Pulling into a spot in the visitors' lot a little after three o'clock, Holly put the car in park and cut the engine, resting her forearms and head on the wheel for a moment. Traffic from the bookstore to the hospital had been a downright nightmare, as she had been caught in the beginnings of rush hour, not to mention she'd been stuck behind a particularly slow Cadillac driver on the last leg of the journey. She'd definitely lost her temper and then some, and was swearing out loud as she feared being late to her promised meeting. She hated being late. Drawing in a few deep breaths, she didn't raise her head until she felt herself calm down.
At least the dissipating road rage had subdued the nervousness somewhat.
When she woke that morning, she felt the knots tying in her stomach as she thought about actually meeting Steve face-to-conscious-face. It was one thing to interact with an unconscious man, quite another to actually speak with him. Especially when he was supposed to be this great, big, all-American super soldier, and she was just...herself. That was intimidating, no matter how many times she told herself he was just another human being. It motivated her to be a little pickier with her dressing and her appearance that morning. The end result of a blue sweater, dark jeans, and flats finally met with her approval, but she was almost late to work because of it.
Checking her face in the visor mirror, she noted her brown eyes looked a little bloodshot, but not terribly so. Her hair had fluffed up during work, too. She'd left it to air dry, in the hopes that the humidity wouldn't be high enough to affect it as she went about her day; evidently she was wrong. Holly had spent her time running to the office supply store and the grocery store, restocking the depleted stock for the staff. She also had to make phone calls to the book suppliers to inquire after a shipment that had not arrived yet, a frustrating call that had her raking her hand over her head in muted rage when she was told that the delay would be another two days. She must have looked like a descendant of a cotton ball when she joined Alex, one of the part-time people, in the front until it was time for her to take off. He'd certainly given her a funny look as she walked around (not that he had room to do so, in her opinion; his fauxhawk was getting long again and had started drooping to the left).
'Pony tail it is, then,' she thought, pulling the hair binder from her wrist, a habit she'd developed in high school. She combed through it with her fingers a few times before tying it back, taming it as best she could. 'Wavy hair sucks sometimes.'
Content that she was presentable, she grabbed her clutch from the passenger seat and got out of the car. Each step that brought her closer to the hospital made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. There was no reason to be nervous, she tried telling herself yet again, it would be fine. Tugging on the end of her sleeve, she found an orderly at the lobby desk and asked him directions to Steve's room (she could remember traveling the path, but she did not mark the other rooms to gauge where she was). After giving her name, and explaining that she was a friend, the orderly made a quick phone call back.
"We have to check, see if you're approved to see him," she was told as he grabbed the receiver. She frowned as he dialed numbers. It was obvious she wasn't a reporter, or some deranged fan, or anything like that. In fact, she was pretty sure that Captain America's hospital stay was still firmly under wraps from the media. It was an incredible notion, but she hadn't seen or heard any evidence to the contrary as of yet. If anything, people seemed to think he was off gallivanting elsewhere now that the helicarriers were destroyed.
"But I was the one who basically got him here," she muttered under her breath, waiting for him to finish. After some minor back and forth with the person on the other end of the line, he hung up after a couple minutes and stood.
"Follow me."
Trailing after him, the path through the hallways started to become familiar, and she was confident that next time (if there was a next time) she could make her way there without incident. Both of Holly's hands gripped her clutch tightly, an effort to stop them from fiddling nervously as she walked. As they rounded a corner, she drew in a sharp breath.
There were guards posted at both ends of the hall, and another one was stationed just beyond Steve's door. And each one of them had what looked like machine guns. Whether they were military or CIA, or even if they from the now-defunct SHIELD, she had no clue. All she knew was that she had grossly underestimated the situation in thinking that there was no harm in him being here.
'Of course. If he's being kept here secretly, whatever's protecting him would protect him thoroughly. Idiot,' she chided herself, subconsciously straightening her back and looking anywhere but at the guards. She didn't want to give them any excuse to think her suspicious and have her escorted out in whatever way they deemed fit. The orderly motioned for her to stop, striding forward to speak with the guard ahead in hushed tones. After the two exchanged glances and sized her up, they motioned for her to proceed. Their radio systems seemed to come alive as she walked by, crackling and indicating that she had entered the hall, and that she was not a threat.
Stopping in front of the door, she reached for the knob before remembering her manners. Withdrawing her hand, she gently reached up instead to knock. The shut blinds on the inside wiggled slightly, pulling off the sides briefly and allowing only a peek of the foot of the hospital bed. Her eyes dropped to the ground, staring at her feet as she waited for an affirmative.
"Come in," Sam's voice filtered through the door, causing her to sigh in relief. Thank goodness, someone she knew was in there, too. Turning the door handle, she heard a quiet melody as she came into the room. Looking up, she'd intended on locating the source of the music, spotting an iPod plugged into speakers on a rolling tray in the corner of the room. Sam stepped in front of her then, offering his hand for her to shake. He looked a little better after two days, the cuts on his face well on their way to healing. "Good to see you, Holly."
"Yeah, good to see you, too, Sam," she responded, trying to discreetly look around him. He blocked her view of the rest of the room, and consequently of Steve. "You look better."
Understanding what she was doing immediately, he chuckled. Maneuvering around her, he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the hallway.
"Thanks. Well, I'll be around in case either of you need me," he said, going out the door. Holly turned to watch him go, squelching a renegade impulse to beg him to stay. Instead she nodded at his retreating back, the door obscuring him as it shut behind him. Inhaling deeply, she took her eyes off the door, and faced the interior of the room once again.
Steve was sitting up, the bed inclined to help him. Many of the tubes and wires had been removed. He was still hooked up to a heart monitor, which was chirping softly, and the IV. The unfortunate hospital gown was still swathed around his body, the short sleeves not hiding his bruised arms. His hands were settled in his blanketed lap, with what looked like a newspaper folded beneath them. His bright blue eyes stared right back at her, examining her as well. What struck her the most was, despite the cuts and stitches along his jaw, and the nasty bruise over his right eye, he looked good.
Part of her had been repressing the fact that he was an attractive fellow, as it was not appropriate at any point in the last two days to dwell on it. Now, it was resurfacing at the absolute wrong moment. Especially when an uncomfortable silence had stretched on for far too long. As she was preparing to say something, anything, Steve broke the ice himself.
"So, you're Holly Martin."
His voice sounded a lot nicer in person, she absently noted. Nodding, she took a few steps forward and offered a tentative grin. "Yeah. Hi."
"Hi." He motioned to the visitor chair that Sam had left by the side of the bed. "Have a seat. No need to stand on my account."
Dropping into the chair, she tapped a finger against her clutch, scanning his face once more. "You look better, Steve. Or, Captain, whatever you'd prefer."
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Steve is just fine."
"Okay, then." She glanced away, looking around at the flowers and get-well cards that were placed along the back wall on another tray. Feeling a little stupid, she proceeded to unzip the clutch and withdrew the Hershey bar she had in there. She didn't want to show up empty-handed, and had picked it up while running errands. "It's no fancy arrangement, but still, it's got to taste better than the food here. Get well soon, Steve."
She handed it off to him then, grateful he didn't just toss it away. In fact, he looked a little surprised, like he hadn't expected her to even do something like that for him.
"Thank you."
"No problem," she replied, feeling at a loss. "So...looks notwithstanding, how are you feeling?"
"Mostly sore, kind of like I was tossed around in the dryer."
Her eyebrows twitched together, thinking back on the carriers. "Pretty big dryer, I'd say."
He grinned, but his eyes turned gloomy, focusing on his covered feet. "Definitely."
Hesitating, she allowed the music to play through before speaking again. She knew that she wasn't here simply for a visit, and she preferred to get everything out in the open. "Look, I don't know exactly how much Sam told you, or if Natasha said anything-"
His sharp glance cut back to her then, but she kept talking.
"-But if you need me to, I don't know, fill in any gaps that they couldn't, I will. As best I can, anyway."
Slowly, Steve nodded, turning over the questions in his mind swiftly. "They told me most of what happened. I know there was a...a guy, who pointed me out to you."
"Yes," she murmured, mentally preparing to recall as much as she could.
"You're absolutely certain it was a dark-haired man with a metal arm?"
She smirked, shrugging her shoulders. "I know, it sounds ridiculous, but yeah, I'm positive."
Steve snorted, though his demeanor had turned thoughtful. "Not all that ridiculous, I can promise you that."
Given what the man had lived through, and no doubt had seen, Holly couldn't deny the truth in Steve's words.
"Did he threaten you, in any way?"
She blinked, her expression perplexed. He was concerned that she could have been hurt? "No. Not really."
Off his raised eyebrow, she hastened to explain, "I mean, he didn't say anything to me, but he looked a little scary. I didn't want to provoke him."
Steve interjected, "So no physical confrontation, either?"
Holly shook her head. "No, definitely not. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to get out of there."
He leaned back into the pillows behind him then, digesting what she had told him. His jaw tightened as he thought hard, drawing conclusions to events and things she had no understanding of. And due to her experience with Sam, brief though it may have been, she knew better than to ask. Long minutes stretched, with the tunes flowing on. Unknowingly, she began rubbing at her shoulder with her free hand, working out a stress knot and wincing from the pain.
"What happened to your hand?"
She froze, her ministrations paused. Holding it out in front of her, she could see the faint purple outlines of fingertips along the side of her hand. Oh, boy. Well, that explained why she couldn't rest her hand on the counters at work today; it was stinging from the bruises. She'd ignored it at the time, just chalking it up to sensitive skin or nerves. It wasn't the worst pain in the world, and odds were that they would disappear in a few days. The trouble was explaining what happened to the one who caused the bruises.
Not knowing what spin to put on it, she decided to be honest. "When the doctors told me to leave so they could take care of you, you...wouldn't let me."
Steve's eyes widened. "What?"
"When I was waiting for the ambulance to come get you, I wanted you to know it was going to be okay, just in case you woke up or something," she stated with embarrassed amusement. "So I...held your hand. And then you kept holding on, up until we got here. Made me promise I wouldn't go anywhere before you'd let me go."
His skin flushed, his face turning slightly pink. "I...I'm sorry. I had no idea..."
She waved it off, glossing over the awkwardness with a half smile. "Don't be. Seriously, I'm fine."
She held eye contact with him until her returned the gesture, nodding that he accepted her word.
A knock came at the door, and a helmeted head poked in at that moment. "The nurse is saying five more minutes, sir."
Steve, turning his attention to the guard, dipped his chin and indicated for him to leave. Holly wished she had a reason to object, to stay, but she knew that it would only cause problems for her to do so. Besides, whether he wanted to or not, Steve was beginning to look tired. For being a super soldier, he was taking his time recovering from the past few days.
Holly didn't want to make things worse for him.
Tilting her head to the left, she let out a weary sigh. "I suppose that's my cue to leave, then."
He nodded, but he did not seemed to be pleased. Probably because he was the one would be stuck there, being examined by the nurses yet again. "I suppose."
As she rose from her seat, Steve struggled to sit up straighter, as far as he could without assistance. Holly dropped her clutch, impulsively leaning forward to help. Planting one hand behind his back to steady him, she gave him the other (the uninjured one) to lever himself up. When he'd managed to reach his goal, he squeezed her fingers as gently as he could, not wanting to hurt her again.
"Thank you, ma'am. For everything."
Her throat went dry, her shoes becoming a fascinating sight at that moment. A hero, a superhero, had thanked her for her help. Like she had done something extraordinary, like it wasn't something anyone else could have done. Her voice came out in the barest whisper.
"You're welcome."
Backing away, she glanced at the array of flowers arrangements once more, registering how few of them there were. Granted, his condition was being kept from the public, but the friends who did know did not number many. Her heart twisted at that, thinking how lonely he must be.
"Look, there's no reason for you to agree to this, and don't feel obligated to do so, but...I mean, being in the hospital sucks," she rambled, pushing back the part of her that was screaming for her to shut up, "and I know it's not fun to be here by yourself, so if...if you want some company, other than Sam, I mean...well, I'm around."
Feeling like she couldn't have sounded dumber, she chanced a glance his way. Looking him full in the face, she saw that Steve's expression had become stoic and even. Maybe it was a mistake to even suggest coming back. But then she looked him in the eye. His gaze was bright with amusement, and hope.
"I can't think of a reason to say no, Miss Martin."
A/N: If the character description for Holly was excessive, I am sorry about that. Writing just happens the way it happens, I guess.
So yeah, Holly and Steve finally meet. About time, right? Right. Things are a little awkward right now, but hopefully it won't be as bad in the future. :)
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!
