Maria's sitting on a bench in Central Park across from the Alice's Adventures in Wonderland statue, pondering her – pondering Steve. Steve, who isn't just Captain or Rogers, but isn't Sweetie or Honey, he isn't even Capsicle or O Captain, My Captain, he's just Steve.
He's normal, really normal. Normal in a way that none of the other Avengers are. And that scares the shit out of Maria because she talks to him like he's a normal human being and he's not. He's an Avenger, one of the assholes that destroyed her grandmother's restaurant without a second though and who are currently making her life a living, breathing, fiery hell. And even besides all that he's Captain America and she's just another foot soldier from Brooklyn, she's not even supposed to know he exists. He's not supposed to know which million-year-old diner she's talking about when she inadvertently mentions it in conversation, he's not supposed to be able to sit on the couch looking like the guy she'd bring home to her dad ('Don't go there Maria!') watching baseball and cheering on the Yankees, he's not supposed to remember her sandwich preference after one lunch run together, he's not supposed to draw, watch television, have a life outside all this, because he's Captain America.
But then she reminds herself he's not Captain America, not really. He's Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, who lived with his mom and is really good at drawing.
Steve, she thinks, it's a good name.