That night, I decided to try to find Pop-pop's old Captain America memorabilia after a spirited game of Apple to Apples (we played that around Daddy and Harland Sr., we only broke out Cards Against Humanity when it was just Russell, Lauren, Harland Jr. Leighanne, and me). I went through the attic and found the trunk with his initials on it. Inside, I sorted through the piles of loose photos of relatives and places and post cards, until I found a small, old-fashioned photo album. I leafed through it, seeing childhood pictures of my grandfather and his siblings, and then I came across one I had been looking for: a picture of him standing beside by Captain America, both of them saluting the camera, my Pop-pop coming up to his chest.
I recognized Steve immediately, and it gave me the giggles. I got out my phone and took a picture of it, but then realized I wasn't sure if Steve was home yet to get it. If I sent it to him, would S.H.I.E.L.D. Do something to him for my knowing who he was? I knew they tapped his phone. I sighed, and deleted the picture I had just taken, and pulled the old picture out of the tabs. I sorted through a few other things, and found some Captain America trading cards that were moth-eaten, dog-eared, and faded. There were a few other newspaper clippings of the US War Bond show with Steve holding up a motorcycle in full regalia with three show girls on it, grinning and waving flags, and a group of show girls posed for a kickline. A runty little guy with a frown and a fake Groucho Marx moustache was peeking out from behind the line of girls. There was also a dog-eared Captain America fan club membership card and some cheap junk probably ordered from the back of cereal boxes or something that had theme.
Man, Steve had been a showman in himself. I brought the things downstairs.
"Daddy, can I have these?" I asked, showing him the things from Pop-pop.
"Oh, I forgot about these," he said lovingly. "You know, baby, I want to keep those safe. Why don't we make copies of what we can?"
"Okay."
"I'll get them on the scanner and we've got to get bed. You've got a flight out to DC in the morning at five."
"Alright. See you in the morning."
Daddy drove me to the airport on Black Friday, and Lauren had packed some turkey sandwiches and a leftover Gladware with sweet potato casserole in it for me to take with me. The interstates were empty, all the traffic was at the malls.
"I hope this Steve guy knows how much you care about him," he said. "He better treat you like you're worth it. Because you are."
"I remember this with you," I said. "I had faith everything would be alright and you'd come home safe and sound to me. I have to have faith. Steve told me to say a rosary and light a candle for him."
"Oh really? That makes me feel a whole lot better, he's a good Catholic. And he's got faith. I like that." He yanked a few twenties out of his wallet.
"Daddy, no!" I cried, pushing the money away. "I don't need it!"
"Yes, you do. DC is expensive, and I hate that you're working so hard. If you haven't gotten a gray hair yet, you will soon, I'm sure. Especially with a boyfriend being mobilized without any warning. Take it. And don't tell your mother." He kissed me on the cheek and crammed the money into my reluctant fingers.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you too. Travel safely. And pet hateful old Lordy for me."
"You're just not good with cats."
"Break a leg with your finals, sweet pea."
"I will."
He let me out at the Southwest gate and kissed me goodbye.
My father always cared about me and how safe I was. It was funny: sometimes I felt like Lauren had married a male version of mom, and Steve was turning out more like Daddy. Of course, there had been Chad.
They say you marry your parents…
Steve had not contacted me, but I had faith he was still traveling back Stateside.
After I got back home and took Lourdes Marie back to my apartment, I tried to get some homework done before work.
The next two days, I had work and more work from school. On Monday, I had an evening class and work. Steve had sent me a message that he was safe and out of harm's way, but not home yet over the weekend.
I finished my final presentation and turned in my final research paper and did our group project presentation. I felt a sense of relief that it was all over now: I was done with my first semester, and if I failed, it was finished.
My phone rang as I stepped out of the life sciences building, and it was Steve's number.
"Dani?" I recognized Steve's voice.
"Steve!" I cried. "It's so good to hear from you! You're home finally?"
"Not quite. But I am Stateside. How'd your exams go?"
"I felt like I did well, but I might have failed. If I did, I guess I can always go back to call centers and teaching baton."
"Come to New York. We can see each other more. What are you doing tonight?"
"I'm probably going to go home and have a Lean Cuisine and a glass of wine with my cat and watch Road to Morocco . A generic brand Lean Cuisine, too, I've got to make sure everybody has Christmas presents. What are you doing?"
"Right now? Standing across the street, waiting for you to notice me."
"Huh?" I glanced up, looking around across the street. My eye easily fell on Steve's tall, broad-shouldered frame, easy to pick out, even dressed in khakis and a dark parka.
"Steve!" I shouted, grinning. He waved at me, and I ran across the street, jaywalking, to jump into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his middle, and he held me by my butt and we kissed, like something out of an old Hollywood movie. "You've been so cryptic!"
"I didn't want to distract you from finals," he said, and I let go of him with my legs. He set me down.
"If you had come down from New York, you definitely would have been a distraction," I agreed, taking his hand.
"So you're finished for the semester?"
"Yes! I've gotten a few extra shifts at the diner to make up for missing a few days over Thanksgiving and Christmas, though. I'm working tomorrow."
"Let's celebrate. What do you want to do?"
"Can we go get some drinks?"
"I'm in the mood for beer."
"I know a great Biergarten not far from here," I said. "We can walk there!"
Steve and I made our way to Sauf Haus Biergarten and went to the second level to get their liter-size beers. I loved their wheat beers, they reminded me of Hefeweizen and we found some seats at the window bar. It was packed: a lot of people were celebrating the end of finals week at GWU and American U and Georgetown. "Can you tell me where you were mobilized to?" I asked. "Sokovia?"
"I can't say," he admitted. "But it was Clint, Natasha, and me."
"Clint… he's?"
"Hawkeye, the archer. I've never seen anybody with an aim like his."
"Where was Tony?"
"He was busy schmoozing the politicians that hadn't been trapped inside, he did his part."
"Where was the big guy? And Thor?"
"Thor kind of floats around different dimensions, if you catch my drift. He's in and out of this one. The big green guy, the Hulk? His alter ego is a very mild-mannered humanitarian and medical doctor, he's usually off in Southeast Asia with W.H.O."
"Then how does he transform into the Hulk?"
"He lets his anger out."
"Whoa."
'Well, I had an eventful Thanksgiving. The Foreign Service Officers in the Consulate's office and the Marines made us come to Thanksgiving Dinner with them, even though we had the news on the whole night."
"I couldn't eat Thanksgiving dinner or even concentrate with you in Sokovia. I was scared you were undercercover in the crowd in case things went south."
"I never confirmed I was in Sokovia," he said, smirking. "But no, we were close by, but not inside."
"I knew you were there."
He shrugged, good naturedly. I knew this was going to be the course of our relationship when his work took him away.
I got tipsy off the liter of beer I had, Steve had a second one and said he could feel a little buzzed by it. By the time we left the Bier Garten, we stopped at the train station to pick up his duffel bag and the circular black foam case (probably that vibranium shield) from a locker and went to pick up some burgers since he was starving and took the Metro home. At home, I left him take the first shower while I picked up a little and cleaned out Lourdes Marie's litter box. Lourdes Marie was hiding under the bed like Steve was someone to be afraid of. To be honest, she did the same thing at Alissa and Joel's. I booted up my computer and pulled up the Turner Classic Movies app.
"I didn't realize they had the technology to shut off your shower like that," Steve complained, coming out of the bathroom, his hair damp and tousled, wearing a pair of grey flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He looked good enough to eat, and I realized tonight could very well be the night with him. I needed to shave and lotion up so he didn't brush my calf and wonder if I had sandpaper pajama pants on. "That was very inconvenient."
"Yeah, my landlords are cheap," I agreed, gathering my pajamas and a fresh towel. "It's a pain in the ass when you're a girl. It's not like DC isn't a cleared swamp area and we don't have plenty of water."
"I think we need to get you a better apartment. I can tell you're freezing in here, does the heat even work?"
"Have you seen the rent prices in this area?" I asked. "I'll be out in a few minutes, choose a movie."
"Make it fast," Steve said, and I felt a towel snap on my butt and squealed. "Gotcha."
In my tiny shower stall, I did the basic scrub down before I got out. I shaved my legs, one foot up on the sink at a time, almost falling over, and applied my Bath and Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom lotion all over, then scrubbed each foot with a pumice stone.
I didn't want to make it obvious that I was ready to have sex tonight. I wanted him to believe I was just this soft and pretty and perfumed naturally, all the time and was willing. I didn't want to start off our sexual relationship looking and feeling gross. I put on a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top without a bra, hoping he'd appreciate that I didn't have on a bra for him to fumble with the hooks.
In the main room of the apartment, Steve was sitting on the bed with the movie Casablanca queued up to play. "I thought you fell in there," he said.
"Ha ha," I replied, throwing the sham pillows off my side of the bed. I pulled the other one out from under him, and tossing them on the floor. I climbed under the covers. "I see you picked out a great movie."
"Man, this movie… it's the best. I saw it when it first came out. I honestly thought Elsa should have stayed with Rick at the end, though."
"Me too," I agreed.
"Just letting you know, if I sleep over here tonight, I only need about four hours of sleep at the most. If I lay in bed too long, I get antsy and nervous."
"You run on only four hours of sleep?" I asked, stunned.
"Yeah. I don't need a lot to get by."
"I wish I could have that amount of time back in my day and still function!" I cried, turning out the light as he leaned forward and turned on the movie. At one point, Lourdes Marie came out from under the bed and jumped up to do a meatloaf kitty pose and cat nap. We watched most of it while Steve lay atop the comforter. "Aren't you getting under the covers?" I asked him as Rick saw Elsa off for the final time.
"Are you okay with that?"
"What?"
"I mean… things can happen."
"Of course," I scoffed. "Why do you think I asked you to?"
"I thought… I thought uh… your virtue and-"
"I'm not a virgin," I replied.
"You… you're not?" I could hear his mental screams inside his head. "I thought you were. You're a nice girl and Catholic and-"
"Well, I lost my virginity to my last boyfriend. I thought maybe you'd want to have sex tonight, finally. We have been dating for almost two months."
A strangled cry erupted from his lips and he got up from the bed. "But-"
"We don't owe anybody an explanation of what we're doing," I pointed out. "It's our business. I've got condoms in the nightstand."
Steve was panicking, he started pacing.
Why was he so anxious?
And then, it hit me as I put together his past and his timeline and the stories of him being a sickly wimp before Dr. Erskine's experiment.
"Steve, are you a virgin?" I asked.
"What? Come on, Dani," he spluttered. We was pacing so hard, I thought he'd wear a hole in the floor. "Why would you think that? I'm a soldier, I spent years in Europe, why would you say-"
"You are," I said, calmly, his behavior making perfect sense.
"I didn't say that!" he shouted.
"You're deflecting. You deflect when you don't want to tell me the truth so you don't lie."
I thought Steve was going to jump through the ceiling.
"Did you think I couldn't handle that?" I asked.
"I'm less of a man," he groaned, rubbing his eye sockets with the heels of his palms.
"Says who?"
"I didn't say… It's socially unacceptable for a guy to be a virgin after a certain age."
"Only vile pieces of human garbage say that," I said, kicking off the covers. "Like my ex."
"It's embarrassing," he said.
I hugged my arms around his middle. "It's endearing," I said. "And this is you. The truth about who you are. Have you ever been in love before?"
"I… no. I haven't."
"So… you respect women enough to want to have a relationship before having sex. I wish more guys were like that and cared how women felt. I should have been so lucky my first time," I said softly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Be proud of it."
"I'm going to need a little more- a lot more to drink before we-"
"No rush," I said. I couldn't believe I was the one calming him down. "Come on, get in bed with me. I'm exhausted. It's been a rough couple of weeks." I took his hand and brought him to the bed. I could feel his rigidity in his whole body just from his hand. I pulled the covers over him and went around to my side of the bed to get in.
"Okay."
"What?"
"Okay."
It was like was talking himself into something.
"Let's do it tonight, I can do this-"
"Steve, no!" I cried. "You are too worked up-"
"I thought you wanted to-"
"You're treating this like it's some kind of test you have to pass. It's not a test!"
"I'm ready to get this over with!" He threw back the covers.
I shoved him back on the bed. Natasha had warned me about Steve's black-and-white thinking. "If it's a test, I'm going to fail, too. I'm not that experienced, either."
"We need to-"
"You want to rush through this? Not enjoy it? How many times do I have to tell you I care about you? First times should be special and a fun experience."
"Was it for you?"
He was so upset, I didn't want to tell him, but then again, he was behaving as if we didn't do this right this very second, his whole world was over. He needed me to be vulnerable and honest, he was in crisis mode in his own head. I had to rip open a very private, personal wound of my own. "No, actually. It was awful. And I blamed myself, but when I thought about it, I realized, I was doing what you're doing right now: trying to fake intimacy to make myself feel better. Sex is just an act, a process. What really counts is being close and trusting each other. I didn't trust him, not as much as I should have. And he didn't care about me, not as much as I needed."
Steve was visibly upset, even more so with my words. "Do you care about me?" he asked, his voice softer.
"Of course. I care about you a lot."
"I care about you a lot, too."
"I think you're just in the wrong headspace right now."
His expression went angry. "I am not!"
"Sex for you right now is you, me, and what the rest of the world thinks of you. I don't want that, I've got a pink in the nightstand and I'd be happy alone the rest of my life, you can find somebody else help you impress the world, alright, Steve? You don't have to impress me, I just want you… I want the superhero who jumps in front of a bullet with nothing but a vibranium shield and the ninety-pound nerd with asthma who couldn't get into the Army. I don't need the whole goddamn world knowing the private, intimate moments between us or even caring what they'd think. I spent a lot of time afraid of what people thought of me and if I measured up. I realized measuring up to what everybody else in the world who couldn't give two flips about me wants is the best way to make yourself miserable and a terrible person to be around. If they matter so much to you, more than someone like me who actually does care about you, I don't know that I want to be with you, okay?" I punched the pillow and collapse on the bed.
Steve took what I had to say a lot harder than I intended, just by the look on his face. He was quiet for the longest time. "I'm pretty sure I'm officially the oldest virgin on earth," he muttered.
"Oh my God, do you really think I'm going to hold it over your head? Make fun of you? Hurt you for sharing something so personal with me? What kind of girlfriend would do that?" I took his hand, lacing my fingers between his. "We're partners. You better know I'm your friend first. Friends don't hurt friends and reveal personal, dark secrets to the rest of the world to one-up the other. That's the definition of a shitty friend. I'm not a shitty friend. I certainly don't want to be. Or girlfriend. Okay?"
"What if I'm no good? What if I'm a complete waste of your time?"
"No good? At sex?" I clarified. He nodded. "I'm not good at it, either. Just because I've done it doesn't make me good at it. We can just be bad at it together and not care what everybody else thinks. And your letters alone are the best use of my time. As long as you write those, our time together doing anything isn't a waste. I promise."
"I love your letters, too. And every moment I spend with you. But please… can you not curse in front me?"
"What?"
"I don't like cursing. It reminds me of my mother's boyfriends and… I don't like it."
"Okay. I'll work on it."
Steve was so upset as I tried to get to sleep. He kept on wanting to talk about it. It really did bug him that he wasn't unable to be the dominant sexual player between the two of us, for lack of sexual experience. I didn't care: he had been a science experiment and had woken up with a perfect, strong, healthy body for the first time in his life, but the experiment didn't cure all his problems. When he had been underweight and physically weak, he had woken up with a perfect, strong, healthy body, but he was still insecure about it. That wasn't abnormal. He had never let me see him with his shirt off, as much as I salivated over his body. It reminded me of the years I had spent in a therapist's office at UT between marching seasons, ashamed and hyper-sensitive and hyper-aware of my body. My problems with my body were just a front for the emotional problems I dealt with. I still dealt with them, the insecurities, the stupid belief that if I were thin enough, all my problems would melt away. But they didn't. My first instincts after the whole thing on the Empire State Building observation deck had been to go on a diet and workout more, the basic methods I had used to deal with any problem, when the way my body had nothing to do with any of my problems. I personally thought Steve's bravery and zeal for the cause in World War II that had pushed him along without any care of if he lived or died had to do with problems like his abandonment. He had no friends asides from Bucky who had joined up and gone overseas to fight, his parents both died, he was living a difficult existence with no real hope in sight until he was accepted into the military. Was he trying to find meaning for his existence in self-sacrifice when he tried to join the Army six times?
I tried to kiss and nibble on his hands, his shoulders, his fingers, his neck, but he just wasn't in the mood, he only want to talk. I rolled over on my side, my back away from him and he finally figured out I was trying to sleep. He finally curled up behind me.
I took his hand in mine and let him spoon me until I dozed off.
In the middle of the night, I woke up sweating. I realized Steve was still spooning me and that was the source of the heat. "Steve, get off," I grumbled, trying to roll over.
"Huh?" he huffed.
"Steve, I'm burning up, it's like spooning in a sauna!" I whined. "Get off me!"
"Oh, excuse me," he muttered, annoyed. "You're the one that talks in your sleep."
"Liar," I mumbled, but I knew from what Lauren had told me that I did, in fact, have a tendency to mumble unintelligible things when I dozed off under stress.
I heard him chortle. "You were speaking in tongues."
I groaned and flipped my pillow over onto the cool side. "I do not." The lure of sleep seduced me, and I started to feel dreamland sneaking up on my again. I felt the mattress shift a few times. Steve was tossing and turning. I checked the alarm clock: it was almost four a.m. He had had enough sleep, but I was still groggy. "Are you awake?" I muttered.
"Yeah. I'm going to get up."
"Don't go sit in the chairs, they're noisy as hell," I said, thinking of the creaking.
"Language, young lady."
"Fine. They're noisy."
He got up and shuffled through his duffel bag and I heard him sit down on the floor and a reading lamp light came on. I dozed off, but woke up again.
"Steve?" I asked.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Come back to bed," I whispered.
"Am I keeping you awake? Is it the light?"
"No, I just want you here next to me," I said.
He got up from the floor and the light switched off. I felt him climb back into my queen sized bed. There wasn't a ton of room for both of us.
"Why are you so warm? Was it the experiment you went through in the Army?" I asked.
"Yeah. My metabolism is super-high now. I can't get drunk, either."
"You know you can tell me anything," I said, my eyes closed. "What was it?"
"I'm not really sure, I don't know that anybody is," he said. "Dr. Erskine was a genius. He devised the treatment that changed my body into this."
I reached behind myself to touch him. "I'm not gonna lie, I thought you had an incredible body the first time I saw you."
"I couldn't stop looking at you that night, either," he said. I felt him move on the mattress, and he kissed my shoulder. "Do you know how many times since we're been dating I thought you'd laugh in my face and dump me if you found out I was still a virgin? At my age?"
"You know, I was twenty-three before I lost my virginity," I said, trying to level with him. "I was too embarrassed about what my body look like."
"What? Why?" he asked, sounding offended.
"Body dysmorphic disorder does weird things to the way you see yourself in the mirror," I said. It was only the tip of the iceburg, he didn't need to hear it all right now. "It's part of the reason I went into therapy when I was in undergrad. I hated the way I looked, but I loved baton. I almost quit baton twirling my freshman year because being in the uniform made me so self-conscious and miserable. I look back at myself and I know I was so annoying because I was so insecure."
"You want to know a secret? I feel that way, too, sometimes. I can't explain why..."
I didn't want to overload him with all I knew. And it was a huge effort me to talk about what I had discovered about myself in a therapist's office. "It makes sense to me," I said, softly. "What was it like?" I asked. "The procedure?"
"That Dr. Erskine put me though? You want to hear about it?"
"Yeah."
"It's a long story."
"We've got time," I sighed. "I'm listening."
"Well… okay. He gave me multiple opportunities to back out. I didn't. I was falling behind in basic because of my asthma and all my medical problems like my blood pressure, my muscle weakness, all the times I passed out during calisthenics. I honestly thought if it killed me, maybe he'd be able to improve it and use it on other people the right way and help them. So, I let them close me up in what was like a metal coffin with all these Army people watching me in a medical lab, all shirtless and bony. And then the lights came on inside it. It was just a slight tingle at first, but then it went through my whole body and got really… intense."
"What did it feel like?"
"Like needles and knives being dragged through my veins and muscles, millions of 'em, and it was excruciating. I remember screaming in pain, but Dr. Erskine asked me if I wanted to stop, I said no. Then, it felt like my spine and my body, my mouth even, was being ripped apart. That was worse. I couldn't breathe and I think I passed out. I woke up when the lights inside the coffin went off, and I realized it was opening up. I looked down and I saw…. Muscles. Not skin and bones, it was like my brain had been transported into another person's body. And then the table moved from horizontal to vertical and I was on my feet again, and my army trousers were about six inches too short on me, my feet had split out of my shoes. Peggy was part of that mission, and she ran up to me along with the other Army medical specialists and officers and Dr. Erskine. And I realized I was looking down on her, whereas before, I had been looking up. I could see the top of her head, and I could see her clearly, and every inch of me felt incredible, like I was floating. I realize now it was an oxygen high because I had never really breathed clearly before in my entire life. My brain was clear too, clearer than it had ever been. Afterwards, I discovered I had regrown teeth that I had had pulled and I didn't need my inhaler or any of the other medical prescriptions. Looking in the mirror the first time, I just stared at myself. It was my face and hair on someone else's body. It took me a few months to get used to the man in the mirror."
"Did you have the body you always wanted?" I asked drowsily.
"Yeah, I guess. I always wanted to be free of all the pain and asthma and constant colds and blood pressure problems. It wasn't about vanity for me. I had come to terms with that I'd never be the fellow in uniform that all the girls fell all over, and then Dr. Erskine came along. I still feel uncomfortable in my own skin. It's just a different set of skin, now. At first I thought I would, but I guess it's just tough all over. I still feel like a freak, just on the other end of the spectrum. I don't like people staring at me all the time, even though I'm not an easy target any longer. They just stare for a different reason. And I dreamed about beautiful dames falling all over me in my Army uniform. Hey, who doesn't dream about being better looking? I guess I am. But I never anticipated it would be drunk ones coming up to me in bars, touching me, saying disgusting, crude things. I get that more often than not, now."
"Like you're an object?"
"Yeah."
"That's why you were in the gay bar the night we met, right?"
"Right. I needed to get away from all that. And I was been working on talking to girls, and had blown it more times than I wanna admit..." he chuckled.
"Trust me, most women know what that's like to be objectified and groped at least once in their life. I'll snatch 'em bald if I catch 'em doing that when we're out," I promised. "I've been through it, too, you know. Several times. It blows. I guess we all have our insecurities. I had a really bad eating disorder. I don't know if I told you that."
"That's…? Body something you said a moment ago?"
"Body dysmorphic disorder. It ties in really heavily with eating disorders, where your body basically looks like it's in a funhouse mirror, all distorted an huge. And it scares you when you look at it. Most people with eating disorders have it. For me, my eating disorder was when you throw up after eating."
"Then I had one, too. I couldn't hold food down sometimes if I ate too fast. Before the experiment."
"No, it wasn't involuntary. I'd make myself throw up intentionally because I was afraid of the calories I had eaten making me fat. It's really dangerous. And it's considered a disease."
"Why would you do that? Did somebody tell you that you weren't pretty? I'll- I'll find him and make him apologize-"
"No, it wasn't a guy," I said.
"Who, then?"
"It was my mom."
A heavy silence hung between him and me. I realized that it had never occured to Steve that a mother could be a bad person or a bad parent. He described his mother as a perfect angel who died too young. I felt an urge to explain at his speechlessness, but as I opened my mouth, he spoke. "You're perfect, Dani. Don't believe anybody who says that to you. Even your mother."
"I drive her insane," I said. "Mainly because I can't fix her, but she wants me to."
"Fix her? How?"
"She's lonely. She looks to Lauren and me and her husbands to fix her problems and nurture her, when it's supposed to be the other way around. She's doesn't respect boundaries or privacy, especially mine and Lauren's. She thinks she's entitled to it because she's our mother. Trust me, she's going to start asking if you and I are having sex."
"You won't tell her-"
"I'm not telling her damn- a dog gone thing , alright?" I asked. "It's none of her business. She can't apologize when she's wrong, either. I think it's all these problems with Mom have messed Lauren up, too. She's married to a horrible guy who cheated on her. And where I was the bulimic and dabbled in periods of self-starvation, Lauren, she's… She's heavier than me, but still more beautiful than I will ever be."
"That's not possible."
"Well, don't you ever tell her she's anything less than beautiful. I love her so much. She raised me when Daddy was deployed or in the field and Momma was going off the rails. And she is so amazing. But, she's got insulin resistance from her PCOS, too. Momma was awful with all the body shaming and diets she put both of us on, but Lauren got it worse. Lauren and I are both bulimics, I figured it out from her, even though she never taught me. I think she still believes Russell is the best thing she's ever going to get, and she doesn't want the kids not having a father figure, especially since Matthew has cerebral palsy. His CP is medically so expensive to treat, I think money is another reason: women are more likely to go into poverty after a divorce."
"That's depressing. And still true, it was that way in the 30s and 40s. But isn't it better, now? Alimony and child support and people can divorce because they want it, not because they cheated? She has more options."
"I don't know, in some ways, it's better. But I look at myself and my ex, and I think, 'hey, I could have gone down that route.' But my ex was really messed up, and messed me up, too."
"Well, you are in a relationship with the world's oldest virgin."
"And this is the best relationship I've ever had, bar-none. So don't you go bad-mouthing your virginity any more."
"I spent so much time freaking out about that and you… It's weird that I can trust you with so much. I'm still… I don't know.."
"Adjusting? Decompressing?"
"Yeah… So, that eating thing… Is all that why you want to be a psychologist?"
"Yeah. That and the PTSD Daddy went through that a psychologist helped him with. He got better because of a good therapist. And he realized there was no saving his marriage when he and Momma went to marriage counseling."
"He told you that?"
"No, I pieced it together. Momma told me he had basically old her point-blank in the therapist's office that he wanted a divorce, and she said it was because of his PTSD. But he had gotten better, hadn't had an episode in almost a year when that happened."
"I've heard about PTSD. I wonder sometimes if I got it."
"Do you have moments when you see scenes from the war that feel like they're beyond your control? You can't stop them?"
"Not from the war, no. Except one. When Bucky died. But I get them more when I remember stuff like…"
"Like what?"
He sighed and looked away. "I think about how humiliating it was when I got beat up by mother's boyfriends. When my mother was crying and watching it. I like to think my father would have been the best dad, if he hadn't died. She wouldn't have had to start dating those men to get me fed and pay my medical bills. I doubt Mom and I would have ended up homeless those few times, too. I wonder what kind of person I'd be if he had been there. If I'd have had siblings."
I reached over and stroked his blond hair. It was soft and silky and thick under my fingers. "But I don't think you'd be here, with me. You wouldn't be Captain America that Dr. Erskine chose, the Star-Spangled Man who raised all that money in war bonds, and you wouldn't have saved all your fellow soldiers behind enemy lines and you wouldn't have inspired Americans everywhere. Who knows, we might all be talking German now if not for you."
"I didn't win the war," he scoffed. "The soldiers did. I never got to punch out Adolph Hitler."
"But you were there," I sighed. "Wait a second, I brought something back from Nashville." I got out the bed and ran to my chest of drawers to find the box I had put the memorabilia in. I brought it over to the bed. "Look. It's you!"
He sat up and turned on the lamp. He opened the box, revealing the pictures and newspaper clippings and the Captain America related junk. "That's my grandfather you're standing by in the picture. He looked up to you so much. He wanted to be you."
A saw a smile crossed his face as he took in the picture.
"Do you remember him? It was in 1943 at the Sulpher Downs Stadium in Nashville."
"No," he said. "Sorry. Not in the slightest. Do you know how many babies and children I took pictures with? Thousands, probably."
"You know there's a rumor going around that there were two separate Captain Americas, one in the USO show, another one in the field?"
"Eh, that's malarkey," he said. "They knew it was me. Who's saying that?"
"Somebody on the internet," I said as he slipped the Captain America decoder ring onto his pinky finger, which didn't even go past his second knuckle.
"Yeah, tell him to use this to decode a message from me, the knucklehead," he chortled, wiggling his pinky.
I took his finger and kissed it. He was gentle with me, cupping my face. I turned my chin to kiss his palm and he let go just long enough to set the box on the nightstand, and slid an arm around me. I laid down on top of him and another hand slid up the back of my neck to tangle in my hair. His lips met mine, and I laid down on top of him. Our lips met, and I melted into him, our bodies only separated by our nightclothes. Every part of my body tingled at his touch, my nipples becoming erect and arousal growing between my thighs. I kissed him harder, my tongue slipping past his lips, and brushing his teeth. His kissed me back, and we rolled over so that I was underneath him. He was heavy, but I liked how heavy he was atop me. It made me hotter, his hand under my head, the softest and most beautiful kiss I had ever had in my life. My hands roamed his back, drifting down to the hem of his shirt, drawing it up to feeling the warm, smooth skin.
I wanted to whisper soft things between the kisses, that I loved him. The endorphins and excitement were fueling that, I knew better. I gasped in air, and yearned to draw him inside my body, to cradle him, to grind my hips on his, to feel his cock moving inside me, his cum to enter me.
Yeah, I was horny. I wanted him so badly, but I wasn't sure if he was ready for it. I had always been told men would never turn down sex, but it wasn't true, no matter how badly I wanted to believe it. I couldn't take something from him if he wasn't emotionally ready. Hell, I didn't want to emotionally scar him for life with a selfish first time. One of his hands let go of my head and slipped to my waist, my skin tingling at his touch, but he paused, out of breath and shaking.
"It's okay, Steve," I whispered at his hesitance. "You can touch me. I'll tell you if it's wrong."
He closed his eyes and his hand slid up to my bare rib cage and his lips parted in hard pants. I could feel the bulge of his cock through his pajama pants against my thigh, I wondered briefly if it was getting hard. I had touched myself to the thought of him, what I'd do, what the sex would be like. It wasn't this easy. I ran my hands up under his t-shirt and pressed kisses across his jaw and to his ear. "It's alright," I whispered into his ear before kissing his pulse point on his neck. "It's alright," I chanted and moved my legs for his hips to fall between. His hand brushed the underside of my breast and I heard him almost sob.
"You're okay?" I asked.
He lifted his head and looked at me. "I… are you?"
The alarm suddenly shrieked, making us both jump. It was 4:30 AM. I had to get ready for work.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm alright. My shift starts in an hour."
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay. I think I need another shower. Do you mind?"
I shook my head. "Go ahead."
I was pretty sure if Steve got worked up, he probably took care of it in the shower. I myself got out my bullet and took care of things myself.
I was going to be ready for the next time Steve and I were alone together. I made plans in my head about getting ready for him and taking precautions. The attitudes about birth control, condoms, and sex in general had changed a lot since the second World War. Steve was anxious about talking about sex and virginity, he'd be nervous about the "how are we going to do this, what birth control are we using, what positions are my hard limits, what are yours?" kind of talk couples who planned this out had these days before their first times together. Of course, I had skipped that with Chad. I wasn't going to skip it with Steve. I had the feeling Steve would have to be the pillow princess the first time and let me do all the work. I know that sounded funny, but I wanted to ease him into sex in a way that wasn't traumatic or bad for him. Toxic masculinity was a bitch and Steve was suffering from it (as was I).
I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and made some oatmeal.
The bathroom door opened, and steam poured out.
"I'm just making breakfast for myself, I'm feeding you at the diner. Much bigger kitchen and a better selection," I said.
"I could go for a big breakfast," he said.
I made my breakfast and some coffee in the French Press, and watched from the bed as Steve shaved. He used a straight razor like the old fashioned ones hipsters had started using again. "Do you want to come to Nashville for Christmas?" I asked, taking a bite of oatmeal with some blueberry in it.
"Oh, Dani, I… I already volunteered to be on call."
"When?" I asked, disappointed.
"Before I met you."
"Oh," I repeated, my stomach turning. Despite it, I shoveled the oatmeal in: I needed food on my stomach or I'd get tired and cranky and weak by eight.
"I'll come back to see you before then," he offered. "We can work it out."
I got out my phone to look at my schedule. "I took a bunch of extra shifts, I don't have any days off in a row, except at Christmas," I sighed.
He scraped the side of his face carefully, most of the shaving foam gone. He ran the washcloth under the hot water from the faucet. "Our contact at the UN says that world events end to heat up historically in the winter… I can't promise anything. But I'll buy a plane ticket to Nashville for Christmas."
I glowed, watching him wipe the last of the shaving foam off his face, getting up to watch him from the door frame.
"What?" he asked, seeing my expression.
"You're just sexy, that's all," I said as he got out his aftershave. I reached for my toothbrush.
After I fed Lourdes Marie and we gathered our things for the day. The sun wasn't even up in DC as we made our way to the Metro stop in the early morning cold. "You're ready for me to meet your family?" he asked.
"I think you can handle it," I said. "You'll like my father and Harland, and Harland Jr and Lauren. Do you like kids?"
"A lot. Do you want some one day?"
"Let me see how you handle my niece and nephews."
"Are they wild or something?"
"They're busy," I said. "Cute. Funny. They have my heart."
I sent my father a text that Steve was planning on coming for Christmas if he didn't get mobilized. "Do you want to get a hotel room that we can stay in together over Christmas?" I asked.
"Shhh!" Steve hissed, horrified. "Why don't we talk about this in private, not in public?"
"Nobody cares," I replied, rolling my eyes.
"It's not something you talk about in public," he whispered, his face going crimson.
That was the 1940s coming out in him. With him, nobody could know if we were having sex, but nobody on this train cared what we were talking about in reality.
"I'll make plans," he whispered to me.