The Full and Complete Works of the Critically Acclaimed, Best Selling Works of "Kitty" Black.
The Avengers Interviews
Captain Spandex
Captain America. All 'round 'Merican boy. Sweetest man I ever did meet. Personification of puppy love.
When I first saw him, I looked up to see his face, trying very hard to ignore the biceps swinging out of the tighter than skin t-shirt that looks like it's threatening to rip open, mostly because he's breathing.
"Hello." he sounds so careful.
"Hello, Captain." I regret nothing, but I do sound a bit like I'm swooning.
"Please ma'am, it's Steve." he looks at his state of dress, which is jeans and a shirt. "I'm so sorry, I didn't remember you were coming until Tony paged me to say you were waiting."
"Oh, that's fine. I've only been here a few minutes. Don't worry about it."
He smiles.
"I understand you have some questions for me?"
I'm shocked to listen to the audio and the giggle that falls out of my mouth. I don't remember that. It may be repressed, or it may be the inner tough-girl smacking the crap out of the flirt who's making that sound.
"Oh geeze." I say. "You're just something else, aren't you?"
There's a pause - I seem to remember me just smiling up at his gorgeous face, beaming, hoping he would sweep me up in his bloody fantastic arms and take me away to a castle somewhere. There'd be a sunset, dancing, a huge cake. I'd never have to work out again and he could just sit there and continue to be lovely. Hulk could come and make a bunch of Asgaurdian flowers, and then I could die happy.
"The questions." I say, blinking prominently.
Eyes on his face, Black. He's not a piece of meat.
Technically.
"Sure. Sure. The questions." I'm nodding so I can try and distract myself from perving. "Your apartment?"
"Of course." he hangs his head and I can't figure out what he's embarrassed by until he goes ahead and says it. "I'll be sleeping on the couch, you can have my bed."
"Oh, Steve, that's not necessary- If it's so uncomfortable I'll just, find another place. I'll go see Hulk again, it's not a big deal."
"The deal is for you to stay through the routine." he amends.
"I have been meaning to see him. No one has to know."
"I will." he says, a little sheepishly.
"Well, don't stress, we'll work something out."
I'm mothering him. I don't want to mother him. It's weird to mother him, he's so... Forties, it's really one of the last things I wanna be doing. But by god, it's happening.
He leads me to his makeshift place at Stark Tower, because you know, they all apparently moved there for my benefit. He makes us a hot chocolate - with marshmallows because this guy's a certified gem - and shows me around his place.
"I stay here most when I need a bit of time to myself. I like staying with everybody else, but I can't, not all the time. And it's good for me to keep in touch with Tony. Otherwise I forget how he is, and I end up frustrated when we need to work together."
"That sounds fair enough."
He's got the iconic picture of the kissing people in the street, blown up, framed on his wall.
I laugh at it, and go and inspect it further.
"Tony put it there." he says awkwardly. "I like it, I mean, it's good to see how happy they are. But I don't need to see it all the time."
"Ah, it's just celebration. He's harmless, Tony. Well..." I reconsider. "Not harmless. Decidedly not harmless. But he's just teasing."
"He always is, ma'am."
We study the picture for a little while longer, sipping our drinks.
"You make a mean cup of coco, Cap."
"Thank you. I used to get sick a lot, this was something that made me feel better. Somethings don't change."
I try not to be hurt about the fact he's practically telling me my presence is making him feel sick.
"Looks like you did."
"Yeah, I sure did."
"What was it like?" Everybody knows Captain America is product of a lab, but every body also knows he's got feats for saving hundreds of lives in one go.
"It was... Bright."
"Did it hurt?"
"Yes." he nods vigorously, and he blinks at me. "Do you want to start the interview now?"
"I think you need to calm down a bit. Have you read what I did with Doc and Stark?"
Now, he blushes all the way down his neck, looks guilty as hell. He swirls his chocolate around and says in a very awkward way: "I, uh, haven't had the uh, time."
"That's why you're nervous!" I snort. "Steven, I'm not into the whole interrogation thing. It's easy, with me. We just talk, and you can say 'no'. Got your rape whistle handy?"
Aaaaand that joke, flew right over his head.
"Rape whistle. It's a really loud whistle women use when they think that 'no' isn't enough... I'm not going to rape you." I say, just to clarify "Have a seat, hm? Relax. Take a load off. Seriously, you're making me anxious, sit down."
"Sorry." he says. "I don't mean to do that. It's just - the media and I don't have the best relationship."
"Yeah, you and I both."
He's a little confused.
"Between bitter, old school rivalry and my preferred method of writing - honesty - I don't get much work, exactly. Do you know how I got into Nick's line of vision?"
He laughs a little at the name, but shakes his head.
"Sorry."
"Hey, don't worry about it. You were busy. I'll have to show you how to use a computer. When the invasion happened, I kicked some alien ass, won an award. Then they wouldn't leave me alone for ages - I was begged to do interviews and TV appearances endorse some crappy diet pills and tell people that's what I was on. I didn't do any of it, I invested in a rape whistle."
He smiles, the kind of smile that lets you in on the pain two people share.
"For what it's worth, Steve... I think you're tougher than people give you credit for." I watch his face.
He is classically good looking, all hard lines and sharp contrasts. His jaw is phenomenal in it's structure - juxtaposed by the roundness of his pouted bottom lip. He's a sandy blonde, neatly styled, blue eyed, All American solider. The shoulders are so wide it's like looking at a kingsize bed with humanoid features and limbs.
Don't worry Nick, honey, nothing particularly definitive in that description, is there?
"Concerning what?"
I blink again, lost in thought.
"You're..." I take a deep, slow breath. "Homesick, from another era. I couldn't imagine it. Waking up seventy years from now. It'd kill a lesser man. It'd kill me."
He doesn't say anything. The silence is heavy, and it's sad. But I can't pull up from it. It was easy to keep things going with Tony - there was alcohol involved. Hulk is just a gem, even his dark places have silver linings.
But Steve... Steve is stuck. And he's stuck in this historical rut. And no one gets it.
"The people I knew then," I continue, because I'm thinking more about the repercussions of unwilling time travel. "To know had become of them now. Hell, the people I didn't know, the way they behave on the street, in the media. Everything has changed in seventy years."
There's another silence, and I think that at this time I reflect on how deep we've gone.
"Holy shit. I'm sorry. I took us there, that was my fault."
He makes a sound. He makes the same sound again, but I can't exactly hear him, not even when I replay the tape on full volume.
"Excuse me?"
"No. No. Don't- Don't be sorry. No one... I think- I think it's time." his cup is put down on the table with decisive purpose. He leans back in his chair, and grips the sides hard enough for the wood to groan in agony.
"Steve, you don't have to."
"There are some things I'd like to say." he murmurs, then clears his throat. "Please."
I nod. And then I wait, because the wood is upsetting and he's sinking into a place, seventy years long gone.
"When I was last alive, there was more, and there was less, to being alive. Even without-... without the Nazis, without the war. Marriage. Honesty. Poverty. Gettin' a girl. Bein' a proper man. There was honour and valour going on everyday. You didn't ogle a lady if you didn't want to have the snot beat out of you, but now there are ladies in skirts so high I wonder why they even bother gettin' dressed in the morning."
"We don't call 'em ladies, either." I remind him.
"I just can't wrap my head around most things." he continues. Those baby blues aren't baby blue any more, they're steely grey, reinforced from the inside. From the cute boy with big shoulders I see the solider rise.
"What gets to you the most?"
There's a pause.
"Things on TV."
"Like what?"
"Everything. The movies - all the story lines - all the- what's it called? CJI?"
"Computer Generated Images?"
"Yeah. Those. I mean geeze. The things people can make you see - I've never had dreams so vivid before. And the stories are all weird, too. Like the show about the island, they crash their plane down onto it..."
"Lost?"
"Yeah." he nods me along.
"No one understands that show, they made it up on the fly." I snort.
"But there's more. More shows that have been planned. People script these out, and they're all-That show-" he stabs his finger at me, like it's my fault. "-MASH, or whatever it is, makes light of war. That isn't funny. That's war."
I don't say anything, because how can you explain what it's supposed to be to a man who's just stepped out of WW2?
"And- the models. They're all so thin I could break them - and I hear so many stories about girls gettin' sick over how they ain't thin. I see a ton'a fat people all the time, and I don't care they're fat, just like I don't care if a person's skinny or not it's just... People seem to think there's this idea of the perfect size, and do you know who that reminds me of? Hitler."
He throws his hands up in the air.
"I don't get it. I don't understand. I just- Don't." he makes a very frustrated noise. "It's like everything has changed, but it's all the same. The same kind of bullies trying to tell you how to look. The same kind of people just being vicious for viciousness sake. The same problems, only amplified - the same poverty, the same hunger..."
His eyes are boiling. He's angry, his lips are pulling together to draw a straight line.
"It's everywhere, still! And there's so many ways to help other people, but no one's doin' a damn thing about it. You know what I was doin' when I was a kid? Prayin'. I prayed for the starvin' people the world over to get them better. I was gonna help. I was gonna be a solider, stand up for the rights of people who couldn't do it for themselves."
He shrugs.
"And all those men that we lost... all those men that every one lost - even them Nazis, they were just men with orders like I was. All of them had kids and wives and brothers, they were all someone's son, someone's man, someone's best friend..."
He's winding back down now. There's not much I can do to help him, but God, I want to. He's hurt by it all, and he's right, too. Why don't we do what our grandparents wished they could've done, only seventy years ago?
"There's so much to lose. So much we've lost. So much that keeps being lost every day. And I have to sit around and play nice with the press, all over again, instead of goin' out there to help. I've got strength and speed and trainin' behind me, but yet I'm still just a dancin' monkey."
He trails off in a mumble, and takes a deep breath in, the expanse of his chest nearly doubling.
I lean over and clutch his knee for comfort, because now I feel useless listening to the trauma.
"Feel a bit better?"
He rubs his hand over his face, trying to scrub away the scowl, I think.
"Everything's definitely changed." he says quietly. He sees my hand on his knee and stares at it, before staring at me.
The baby blue is back, and so is the blush.
"Easy, cowboy, I'm not hittin' on you."
"Oh. Good." then he flushes more thoroughly "It's not that I wouldn't mind- I mean, you're very pretty and that dress is very nice- Not that I was looking at your dress; I mean, it's a nice dress- All the other women I met up with so far have tried to- I just meant that I don't get the, uh, cues any more...Not that I ever did."
"You make me want to squish your face." I tell him seriously. "In my boobs. Not to be forward or anything."
He kind of, gapes, and I smack his knee.
"I was kidding, Cap."
"OH." he lets a big rush of air out of his mouth, and tries to laugh. "Oh, right..."
"Disappointed? I can change that."
He looks pained.
"I can't tell if you're kidding or not."
"I know. I'm sorry." I laugh and sit back in my chair. "I'm being purposely cruel to you, and it's not good of me. I just want you to smile again."
So he does, but he looks at his shoes while he's doing it.
"Hey. Anyone shown you a computer yet?"
"Stark is always on his... Most of 'em don't even look like computers."
"Yeah, they don't to the rest of us, either. Well, we've got time. I don't see how this is going to be a detriment to your life; unless, of course, you get addicted to online games, or- Just, trust me, don't look up Avengers fanfiction. You'll have a heart attack, weather or not that's physically possible for you, it'll happen."
He just blinks.
I flip open his phone, which has Tony on speed dial. I show him how to bring it up and hit the green button, and how to put it on speaker.
"Cap, always a pleasure!"
"Tony, it's Kitten."
"EYYY. Kit! What're you doin' with my boy? No trouble? If there's trouble, I'm comin'!"
"You've had your turn, Tone." I say with a repressed laugh. "And I'm pretty sure I can hear Pepper having a go at you in the background."
"She'll be fine. She just wants me for my body." there's a dull thud. "Now Pep, no need for rudeness, I'll get to you in a minute. What can I do you for, Kit?"
"We need a computer. With a working internet connection. Nothing overly fancy. I expect at least a desktop." I look at Steve. "Do you want a touch screen?"
"Does it... change, anything?" he mutters quietly, but Tony hears him.
"Don't be silly. I'll send both in the one machine." Tony says with a yawn. "How're you treatin' our dear Cap? Got your claws in him, Kit?"
"Not my type." I return, mostly to put Steve's mind at ease, because he's everyone's type. Those who don't think so, aren't looking properly. "How're you and Pepper?"
"Peaches 'n' cream, babydoll. That computer is on the way, with something shiny to put it on. Hope I see you soon, don't do anything I wouldn't."
"I'll do everything you wouldn't." I retort. "I'm working, Tony, I won't see you soon at all."
"I'm mortified. We'll do drinks again. Invite the crew. You met Thor yet?"
"I have to go, there are things I need to do!"
"He'll out drink you, you know. So will Widow. She's got vodka in her blood."
"Hey, vodka isn't my drink." I defend.
"D'joo know Cap can't get drunk? He can't actually get drunk. He'd win out of us all. Did you know that? Did he mention that?"
"Oh really?"
Now, I have somewhat of a competitive streak. It's a mile long. I grew up the baby of a family, so naturally, I'm game to go hard. There is no, 'go home' option, there never has been.
I stop wondering about maybe scheming with Doc to cook up something potent for Steve to get drunk, because you know, that's mean. I don't want to engage this target, so I scoff.
"Goin' now, Tony. Give my love to Pepper."
"I give all love to Pepper." he coos. He's a shmuck. Seriously. It's kind of endearing. "Yours'll get lost in the pile."
"Well tell her we said hi. We're going now."
"Bye." Steve says, lowering his mouth to the receiver.
Then I hit the red button and we answer the door. Setting up one of Tony Stark's computers - as well as the Stark Approved desk - is a bit like a relationship test. It's like getting something from IKEA. It looks easy enough and it should be... But neither of us is keen to really read the instructions, so we decide to wing it.
Me: "Got a nut that'll fit this?"
Him: "I think you've got the nuts..."
Me: "I get all the nuts."
Pause. Fumbling, screaming metal sounds.
Him: "Uh...I think I broke it."
Me: "No, I think that's supposed to bend that way. It's fine...Does this look right?"
Him: "Is it supposed to be this loose?"
Me: "Oooh, that's why it doesn't fit. This is upside down."
Pause. Pages turning, my half breathed swear words.
Him: "Where's the picture?"
Me: "Next to you."
Him: "Huh."
Me: "Does it look right?"
Him: "...No."
Me: "Bugger. Can you pass the wrench?"
Him: "That needs a hammer."
Me: "I'll make it work."
BANG BANG BANG THWONK.
Me: "So... I've done this wrong... I can't get the nail out..."
"Oh, sure, I got it." and he plucks it with nothing but his bare hands. "I don't get this. When did tables get so complicated?"
"It's Tony Stark we're talking here, is anything ever simple?"
He snorts.
"Why is there so much chrome?" he wants to know.
"And glass. It's hard to keep clean. OW. My-" I drop a long line of swear words as Steve gets up and gets me a face cloth, wrapping it around my sliced open hand. "This is going well."
We pause to assess the damage and tend our (my) injuries. Steve's an utter gentleman; when we eventually retreat and go out, and he insists on paying my half of the food. I don't struggle much because I can see he's anticipating the fight, and is ready to push my money at me all night if he has to.
"How many ladies have you taken out in the modern, Mister?"
He's got a big plate of pasta, red sauce, and is twirling it around his fork like an expert. He ducks his head, grins at the napkin on his lap.
"Just one. Or, two."
"Oh? And those one or two lady dates... How'd they fare?"
He swallows.
"Frightening."
That makes me laugh into my tomato soup, because he actually looks a little intimidated.
"Tell me about it."
He tells me about a seemingly nice girl he picked up at some kind of press conference. She gave him somewhere to be and a time, and showed up half an hour late, no explanation no apology. He had thought it was maybe just a friendly date, but she bombarded him with questions about Nick (my boyfriend. Yeah, you read that right. We're totally a thing, now.)
She ended up being some kind of high level political game player.
The next one was pretty much because Tony threw them together during one of Steve's workouts... You know, literally, in a locked room in which Steven was a hot, half dressed, sweaty mess. He ended up squirming through two hours of fan-girl questions before breaking the door open with nothing but brute force, which is my favourite weapon.
"It's scary how much information people are open to getting, these days. And how easy. This girl was flingin' questions at me, rapid fire."
"Like I've been doing all day?" I say lightly.
"No." he shakes his head. "Not like you, at all."
We finish our meal and indulge in a bit of ice cream. Our waiter is male and is hitting on Steve, but it's flying right over his head. They're in the middle of a particularly smile-y and arm touch-y conversation when he gets called away to another table.
I watch Steve eat his ice cream, watch him shake hands and say goodbye to his potential boyfriend. I take his forearm, which surprises him, and lead him out of the coffee shop.
"So you make a lot of friends like that?"
"Most people don't, but he was nice." he says with a smile. "I like talking to people."
"He definitely loved talking to you." I'm just staring at the side of his stupidly handsome face. He doesn't get it. "Steven."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Do you know what homosexuality is?"
Now, let me get this straight. One of my brothers is gay. I don't care. If you can say that you shouldn't judge a person on looks, the colour of their skin, or race, then I say gender shouldn't really matter either. But from the 40's to now... I was concerned.
"Yeah?" his brow furrows. "Why?"
"That guy was keen on you." I tell him. "Were you aware of that?"
He flushes a little, and shrugs one arm, but doesn't stop walking.
"No, I didn't know that."
I keep staring.
"It's not a- problem." he says, looking at me. "I don't mind it, more'n usual, or anything."
"Good." I say, and relax. "I really like you, Cap, I didn't want to have to get defensive over anything. I may have torn you a new hole; I wield words like weapons, you know."
"Not that you need 'em." he smiles.
"Not at all. But they cause less mess, more damage."
"That is true." he nods.
We wonder through the town arm in arm - I pick up a six pack of assorted cupcakes for Hulk, just because I can. Steve mentions he has to pick up a carton of milk from next door, so while I'm there I get a Captain America themed cupcake, which has his shield insignia as a design.
He grins when he sees it, flushes a pretty pink. Two college girls give him equal looks of mortification when they see that nice guy smile, and look then to who it's aimed at. They gawk the entire time we pass, but Steven is oblivious to this as well, thanking me repeatedly for my meagre gift.
I feel a bit like I'm dating Brad Pitt.
Or maybe that guy who plays Sherlock Holmes in that movie, he's hot stuff too.
The desk is finished, and the computers are up and running.
"You're" is flashing on one screen. "Welcome!" is on the other.
"And now we owe him a favour." Steve grumps. "That's all I need."
"Call it even, after your fan-girl in the gym." I hold up my six pack of cupcakes. "Is is okay if I go ahead and drop these off? I know, I'm terrible, but you can have a shower and I definitely think more coco will be needed for the computer lesson."
"That sounds like a plan, ma'am." And he actually salutes me, though he's grinning while he does it.
I peer through the window to see the bright flash of light, forming a new Asgaurdian pollen. I grin because I can see Doc's got his head in the clouds while his nose is in a book, and some woman bustles past me with files stacked well above her face, so she misses me by inches - and only because I scoot out of her way.
"Jane, while you're gone-?"
"She's already gone." I beam at him.
He looks up, takes his eye wear off, gives me a big, tired smile.
"Kitten, what're you doing here?"
"Steve." I feel myself blushing - shit, it's contagious. "I mean, I'm not doing Steve. It's his interview day. I figure that, we've already called Tony for computers, so I come baring gifts." I show him the cup cakes.
"You, are trouble." he says. "My sugar intake does not need help from you."
"So I'll take them back?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Set 'em down over here."
I do, and give him a hug around the neck.
"Woah, have you lost weight?" I say, and am now concernedly poking him in the chest.
"A little." he says lightly, but he's looking a bit grey in the face.
"Have you been eating?"
"A little." is the reply, again. He waves it away. "Jane and I got onto something. We're getting close."
Because I can keep up with his conversation - after emails back and forth discussing his theories to a new pair of eyes, like maybe I could help him some - he tells me what he can without it being a federal offence and or boring me to death.
"But enough about that." He rubs my arm. "How is Steve's interview going?"
"It's going." I check my watch - I've been gone forty five minutes. "Oops. I lost a bit of time."
"My fault." he says. "Sorry. Got to talking."
"Don't apologise, it's not like I didn't spur you on." I give him a quick hug. "I'll see you again soon, okay?"
The woman named Jane dumps a stack of notebooks beside the door and goes back for more. I wink over my shoulder and get the door for her, to which she mutters an oblivious: "Thanks Darcy!"
I have no idea who Darcy is, but I say: "You're welcome" so she isn't being rude.
Steve, in the mean time, has showered, dressed, and lifts his head from the computer with a relieved sigh.
"Thank God." he says. "I'll make coco. Can you tell me how this thing is supposed to work? I get I type with the keyboard, but nothing I type goes anywhere or does anything."
It's because it's on the home screen. I blink, contain hilarity, exhale so I'm calm.
"Oh, I see. This is the touch screen. Let me just plug the mouse in so we can start slow and work our way up."
"The mouse?" he peers over my shoulder as I bring the box up and start rummaging for a mouse. "You're not scared of mice?"
Again repressing the hilarity, I show him the little hand held device used in conjunction with computers, the long wire that's reminiscent of a tail.
"This, is a mouse," I say, and watch him stretch out a finger and poke it. "You use to to make commands."
"I've been telling it to open. I asked nicely in English, and in broken German." he points at the computer. "It must be faulty."
...
I have a feeling I'm going to be repressing a lot of laughter by the end of this.
I teach what I can to Captain Spandex, but it isn't easy, because when he starts to ask 'how', things get complicated. So far, he's able to open his emails (not send them), the point of Google hasn't exactly sunk in yet, and YouTube - forget about it.
I also make sure that my articles are in his inbox, and subscribe him to my newsletter - because I'm wicked like that, and it means he doesn't have to run around and get them.
He's more excited about scanning his drawings into the computer. Not that he does anything when they're in there, he just likes seeing them on a screen. Maybe one day we will progress to digital artistry, but I sense that there may be a little bit of time between then and now.
After another mug of coco and a small portion of his cupcake, we sit down and put Gone with The Wind on for his viewing pleasure. He gets really involved and I gotta say that I'm a sucker for Rhett Butler, but I don't make it through the movie consciously.
I'm dead to the world when he puts his arms underneath my back and knees and lifts me. I don't actually remember any of it, which is why I get to hear it for the first time at home, blushing, wanting to sink into my chair and die.
"Mmwake."
"No you're not."
"I'll have th' couch." I protest mildly.
"Stop struggling. I'll drop you."
The next part makes me cringe.
"No you won't." I'm giggling again. "I'll snuggle you. M'a great spooner."
"I don't actually know what that means." he doesn't sound particularly flustered, probably because it sounds like I'm wrestling with him. "Come on, give a guy a break?...That's better. Hold on to me."
"You're really warm." I swoon. "And soft."
"Uh..."
"And hard."
"Thank you...?"
"Like'n 'letric blanket." I sigh, swoon once more, become utterly content. "Spoon me?"
"I don't know what that is." he says again, more gently, in his inside voice. "Now you just hang on a second and let me get your shoes."
"Mm...Kay." I yawn, there's the sound of blankets and a plush pillow. "You're the best."
"Sleep well, Kitten." he says, but I'm already making murmuring noises, well into sleepy time.
I wake up around five in the morning, realise I have no idea where I am or where the toilet is, and go back to sleep. Because clearly, when you wake up in a bed that smells like Captain America, you abandon logical notions and go back to sleep.
I'm curled into a ball, all blankets pulled up over my head, when I heard a muffed:
"Kitten? Are you in there?"
"Mmmn."
"Are you okay?"
"Mm."
I peel back a layer, crack open one eye, hide the other with my hand.
"What's th' time?"
He gives me the official time in his sharp solider speech, but I am either too cosy or too sleepy, because I have to ask again.
"Six o'clock." he says, causing me to have a minor brain hemorrhage.
"D'joo sleep good?" I pulls the blankets up with me to hide the probable nest hair and crumpled clothes thing I'll have going on.
I hate waking up early.
Hate it.
Hate.
It.
"Like a log, ma'am." he smiles. "What time did you have intentions of leaving? Not because I want you to go - it's just, it's getting late..." he seems to be unawares that six o'clock is the effing crack of dawn. I want to roll over and be spooned, is that too much to ask?
"Mm. I get it, solider boy." I rub my face. "Hokay. I'm gettin' up. Give me five minutes."
"Alright." he leaves the room.
I hit the pillow and start snoring.
"Uh, Kitten? It's been seven minutes."
"Mmhm. Ten more minutes. I'm up."
"Oh. Okay."
Snoring. Rolling over. Minor wailing about the sun in my eyes. More mumbling.
"Uh, Kitten?"
"Mhm?"
"It's been twenty minutes."
"Mmmn."
"And you're asleep again?"
I weep bitterly for my minutes of resting lost, then see his handsome, bright eyed face, and groan, because I'm about to roll out of bed for a smile.
"Alright, alright, I'm up. I'm up."
"You said that last time." he reminds me. "I'm making scrambled eggs, if you need incentive."
Incentive?
Take your shirt off!
Shut up, brain.
"Alright, I'm up."
He's still standing in the doorway, only now he's folded his arms across his behemoth chest. He's got a miltarian eyebrow slanted at me. I suddenly fear the floor, because I'm probably going to be tipped off the bed and slamming into it soon.
"I'm going." I promise.
"I'll wait."
I kick my legs over the side, but stay mostly horizontal.
"Would you like a hand?"
"No." I grump, and sit up, in my cocoon of Steve-scented comfort. It's about the only comfort Steve is giving me at this point.
"Those blankets stay in this room." he tells me. "Or else you'll end up asleep again."
"It's not a crime!" I fluff the blankets down so I have a clear view of his face. "Cap."
"Kit."
I bat my lashes, tip my head, try and be cute. I don't need to pretend to be pouting, because you can bet your last dollar that I'm already pouting at him.
"Caaaaap."
"Yes?"
"Why can't we sleep in?" I coo.
"Because we are already awake. I've already showered, gotten dress, started preparing breakfast, managed to open the TV."
"Turn on, the TV."
"No. I was looking for the on button and pulled the screen off." he takes what appears to be the most menacing step in the whole world forward, which makes me throw myself dramatically back on the mattress, rolling in the blankets.
"I'm not going." I say, grabbing sleep-weak fistfuls of the covers. "Not now. Not today. I'm too comfy. If you come in here I can teach you how to spoon."
There's a brief silence, and I consider it a premature victory. Then he goes and does something worse than tipping me onto the floor - he steals the blankets right out of my hands, unrolling me in one swift pull. I gape at him, wondering why he would be so cruel.
"Now you're up," he bundles the bed clothes and throws them at the wall. "I will start breakfast."
So, you know how this story goes. I have a somewhat impertinence child issue, rebelling against this tiny bit of authority he's trying to impart. I picked up the blankets and went back to sleep in about thirty seconds flat. I managed to get another full hour, when he came in, stole my covers, and tucked them under his arms.
"Never have I ever seen someone hate getting out of bed so much." He says, mildly amused.
"Nuuhggg..." I raise my head and squint at him. "Why?"
"Because it's past seven thirty!"
I groan loudly and roll away from him, curled up. I don't even care I'm minus blankets, I've still got his-
But he steals the pillows too, and by the time I launch at him and try and steal them back, I'm well and truly awake. I take the grumpiest shower ever recorded in the history of the world, get dressed, fix my face and hair into something respectable, and sulk into the lounge, where he's got a plate all set up.
"Don't think you're cute." I tell him. "You're only cuter the longer you let me sleep."
"I must look like a troll to you then." he's perfectly cheerful, with his stupid coffee and his stupid newspaper, looking like a proper husband, all neat and clean and smiling at me...
I swoon again, and feel myself smiling, even though I want to be asleep.
"Yeah, the biggest, meanest troll in all the nine realms."
He cocks his head, but I wave it away. It's a joke that flies over his head, but it's a joke that'll fly over the head of anybody who isn't fluent where Nordic mythology is concerned.
He seems keen to ask but the sudden grin cracking across my face makes him come to a halt.
"What?" he asks, worried.
"Did you... get us flowers?"
Blushing. Awkward mumbling. News paper flicking.
Me, swooning.
"Steven, it's been an absolute pleasure." And because he looks lonely, I put my arms around his waist and give him a big ol' hug. "Stay in touch, alright? Get Tony to give you a hand sending emails."
"I will." his hands are slow and unsure at the affection, and he takes his time with giving me a soft hug back. When I don't move - because let's face it, he has an expansive, bed-like chest and I'm loving the big brother vibe thudding under my ear - he hugs me a little tighter, sets his cheek on top of my head.
It's takes me a good minute to let go, and by then, I've got the beginnings of tears in my eyes. Don't know why. I rub them away quickly.
"Are you alright, Kitten?"
"Yup. Sure am. Just, take care, Steve."
"You too." he smiles and lets go out of the circle of his arms.
I ache for the loss but smile anyway.