Evie stood on the balcony, looking out over the city bathed in the gloaming, a champagne flute in her hand. The sun was rapidly descending, and the city lights shimmered in the August heat.

"There you are," Steve came up behind her, laying a hand on her arm. "I've been looking for you."

She gave him a smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Something wrong?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I've just got this feeling I can't shake. That something is about to happen and it won't be good."

"Any idea what it might be?" Steve leaned against the railing, facing her.

"Dunno. I'll be fine. Moment of melancholy, I guess," she sighed. "We should go back inside. People have come here to schmooze with you guys."

"I've had it about up to here with schmoozing," Steve grumbled. "Even Tony hates this stuff. I'm not any good at it."

"Yeah, you're better at the pep talks and the giving orders and stuff, right, Captain?" she teased.

"I'll show you 'Captain'," he said. She clapped a hand over her mouth, biting back a guffaw.

"Steve," she said, giggling. He realized what he'd just said, and went red around the ears.

"Your mind, I swear…"

"I know, I know. 'We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars'," she quipped.

"Who said that?"

"Oscar Wilde. Not that you can see the stars from this city, too much light pollution."

"Ah. Come on, let's get out of here. Go get some food or something."

"I could go for something to eat," she smiled at him. "These hors d'oeuvres are…"

"Dog food?"

"I was going to say 'not appetizing', but 'dog food' works. I'm gonna tell Tony he needs to get a better caterer."

They were sitting in their fancy clothes in the café, on the slightly-dusty old couch. Evie had managed to rustle up some reheated leftover lasagna, which they shared out of a Tupperware container over the coffee table.

"I don't know what you do to this," Steve said, shoveling another forkful into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Nonna's spice blend," she explained. "Trade secret. It's classified."

"Speaking of classified…" he segued, grimacing. "I've got a mission. I'll be incommunicado for at least three days. I'm going with Nat on a mission."

"Okay," she shrugged, taking a bite of lasagna. He stared at her. "What?"

"I thought you might be… well, more upset."

"What, that you're leaving?" she threw up her hands. "It's your job. I knew about this signing up. Does it mean I won't worry? Fuck, I'll probably live on espresso and not sleep, lying in bed with one of your shirts because it still smells like you. Is that what you want to hear? It scares me shitless, Slick, but it's happening whether I want it to or not. Eventually, you're going to go away somewhere, probably get hurt, and there's gonna be nothing I can do about it. But screaming and crying, throwing a tantrum about it? That'll just make it worse on both of us."

"That's… well, more understanding than I expected. I have a calling, and it's really, really important that you respect that. I really feel better now."

"Ce n'est pas toujours souhaitable d'être celui à qui Dieu parle – it's not always desirable to be the one to whom God speaks," she smiled at him, taking his hand. "I have a small life, destined for small things, and that's how I like it. How you live your life is up to you. If we can fit together while we both do our own thing, well, that's better than being alone, isn't it? Toi pis moi, on va ben ensemble. You and me, we go good together."

"You're a lot more level-headed than most people."

"It's the blue hair. Makes me look crazy. But if I wear my crazy on my head, it means it doesn't settle in my heart."

He kissed her.

Steve couldn't do much on the iPhone he'd been given by Tony, but he understood how to use the timer, calculator, and phone. Now he was tackling texting and emails. Furrowing his brow, he set about trying to type on the little keyboard with one finger.

Evie's phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up. Email.

Dear Evie,

Just wanted to let you know that everything went smoothly. No serious injuries for anyone, just a couple of bruises. I'll be home today.

Sincerely,

Steve

She giggled. He still had a habit of writing emails like he would letters, which was adorable. Glancing around her empty shop – the morning rush was over – she flopped down on the couch.

Hey

Glad to hear it. You wanna come for dinner? I'll make something special. :)

Fifteen minutes passed, and her phone buzzed again.

Dear Evie,

I'll be back around noon, if all goes well, then debriefing. What time for dinner? And how did you make that little face?

XOXO

Steve

She kicked her shoes off and lay on her feet, her knees bent over the armrest of the couch. She flipped through the pictures she'd taken last night – she'd even set up her camera on a tripod, and fixed her hair into a pin-up, 1940's style. Dressed in a short, lacy nightie, she imitated Rita Hayworth's famous bedroom photo. She attached one to the email.

I'll show you later. And also this.

Steve's eyes went wide as he opened the picture attachment to the email, and he let out a breath of surprise. In black and white was his gorgeous girlfriend, posed on her bed in a way that was enticing but not pornographic. He shifted in his seat at the table in the hotel suite he was sharing with Nat. Two beds, obviously.

"Whatcha got there?" Nat said, coming up behind him and peering over his shoulder. He slammed the phone down on the table, but Nat had already seen. "Ooh, is that Evie? Sexy!" She let out a wolf whistle.

"It's none of your business," his cheeks flushed hotly. Scarlet laughed.

"No, it isn't, but you two are adorable together, and sending each other sexy pictures is kind of part and parcel nowadays. Did you send her one back?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're ripped like a raggy old t-shirt, stupid. Come on, take your shirt off. I'll take the picture. Get her blood pumping, too."

"I'm not doing that," he crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. He was never going to get used to being objectified. "Why would she want a shirtless picture of me?"

"Oh, Steve, you think girls don't get horny? Trust me, she'll love it."

"All right, if you're sure…" Steve reached behind himself and tugged the t-shirt over his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Nat reached over and undid his pants.

"Hey! Hands off!" he swatted at her.

"No, let me style this. It's not often I get to play photographer. Trust me!"

He sighed, but let her pose him against the wall by the closed curtains on the sliding door to the balcony, arranging it so the sunlight fell across him and defined his muscles. His pants were undone, the hem of his boxer-briefs barely visible. She tugged his jeans down his hips so there was a hint of the fuzz that trailed from his navel down to his groin. His hip bones – which Evie described as 'rock star hips' – stuck out as he arched his back, and she posed one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head.

She snapped a bunch of shots, firing instructions at him. Pout here, move your hand there. Cackling maniacally, she quickly wrote an email as he put his shirt back on, then gave his phone back to him.

"There you go," she "I've sent it, because you'd chicken out."

Nat's own phone buzzed, as she was alone in the bathroom, putting on lipstick.

You are my new best friend and I love you. – the email read. She threw her head back and laughed.

A/N: I'm having a lot of fun writing this one. Feedback is appreciated and always makes me scribble faster! Love!