In the morning, Cate decided to continue to indulge in the charade and picked out another dress. With her hair curled and pinned back and her makeup in place, she glided into the kitchen to get breakfast started. It was a bit like playing house; but after a month or so of playing SSR nurse, it didn't feel so strange. She pulled open the curtains to send soft sunbeams streaming through the kitchen window, giving the morning a feeling of having a fresh start. Then she activated her vintage playlist and waltzed back and forth, getting the two french presses of coffee ready to go and consulting the old cookbook for a good breakfast recipe that seemed doable for her skill level. Blueberry pancakes sounded about right, so she mixed up the batter and poured the first couple into the frying pan.
"Good morning, Cate," Steve interrupted her singing with a confident greeting as he entered the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee.
"Morning, Steve," she returned, this time smiling a little at the accomplishment of being on a first name basis.
She was also amused to see that his outfit was still as dated and formal as the previous day's. This time, however, the high-rise old man pants were fastened with a pair of completely unnecessary dapper suspenders. Nothing was at risk of falling down, of course, since everything was far too tight; though Steve didn't seem to mind. Today, his crisp shirt was still buttoned all the way to the top, but the sleeves were rolled up on his forearm, giving an illusion of casualness.
"Smells good," he leaned over to inspect her frying pan as he sipped his coffee.
"Thanks," she flipped the pancakes and patted their acceptably brown side with her spatula, "These should be ready in a few, then I can work on the protein sides while another batch cooks."
"It'll be faster if I help," he offered, already moving toward the fridge.
She watched curiously as he grabbed some bacon and eggs then retrieved another frying pan and set it on the burner next to hers. She scooted over to give him more room, and focused back on her pancakes while he handled his items. Settling into a natural kind of teamwork, they exchanged plates and spatulas when necessary and watched each other's pan when one needed to step back and refill their coffee cup.
Cate was humming along to the current song and setting the plate piled with pancakes onto the dining table, when Steve cleared his throat, "Hey, Cate, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Did you...when I was still unconscious...did you used to sing?"
She colored slightly, "Well, yeah, I guess so. You were asleep and it was so boring and all I had was the radio. Why? Is it triggering some kind of PTSD or something?"
"Triggering what?"
"Never mind. I won't sing anymore," she set out their utensils and bit her lip in embarrassment.
"That's not what I meant," he brought over his plated eggs and bacon and pulled her chair out for her, "It's just that it feels familiar, like I remember it from...before." He took his seat across from her, "Even though I know it's your voice. Somehow it blends in between my time and this one."
She didn't know how to respond to that, so she was glad when he folded his hands and bowed his head. She did the same, ready to indulge in a silent moment of relief that she wasn't being banned from crooning around the apartment. To her surprise, he said grace out loud this time - an antiquated, vague blessing of the food, but absolutely precious and a sure sign of his evolving comfort with the situation. After an echo of "amen"s, they settled naturally into their usual mealtime roles of him eating and her watching.
"Hey, Steve," she said eventually, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure?" he slowed his eating, cautiously aware that he was being set up.
"Did you ever actually punch Adolf Hitler?"
"The real one?"
"Yeah, the real one."
"Um, no, I'm afraid not."
She made a face and stared into her coffee, singing quietly under her breath, "Who'll give the Axis the sack and is smart as a fox?"
"What?" now it was his turn to look embarrassed.
"Who's makin' Adolph afraid to step out of his box?" she continued, bobbing her head to the cadence.
"How do you know that song?"
She sipped her coffee through her smug smile, "Fine. I won't finish or else I'd have to get up and do some kicks and I'm not nearly stretched out enough."
Eager to change the subject, Steve looked around for a few seconds until his eyes settled on the window, "Speaking of stretching, do you think we can go on a walk today? It looks so nice out."
"It does," she admitted reluctantly, "But I don't have enough information on the security situation to feel confident in a public appearance for you yet. I'm sorry, Steve."
"What about the car?" he tried, "It would be nice to drive through the city again, and I'll be able to see clearly now that the rain is gone."
Thankfully, she wasn't taking a drink of coffee because she quite suddenly burst out laughing. Even though he couldn't possibly understand why or if he was even the butt of the joke, Steve broke into a grin too.
Finally, Cate got ahold of herself enough to reply, "And I can see all the obstacles in our way." Indulging in one last chuckle, she shook her head, "Sorry, I mean we can't go out in full daylight just yet. Cameras are too good now, you'll be easy to spot; but we can go back up to the roof after dark, if you want. And sorry for laughing, but you accidentally quoted a song. We won't get to it for a couple decades - I'll have to remember to play it for you. In fact..." she stood up and walked around to her bedroom.
On the way, she passed the partially open door to Steve's room and she couldn't help but spot a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor next to his bed. It took her a couple seconds to understand, then the realization sobered her up a bit. The poor guy really was fresh from the front lines - barely a couple days removed, as far as his perspective was concerned. All things considered, he truly was recovering impressively, despite their rocky start.
After retrieving the items from her room, Cate returned to the table and dropped a small red notebook and pen in front of him, "Here, you can keep a list and remind me when I think of something we need to cover later."
"Thank you," he tucked them into his pocket, "Actually, I was hoping we could cover something soon…"
"What's that?"
"Those bombs from the war picture," his brows furrowed with seriousness, "What were those?"
"Atom bombs," she adopted the same tone, "And the world was never the same." She nodded, "We can cover that today. I've got a great presentation on the Manhattan Project, and then we can get into the Cold War."
"Another war?" he asked sadly.
"Kind of," she reassured him, "You'll see."
Once breakfast was cleared, the lessons began and a routine cycle gradually became established. Over the next few days, both of them settled comfortably into this routine. Cate would teach the interactive lessons, then at some point would leave Steve with a video so that she could prepare lunch or dinner. She was getting better and better at cooking, though some dishes were more successful than others. Steve seemed to only have a knack for making breakfast foods, so that was when they would share the stove and sip their coffee while listening to music. He always helped with the dishes, though, and they took turns washing and putting away.
As for the lessons, they found themselves lingering in the 50's for quite a while, both in the historical and cultural categories. For technology, she got him comfortable with the washer and dryer, then continued to work with him on computer skills. In the evenings, they would either watch a movie, use the gym, visit the roof in disguise, or sometimes combine a couple of those options.
It was nearing the end of the first full week at the apartment and Cate was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, splitting her attention between the casserole broiling in the oven and the datapad in her hand. Her team's group chat had been updated with a quick note from Natasha: Failed Stark. Going deep for a new assignment. She was just hitting send on her reply when a new window popped up on the screen. It was a notification that the building's security panel had been accessed by a S.H.I.E.L.D. supply team. Camera footage confirmed that they were simply delivering the new punching bags she had ordered a while ago. Once she was sure they were gone and the building was locked down again, she switched screens to the Avengers Initiative assessment she had been filling out little by little every day. It was now nearly complete and today's checkup would be one of the last things she needed.
Steve was going to pass this evaluation with flying colors, but she wasn't entirely sure she was happy about that. He had been making such an effort to accept life the way she was offering it in this little bubble they'd created. Once she handed in this report, though, she was essentially turning her friend over to Director Fury and transferring the fate of this experiment from her own hands into his. Somehow, it felt like a betrayal, even if it would ultimately be better for the rest of the world.
A sharp burning smell drew her attention away from the datapad and she yelped, tossing the device onto the counter and leaping forward to pull dinner out of the oven. A puff of smoke assaulted her before she was able to produce the sizzling, blackened casserole.
"What's wrong?" Steve slid into the kitchen, looking ready to save the day.
Cate frowned, recognizing the very quality in him that made it essential for his evaluation to be approved as soon as possible. The Avengers Initiative desperately needed someone like him if it was ever going to be put into action.
"I'm so sorry," she cracked the window and fanned the smoke towards it, "I burned dinner a little. It might just be the top, though. I think I can salvage it."
His gaze moved from the charred dish to the datapad on the opposite counter, "Work's distracting you. Is something happening at S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
She should be used to it by now, but she still found herself impressed with how observant he was, "Nothing at the moment. I'm just trying to make sure I'm being thorough with your recovery."
"Well, I haven't dropped dead yet," he offered, eyeing the crust that she was scraping off the top of the casserole, "Check on me again after dinner, though."
"Oh, shut up," she tried to suppress her chuckle, "And set the table."
It wasn't the worst dinner she'd ever made, but Steve ate the entire thing like it was the best. She was beginning to suspect that he had an iron stomach and it would probably be safe to start phasing in modern foods and drinks soon. She'd already been mixing in regular water, little by little, with his distilled supply. The impending physical exam would tell if there were any ill effects that weren't apparent on the surface.