on her, the grim set of his mouth cutting a hard line across his face.

"I hate you," he muttered petulantly, to which she giggled. The stoic set of his jaw loosened as her fingers shifted over his shirt, the heat of them bleeding through the material and warming him. Across the room, a loud voice broke the quiet hum set by the remaining customers and the overhead radio system.

"Kiddo! Need another refill!" one of the guys up by the windows called out, his cup raised and his dark eyes gleaming in the light of the morning. Shaking her head, she let out a short hum, her eye rolling up briefly before settling back on her companion beside her.

"Nah, you don't hate me," Holly countered Steve's earlier testiness, grinning shyly and squeezing his shoulders before stepping away. Back to work she went, a last glance cast over her shoulder at him. A thud in his chest broke through, and he swallowed hard.

"No, I don't," Steve said, nearly whispering to himself as he watched her go, the sway of her hips and the swing of her pulled-back hair entrancing him for several seconds. When she attended to her loudmouthed customer, all smiles and laughter exchanged, he sank back into the cushions of the sofa, grabbing his coffee and barely tasting it as his mind whirled on. As both of their minds whirled on; Holly was no more immune than he, her mind straying over to the couch long after he'd finished his drink and bid her farewell for the day.

---

A/N: Ah, the second chapter, in which we saunter through summer, and some progress is made, and many things are learned and shared...;)

Those posters mentioned do exist; I've personally have always liked the style used for 1940's advertisements myself, so that was fun to look up.

I will take this opportunity to say that I had absolutely no intention for this to come off as a Peggy Carter bashing, in any sense. I absolutely adore her character; she's the kind of badass female protagonist that Marvel needs, and Hayley Atwell does her complete justice. HOWEVER, I couldn't very well ignore her, even for a modern, real-world AU setting. In this universe, she was faced with some difficult life events—struggling to get a foot in the door after finishing school, making a name for herself in her chosen profession, maintaining a relationship with her soldier boyfriend after he returned and dealt with PTSD—and she had to make difficult choices. In the end, she had to make the ones that would be the best for her and for Steve, and in this case, it was ending the relationship in pursuit of the career she wanted, and to find eventual healing in the separation. I guess all I can say is...break-ups happen, even to people you think could be together and could make it. That's life, and Peggy certainly isn't a villain; she's just human, like everyone else. And I know not everyone will be okay with this, but...AU, with canon character/OC pairing here.

SHIELD is intentionally spelled without capitals since it is not an acronym in this context. Just covering my bases on that. And also, because I have been asked, I have implied that, rather than being sickly and small up through his adult life, Steve has gone through a growth spurt after graduating high school—which can happen. I have an uncle who was of average height and build throughout grade school (slightly under for a bit), and when he went to college, he shot up and reached his maximum height of 6'4". Not a joke, y'all. Steve in this universe was just short until going to college/going into the army, as implied in the first chapter. So technically, he has the build of his post-serum body at the moment in this story. Again, just another instance of covering my bases because I've been asked to clarify.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Facebook, Uber, Star Wars, Coca-Cola, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

EDIT: Reposted due to site not registering update the previous week. Hopefully you'll all get the notification this time...I have decided to start a Twitter account specifically for my profile for this site. I will use it to promote chapter updates and such for my stories, in the hopes that I can keep you all in the loop that way. My Twitter handle is PhanProTweets, and I would love it if you followed me. I don't want site issues to prevent you guys from knowing what's going on, and I hope it will all work out.