A/N: Sorry for the delay, but again, longer chapter! As ever, thank you to all who are paying attention to my little story, especially those who have favorited/followed/reviewed! I, of course, own nothing. Enjoy!

Monday night had gone exceptionally well. And Steve only felt better about his scheme as the week went on. On Wednesday, again waiting until class let out, he texted Darcy about meeting for coffee, socially, on Friday evening. He knew he should have asked in person, but he knew himself well enough to know that would have ended in disaster. Plus, he had it on good authority (Darcy herself) that nearly all social interaction began via text or 'social media' in the modern world. He had already added 'social media' to the list in his notebook.

He was gratified to see her positive reply come in even before he reached the library. To be fair, they hadn't even done that much work Monday night. It turned out Turabian was a citation style in which the footnote format was essentially the same as the bibliographical citation except with the author's name given first name followed by last name and the addition of a page number at the end, and inserting those footnotes merely a function of finding the right prompts on the right menus in his word processing program. So, they had had plenty of time for chatting after he had practiced the procedure a few times. He deliberately put her out of his head and went to back to work finishing his papers, so he wouldn't have to worry about them Friday night.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Thursday morning, he compared notes with George about the next semester. They had both decided to take the second semester of intro physics, George because he was considering it as a major, Steve because he felt like he was beginning to understand more of the conversations that used to go over his head in the labs and he rather liked it. They settled on a lab section that fit both their schedules, so they could continue their partnership there. They suited one another, and neither wanted to try out some kid who might not be paying as much attention as was necessary. War was dangerous enough; they shouldn't have to fear for their lives at school.

"You going all artsy-fartsy on me, old man?" George asked when he saw the courses Steve planned to take.

Steve smiled. "Always been artsy-fartsy, grandpa." He pulled out the sketchbook he usually carried with him, the one for public consumption, with nothing...untoward...in it. "Take a look."

George leafed through the book slowly, blowing out a soft whistle at a sketch of his grandson's ride with Falcon, with George's face and Gabe Jones' face looking up proudly from where the ground should have been. "Damn, boy, I'd love to have a copy of that."

Steve had forgotten the original sketch was in that book. "So much for secrecy," he muttered.

"What, now? I don't have super-special enhanced hearing, you know."

"Merry Christmas. Only I thought you'd prefer it as a painting, so it's not quite done."

George's face lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Really? That's about the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long while, Steve."

Steve gave his patented 'aw, shucks' grin, "Least I could do for my first not-secret-agent, not-super-soldier, not-SHIELD, and so forth, friend. It's been really great to have someone to talk to about stuff other than missions, and well..."

"I am truly honored, Steve, truly honored." Before Steve could start critiquing his work (George could see it coming), he continued, "So you going to be an artist professionally?"

Steve shrugged. "I doubt it. I think people would be more interested in buying it because it's 'BY CAPTAIN AMERICA' than because they like it. And that wouldn't interest me. I did my stint in the dog-and-pony show. But I've never really had a chance to study art, so that's why the art history. And the Computer-Assisted Design because, hey, I live in a building with the most advanced computers in the world, I might as well use them."

"And the Russian?"

"Long story, not really mine to tell, but it's useful in any case, with what's going on in Ukraine right now. I like being able to watch the news without the filter of what the American news networks think I should know."

"I hear that. And you're sticking with the math, huh?"

"Yeah, although I'm hoping to get a different professor. The current guy's okay, but I think someone else might suit me better. What are you taking next semester?"

George nodded, but before he could answer Steve's question, the professor came in and started the class.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Steve settled into his seat for calculus and got out his calculator and a few pencils. He didn't bother with trying to cram in the last few minutes before the test began, because he knew it wouldn't help. He looked up when he heard his professor's voice raised and agitated.

"No, he cannot go with you. I don't care what the excuse is; I do not give make-up exams, and I will not be making exceptions just because he thinks he can gin up some fake world-saving mission and get out of it."

Steve smiled a bit to hear the professor give it to Stark or whomever had come for him, until he heard the other voice and realized just who had come for him.

"You know, pathetic little college professors really shouldn't piss off ex-assassins still recovering from induced psychosis and being sent to kill their best friends. That sort of thing could prove..."

That had him jumping out of his seat.

He got out into the hall just in time to put himself between the professor and Bucky before Bucky's metal arm lashed out. He grabbed it with all-too-practiced ease. "Bucky, we've talked about the civilian issue."

"C'mon punk. We, well, you have a mission. Apparently, they still don't trust me in combat yet."

Steve quirked an eyebrow. "Can't see why not. I mean, you only just almost took out my professor when he was only restating the clear policy laid out in the syllabus."

"It's not like he's going to get to give his damned exam anyway. They'll be evacuating everyone to the basements in about fifteen minutes, less even, if you don't help out."

The professor looked appalled. "WHAT? What the hell is going on?"

"Pretty minor doombot invasion. Just a little too close to campus for the administration's liking. So, I delivered my message. Now, where's that sweet little history prof I was dancing with the other night? I thought I'd offer my bodyguarding services for the duration."

Steve laughed at the blatant leer in Bucky's voice and on his face. "Sorry, Buck. She's an adjunct. She's only here on class days. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she's at City College, teaching another course."

Bucky shrugged. "Well, there are plenty of hot coeds around."

"Bucky, you're how much older than them?"

Bucky grinned, so much like himself that Steve's heart ached. "I won't hurt 'em, punk. Much."

Steve's cellphone began whooping, alerting him to a priority message from the Avengers. He looked at it. "Shit, Buck. I thought you were joking."

"Nope. Suit up."

Steve turned to the professor, whose face had gone pale when he caught a glimpse of the video playing on the phone, "Sorry, sir. I really am going to have to miss the exam. I understand if you feel you can't let me make it up."

The professor cleared his throat. "This once, I will make an exception. If. If. If you are in my office as soon as the battle is over. No shower first, no stopping to reassure your secret girlfriend you're okay, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."

Bucky nodded at Steve, "You have a secret girlfriend and you didn't tell me? What kind of best friend are you?"

Steve nearly slapped Bucky. He settled for rolling his eyes. He turned back to the professor. "Of course, sir. I will be at your office immediately after the battle."

"Very well." The professor turned away to arrange for a basement room in which he could give the exam to all of the other students in the class despite the battle.

Steve ran to put on his uniform, trying really hard not to think about what Bucky might do during the emergency.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The battle had lasted long after anyone anticipated. It turned out the doombots were just the first wave of the assault. Nevertheless, the Avengers had turned back the onslaught, and had even managed to do so with only minimal damage to the city.

Steve had begged off the debrief, agreeing to submit a full written report instead, in order to accede to his professor's demand that he go straight from the battle to the college. Which was stupid. Because it was three o'clock in the morning, and the professor was home in bed. Still, Steve had the sense that the professor was enough of a hardass that if he didn't comply fully, he wouldn't get to take the damned test. He did stop in his history room to leave Professor Shawcross a note, letting her know that he would get the notes from Alexis or Tim from the study group and apologizing for missing class. He did not mention Bucky.

When he arrived at the calculus professor's office, he was unsurprised to discover the door was locked and the lights out. He sighed and slid down the wall to take a catnap while he waited.

The professor was confused to see a pile of dirty blue fabric outside his door as he walked up the corridor at eight thirty. He was even more confused when he realized it wasn't a pile of dirty blue fabric, but rather Steve in his dirty, bloody uniform. "Rogers? What are you doing sleeping outside my office?"

Steve woke with a start. "You said to come straight here from the battle, so that's what I did."

The professor sighed. "I wasn't...I didn't mean it literally. Do you have a spare set of clothes in a locker here somewhere? If so, go down and take a shower at the gym, and then come back to take the test. You kind of stink."

Steve nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll be back in about a half hour."

When got back, he discovered the professor had collected his school things from the classroom the day before, for which he was grateful. The graphing calculator, in particular, had been a present from Bruce, and he didn't want it stolen.

The exam turned out to be straightforward enough. Not easy, but not especially difficult. Or it wouldn't have been especially difficult if he hadn't spent fifteen hours in combat the day before. Even so, he thought he had done well enough not to damage his average too much.

He desperately wanted to go back to the tower and sleep, but he knew if he did, he wouldn't wake up for his date tonight, much less his Russian class. And that reminded him that he hadn't gotten to do his Russian homework yesterday. He sighed and headed to the library to finish it before class.

His phone buzzed as he was packing up his Russian books to grab a quick bite to eat before Russian started. He glanced down to see an incoming text. He frowned as he saw that it was Darcy offering a rain check for their date that evening. He knew that she didn't, couldn't, know what had happened the last time someone had given him a rain check on a date, and he knew that she was trying to be nice, but yeah, no, he'd be at the damned coffee shop, come hell, high water, or more damned doombots. His reply was somewhat less emphatic, merely 'No, I'm okay. I'll see you tonight." Still, he wasn't altogether certain how coherent he'd manage to be, but the coffee might help.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Steve had made it through Russian. Thankfully, the professor had watched the battle on television, and elected to let him absorb the lesson of the day on his own, rather than pressing him for participation.

He had been so tempted to lie down and nap when he returned to the tower, but he knew, with only a few hours of shallow catnapping in the last fort-eight hours, that he would never wake up for his date. So he took an extremely cold shower to shock his blood into flowing again and guzzled a couple of energy drinks. Then he set about considering what to wear.

He settled on a pair of khaki pants, ones that Pepper had sent over after he had moved in, suggesting they were more up-to-date than the ones he had purchased on his own, along with a button-down shirt in a royal blue Oxford-cloth that did nice things for his eyes according to Natasha. The tan combat boots were all his choice, but given the way his life tended to go, not an unwise one.

He made it to the coffee shop with five minutes to spare. He claimed a table, ordering a triple-shot espresso for himself (blessing the campaigns in Italy for giving him the ability to drink the stuff black) and a pumpkin mocha for Darcy, since that was what she had ordered on Monday. He also ordered a bunch of pastries. The sugar wouldn't hurt.

He stood when Darcy arrived, his eyes quickly taking in her tight jeans and light blue sweater. "You look lovely," he said as he pulled out a chair for her.

"You look like shit."

Just then, the waitress came over with their coffee and pastries.

Darcy turned to her and said, "Actually, could you pour the mocha into a to go cup and wrap the pastries? You can toss whatever caffeine-laden crap he ordered to stay awake. Thanks." Darcy fished her phone from her purse, along with her wallet, completely ignoring Steve's stunned expression. "Hey, Clint, it's Darcy. Steve and I are at the little coffee shop on the corner. He's about to keel over, and I don't think I can get him back on my own. Little help? Great. Thanks." Darcy turned back to Steve. "Why didn't you just take the raincheck? I totally wouldn't have minded."

"The last time I got a raincheck for a date, I ended up frozen in a glacier for seventy years."

"Oh. Yeah, that'd put anybody off rainchecks. But you are not really here here, so we are going to postpone this until you've had some sleep, ok?"

Steve nodded reluctantly.

Clint showed up as the waitress was handing Darcy her mocha and the bag of pastries, accepting her cash with a happy smile when Darcy made it clear she didn't need change.

Together, they walked Steve back to the tower, although neither of them could be sure he wasn't going to pass out on them.

In the elevator, Darcy expected an argument from JARVIS about letting them onto Steve's floor, since neither she nor Clint lived on the same floor as Steve. However, when she asked, the AI replied, "Yes, that seems prudent under the circumstances, Miss Lewis." Moreover, it continued, "Captain Rogers' door has been unlocked. Unfortunately, the other occupants of his floor are currently occupied and cannot be interrupted at this juncture, so they will not be able to assist you. Also, Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are occupied in the same task. As you are aware, Thor and Dr. Foster are away this evening."

Clint grunted, "We can handle it. He's just dead on his feet, not really dead."

When they reached the apartment, Darcy got the door and Clint helped Steve through it and straight into his bedroom.

"Darcy, grab a pair of sweats and a t-shirt for him to sleep in, would you? Then turn down the bed." Clint led Steve into the bathroom and closed the door behind them.

Darcy nodded and turned to the dresser. She quickly found both of the requested items. She brought them to the bathroom door, which, after a perfunctory knock, she opened the door just enough to stick her hand through with the clothes. "Not looking!" she stage-whispered.

Then she turned to her second assigned task, the bed. It was more rumpled then she would have expected, but then she saw a sketchbook on the far side and realized he must have been drawing in it before their date. She put the sketchbook on the coffee table in the living room, so it would be out of the way, and then returned to pulling down the covers so that Clint could help Steve into bed.

She finished just in time, as the bathroom door opened and the two Avengers made their way slowly to the bed in a weird impression of a three-legged race. Clint got Steve into the bed and turned to Darcy. "I'm supposed to be debriefing Nat in half an hour, so I've got to go."

"'S all good. Thanks for your help."

"Sure. When he wakes up, we're all going to want to know why he didn't sleep after the battle. I mean, school's important and all, but geez, get the notes from somebody!"

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. Thanks again." She walked him to the door and shut it behind him.

"Darcy!" came a soft cry from the bedroom.

Darcy sighed. "You're supposed to be getting some sleep."

"Don' go anywhere, 'kay?"

She tucked the blanket tighter around him. "I won't. Now go to sleep."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Steve woke to the smells of frying bacon and brewing coffee. He could tell by the angle of the light through his window that he had slept right through his usual morning run and workout. Looking at the clock beside his bed, he discovered that he had managed to sleep until 8:30, which was practically unheard of for him since the serum. He wondered who was cooking, but decided to be polite and brush his teeth first.

A few minutes later, feeling refreshed, he wandered into his living room, where he realized that someone had spent the night on the not-terribly-comfortable couch. Entering the kitchen established that the person in question was Darcy, who was turning the bacon onto paper towels.

Darcy heard Steve enter the kitchen. "Oh, good, you're up! Feeling better? The pastries from last night are on the table. You can bring the bacon in too. Coffee's in the pot. I wasn't sure how you take it when you're not trying to pull a double all-nighter. Do you mind if I use the same pan for the cheesy eggs?"

Steve processed most of that and finally ended up with one question. "Cheesy eggs?"

Darcy shrugged. "Scrambled eggs with grated cheddar cheese. Not fancy, but tasty."

All of a sudden, Steve started to tear up.

"Hey, if you don't want eggs, that's cool. I just figured with..."

"No, no," he interrupted. "Eggs would be great. It's just..."

"Just what? The cheese? I can leave it out."

"No. The cheese is fine." Steve sighed and collected himself. "It's just been a really long time since someone made me breakfast."

"Oh." Darcy was speechless. What was there to say? 'I know where you're at'? Clearly, she didn't and couldn't. Finally, she settled on, "Well, then, best to eat it while it's hot!"