When I finally wake up, my head is pounding. I slowly open my eyes and am surprised to see I'm in my living room. Sitting up slowly, the blanket that was over my shoulders falls down and pools around my waist. I turn, looking around the room, still trying to figure out how I got here, and stop when I spot Steve asleep in my arm chair. Standing up gingerly, I felt sore all over, I walk over and sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. "Steve," I say quietly and gently tapping him on the knee. He slowly wakes up and then is more alert once he sees me sitting in front of him.

"Oh, hey, you're awake," he says, sitting up straighter. He rubs at his eyes once with one of his hands. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got thrown around a room," I say with a humorless chuckle. "But other than that, tired…and confused as to how I got here. Care to share how that happened?"

Steve nods his head. "Natasha found your keys, so we brought you here." He says. "You were so restless, but so deep asleep that I thought someone ought to stay with you. And your apartment is…very large, so I didn't want to wander around and that's why you were on the couch."

"Ah, okay," I say. I could understand the part about my apartment being large…it was three stories. I didn't need all the space, but I was kind of stuck with it. "My foster father left me some properties when he passed. I've always meant to sell some of them or rent them out or something; but he had this one in D.C. so when Fury transferred me here…home sweet home."

"It's nice," Steve says, looking around. "But like I said…it's big."

I laugh a little. "Thank you, by the way, for earlier," I say. Flashes of getting thrown around the room and my shaking hands invade my vision. I try to shake my head to make them disappear. "I am definitely not field material that is for sure."

Leaning forward, I rub at my eyes with the heel of my hands. "Hey," I feel one of Steve's strong hands grip my shoulder gently. Looking up at him, a soft gaze was on his face. "You did well. I probably wouldn't have recommended you jumping on the guy's back but…you did good. You didn't run, or hide when things got hairy. You stuck around and got the job done."

"I honestly have no clue what I was thinking jumping on that guy's back," I say. "I always thought I'd be the type to run or hide…"

"You don't know your own strength," Steve says, a corner of his mouth quirking up. "But don't worry, the images will quiet down. They won't haunt you forever."

I nod my head as I slowly stand up. "I'll tell you one thing," I say as I start to walk towards the kitchen. Steve also stands and follows me. "Next time Natasha Romanov shows up in my office, I'm calling in the S.T.R.I.K.E. team to kick her out."

A short laugh erupts from Steve as the lights in the kitchen flick on. "That may be a good idea."

In the kitchen, I open the cabinet where I kept my medicines, mostly left over from my rehab days, along with the standard household pain relievers and first aid supplies. "Of course," I say, gazing up at the top of the cabinet. Steve asks me what's wrong. "My physical therapist put the ibuprofen on the top shelf." I turn back to look at Steve. "Would you mind?"

Steve gives me a smile as he walks closer towards me. "Have a seat; I'll get it for you." I give a grateful smile as I walk past him and perch myself on one of the bar stools at the island. Propping my chin on my hand, I watch him as he effortlessly reaches up and grabs the bottle. Once he has it down, he steps back and looks at the cabinets. "Glasses?" he asks me. I point at the cabinet where I kept my glasses. He opens it and takes one down. "Water from the faucet?"

"Or you could use the refrigerator?" I say, a playful smile growing on my face. I doubted he had ever used a refrigerator that had a built-in water and ice system.

I watch him as he nods his head and walks over to the refrigerator. He flips a couple of switches and presses a couple of buttons, testing them out apparently, before finally putting the glass under the spigot to fill it with water. "You know," he says, walking over towards me (obviously proud of himself) with the now full glass of water in one hand and the ibuprofen in the other. "Back in my day, we called them ice boxes. "

"I know," I say. "My foster dad grew up in the South…so he called it that too when I was growing up." He set the glass down in front of me. I dump a couple pills into my hand before swallowing them with a swig of water. "Thank you sir."

"You're welcome, ma'am," he says.

We stare at each for a few moments until I finally shake my head. "We should probably talk…about what we said before the mission?"

"I meant what I said," he says. I reach forward and lace my hands with his. "I wasn't just saying it or anything…I meant it."

"I did too," I say, nodding my head.

"So…there really isn't much to talk about," Steve says with a shrug. "You know, people today talk everything to death," he says. I let out a loud laugh. It hurt to laugh, but I couldn't stop myself. "I'm serious, back in the day, we just did."

"Is that what we're going to do?" I say, trying to quiet my chuckles. "Just do?"

"Yeah," he says. "We'll just…do." A small smile slowly slips from his face as his brows scrunch together. "I can't promise I'll do everything right all the time…but I'll be the best guy for you."

I smile at him as I reach up and cup the side of his face with one of my hands, running my thumb along his cheek. "You will come to find; I am a very patient person." I lean forward and press my lips to his for a brief moment. "You don't have to be perfect Steve…just be you." Steve smiles back at me before closing the distance between our lips.