DISCLAIMER: Wow, I never thought I would ever update this story ever. For almost two years, I felt like my muse has been completely gone and I pleasently surprised to see its return. I promise I will never put hiatus on this story again. :) Enjoy the reading and thanks for all your kindness!:)

My face is burning as I look up at the person in the mirror. I open the water tap, letting lukewarm water fill up in my palm and I raise them to wash my face. I silently curse myself, still not fully comprehending what has just happened.

So, I basically threw all over Captain America and he felt sorry enough for me to bring me hope and let me change my clothes. I completely and utterly humiliated myself in front of a fucking war hero and now I am in his bathroom trying to get the last of my shit together.

Seems like I outdid myself this time. My lack of luck has bitten me in the ass yet again.

I groan as the makeup gets into my eyes and I beg to God not to make me go blind now. I press out a bit of liquid soap and start to remove all the dirt off my face. By the time I finish I look more like a post-apocalyptic zombie and less than an utter catastrophe and I am somewhat satisfied. At least I will not get weirded out looks on the way home, at least I can still keep this story for myself. Otherwise, I am afraid, Riley would never let me forget.

Let's be honest here, Riley would just make everything ten times worse. I have sworn to never ever mention this to her.

I wipe my face with the towel placed there, I run a hand through my hair and I stare at myself, waiting for some sort of boost of confidence. Now or never, I have to get out of here. I have face Steve Rogers despite me wishing the ground would just disappear under me.

I let out a heavy sigh collecting my disgusting slightly puke covered clothing. The booze is still in my head but thanks to the sobering experience I have just gone through I am not really feeling tipsy.

I grab the doorknob, slightly embarrassed but this time ready to face him.

I have not gotten a proper look at his place when we arrived. Now, however, I have had a bit of time to let my eyes wander around the minimalistic apartment. It is not exactly how I imagined he would live. Even considering he was a war hero, a superhero, this apartment was just dry. Not a picture on the wall, not a hidden cactus somewhere, nothing that could make the place feel more comfy. Like a home should be. This place is a cropped out imagine out of a home magazine.

I figure Steve has been given a helping hand by Natasha since he clearly just does not give a fuck about decoration.

A blush creeps up on my cheek as I notice him watching me from the balcony, feeling a bit anxious despite him trying to reassure my angst on the whole way here.

Get it together, Bunny, I urged myself, and get out of here.

I send the Captain an idiotic wave, ignoring the heat building up in my head. What am I supposed to be saying now? Thanks for helping? Sorry for the puked shoes? I hope dry cleaning helps? Hope you forget this ever happened even though I know I most likely will not and never will?

Am I being way to dramatic again or would other people also feel unreasonably awkward in a situation like this?

"Uhm—" I hesitate, fisting the clothing in my hand. Steve leans against the doorframe of the balcony entrance, politely letting me speak. "Once again, I am terribly sorry for what happened tonight. I swear to God, I am not usually—I am not usually like this."

The worst thing about being a super awkward, super anxious person is that most of the time you feel weird despite saying the right things. I swallow hard and since he is not replying, I continue to ramble. "I can take care of your shoes if you want—I can pay for them."

Steve stares at me for a good minute and then his way too handsome face lights up with a genuine smile. Smile? He most likely finds my clumsiness entertaining.

My head will explode one day by all the bloodstream it is now getting.

"Have you forgotten about our conversation? I don't care." The more he speaks, the more I hear his accent. I find it quite charming. There is something about guys from Brooklyn… "I will handle my shoes myself. It's not a problem."

Would I still feel this guilty if he would not be such a perfect gentleman? I shake my head a bit to snap out of out the anxious spiral I have been getting into.

"Aurora?"

I have always hated my name, but for some reason from him it almost sounds acceptable. I am having the urge to correct him, to tell him I am just Bunny to everyone else, but I am suppressing it. I kind of melt like honey by the gaze he is giving me. His eyes are so blue in the perfect lighting of his living room.

I have not even gotten a proper look at him throughout the whole fiasco. He is wearing a nice dark blue shirt that is way too tights by the muscles on his arm and dark jeans. I cannot help noting that the magazines have never lied about him being a complete eye candy.

What about not disturbing his privacy?

I bit my lower lip.

Get a grip on yourself, Bunny. You are probably just drunk. Riley would be proud to know that despite the circumstances I am still capable of noticing how good looking Captain America actually is.

He is, there is no doubt about it and he also happens to be enough of a gentleman that even if he does catch my eyes mapping him up he does not comment about it. I want to urge myself to be better, to not be like all those people he must meet that are either drooling over him or treating him like a celebrity.

On the other hand that possibility has already been fucked the moment I puked all over him.

"Aurora?" I snap out of my thoughts at the mention of my name. How long has he been speaking to me?

Damn.

"Would you want me to call you a taxi?"

Which reminds me of the fact that I should have pissed off ages ago, but for absolutely nothing I have been glued to the floor there. I clear my throat, still a bit in dream state and I blame all the alcohol I drowned tonight.

"Oh-," I shook my head. "Oh—Is not needed, I can just walk home."

"It's the middle of the night," he states with a frown. "You aren't supposed to be walking alone so late at night."

Well, he is right, but if I have to wait just one more minute here I might just die of embarrassment. Not only did I cause a show in front of the bar, I have also pretty much been trying to flirt with him since I came out of the bathroom. I hope he blames the alcohol for everything because I have been surely doing that.

"It's fine," I insist. "Just a couple of blocks. I need fresh air."

Steve Rogers nods like he understands but clearly does not like what I am saying. It does not surprise me that he is being such a gentleman, however, I feel like I have been his problem long enough. "Taxi it is. "

"No, Captain—"

"Steve."

Oh.

"Steve," I press further. "I might not puke on your freshly cleaned carpet, but I cannot promise the same to a driving vehicle. It would be the cherry on top to get chased by an angry taxi driver as well."

I am delighted to hear a light laugh escape him. "You've had hell of a night."

"Yeah," I fake a dramatic sight. "I promise I don't usually puke on people I have never met before."

Steve smirks, slipping a hands into his pockets as he leans against the doorframe. Behind him, the sight of Washington from above mesmerizes me. The Captain catches my eyes because he stands a bit aside to give me more space to check and motions his head to get me to come closer. I take careful steps because I am a bit afraid of heights, but feeling a bit encouraged by his presence. He is a superhero after all. How could you not try to be brave around him?

He opens the balcony door and steps outside, I am right at his tail. His eyes never leave my face as I take in the full panorama, but I decide to let him stare. After all, a few minutes ago my thoughts were more wild than his ever could be.

"I love Washington," I say with a light smile. I make a mental note not to stay too long outside. Although it is relatively warm outside we are on one of the top floors and the wind pushes my hair into my face. I take a ginger strand and push it behind my eyes. "I grew up here."

"Yeah, I hear," Steve agrees. "I assume you know I am from Brooklyn. I moved to Washington a few months ago."

"Why did you leave New York?"

He rubs the back of his head, eyes following the flickering light of an airplane in the distance. "Work, mostly."

I nod my head, understanding that he might not want to share any details with me. I have to keep in mind that despite feeling relatively comfortable around him, he is still a stranger to me and vice versa. I am clueless why, but Steve's presence soothes and rages my anxiety at the same time.

I clear my throat and fix my eyes on him. "I think I should walk home. I fairly overstayed my welcome already."

Steve is quick to respond. "This is not how I expected to spend my night, but I don't mind."

"Is it worse?"

He laughs, looking younger than ever. I am wondering how old he was when he hit the ice. Twenty-six? Twenty-seven. That would make him around twenty-eight twenty-nine now. "Would it sound weird if I said this has been the most normal night I had in a long time?"

"Jesus," I groan with a tint of irony. "I feel terrible for you."

The Captain raised an eyebrow.

"Would you count a night of babysitting a drunk stranger normal?"

"Normal? Hm, I should have called it pleasant then."

I am fairly certain he is enjoying my reaction. I blink, not being able to form sentences. My inner system must have crashed down with loud bang because I have no idea how to respond.

"It does not make you look better," I snicker and I thank him when he opens the door and lets me go inside first. I stop at the door, giving him a big smile through my slightly tipsy haze. "Thank you, Steve."

I put a hand on the doorknob, but Steve shook his head. "Wait a second, I am coming with you."

My heart skips a beat as I progress what he is saying. He wants to walk me home? I know he is an absolute gentleman, but now I feel even worse that I am taking so much time from him. I want to refuse, but Steve immediately shakes his hand and something tells me that I will not win this discussion either way. Besides, I do not mind having a company especially if the company is like him. Board, godlike, kind and ridiculously polite.

He hands me his jacket and I take it without word, knowing he would just argue with me until I give in. He is the captain, I have to take his orders.

"Are you usually this helpful to anyone?" I ask him as we make our way to the elevator. He presses the button and shoots me a side glance. His brown jacket is a heavy but good weight on my shoulders. "Or are you specifically targeting drunk girls to help for?"

I am wondering whether he finds me entertaining or just batshit crazy based on the look he is giving me. His eyes are way too blue for his sake.

"I am trying to always be kind," he says holding the door for me. "But no, I am not targeting anyone and I would usually stay out of cases like yours."

I give him a grin and I really hope there is no puke stuck between my teeth. Gross!

"My friends always tell me I am a special case," I tell him nonchalantly. "As in, all the bullshit is only happening to me. "

Steve snorts and takes a deep breath of fresh air as it hits our faces yet again. It helps be sober up even more and now I am a bit more confident in my abilities to get home without puking again.

"Do you have any similarly graceful stories?" Steve asks. I cannot place the tone in his voice, it is almost like a teasing.

"Plenty. My uni years were just as this delightful."

He fakes surprise. I giggle like a stupid school girl.

It does not take long for us to get there and to my greatest surprise, there has not been a moment when talking to him felt forced. He has been just so easy to have a conversation with. I kind of feel disappointed that I have to find my keys and open the door.

Before I go inside I turn around and I fish my telephone out of my bag. I give it to him almost shily, my newly gathered courage seemingly disappearing.

"I want to wash Nat—" oh my God I have to give back the clothes to him, which means I will have to see him again. I try not to get my hopes up. "I want to wash the clothes first. Can I get your number to give them back?"

Steve seems a bit shocked first, but nods his head. "Alright."

I am not capable of registering what is happening around me. I am watching him handing me my telephone back, waving me goodbye and then disappearing by the end of the hallway. I let out a loud sigh and as I close the door behind me I lean against it.

So…

Today I puked all over Steve Rogers' shoes.

Today I also happened to get his number.

Damn.

Holy shit!