Alright so I'm a week and a day late and I'm really sorry guys. I mean holidays and stuff, being social and doing family things is a big part of it but also… to be honest I've mainlined all seven seasons of Dr. Who within less than two weeks and now it's over and I don't actually know what to do with my life.

Actually, I'm just trash.

I'm not entirely thrilled with this chapter, and if it has any grammatical errors I sort of rushed the end so that it wasn't any later.

Anyway way guys, here's chapter four, I'm really sorry it's late, and you guys are fabulous. Let me know what you think, and I of course own nothing.

Adara.

Chapter Four:

November 20, 1940, Location: Goldie's Boxing Gym, 15th Street, Brooklyn NY

"C'mon, it's like you're not even trying Stevie." Bucky smirked. At least, Steve assumed he was smirking; he couldn't really see much of anything other than his friend's bare feet from his position sprawled on the ground. It sounded like Bucky was smirking, and in all honesty he probably was; his friend never failed to find amusement in kicking the much smaller man around.

"I am trying." Steve groaned in response, struggling to get his arms under him and push up onto his feet. It was easier said than done though, every muscle hurt and his bones protested angrily to the motion. They—as well as his joints—had already absorbed enough shock.

"Yeah, well, you're going to keep trying until you learn how to block that move." Bucky pressed, swinging his arms back and forth. "Or you could just give up on this idea of—"

"Bucky, no." It was an old argument, an argument that had started as soon as they'd heard that things were heating up overseas. It was only a matter of time before a decision was made on whether or not the US joined in the war efforts against the Axis powers and as soon as they did Steve was going to be first in line at the recruiter's office. And so he had insisted—basically dragged his friend down to the only gym within walking distance—that Bucky teach him how to box.

Steve knew how to box, he knew the mechanics of it, and yet he still ended up getting beat up more often than not.

"Why you have this idiot idea of getting yourself involved in the war, Steve—" Bucky tried again, the smirk falling from his face.

Steve grit his teeth and squared his shoulders, lightly tapping his gloved hands against one another. "Someone has to go out there and stop this. Why not me?"

The brunette swung first, the strike slow and lacking force. "How about because people die in war Steve. Just because you've got something to prove to your old man… can't you just let it go?"

He mirrored the form, blocking the blow like he had been taught. Like he said, he knew the mechanics but applying them was a different matter entirely.

Steve took a deep breath, blue eyes narrowing on his best friend. He understood why Bucky was so against him enlisting; the larger man had always felt the need to protect Steve. But he didn't need to be protected, especially when there were people who had it a lot worse than he did at the moment. Not when there were boys far from home willing to lay down their lives to stop Hitler. He couldn't expect that of them and then be willing to do anything less.

"It's not that Buck." He sighed, breath rattling in his lungs. Bucky pinned him with a look, one that had always seen right through the bullshit. "Okay, it's not only that. There are people dying over there Bucky. Good people, people who don't deserve the kind of suffering that's being heaped on them. Someone needs to stand up for them, to push back and say 'this isn't okay.' I'm gonna do everything I can to be that kind of person."

Bucky cocked his head at those passionate words, grey eyes darkening a few shades. There was a war going on across his features, but there usually was when Steve was involved. It was a battle between wanting to keep him safe, and wanting to kill him. After a few moments though Bucky let out a low groan filled with years of suffering. Years of trying to fight against Steve's stubbornness. It was like trying to beat down a stone fortress with a small hammer.

"Alright, if you're so insistent y'little punk. Someone had better make sure you know enough to keep from dying on your first day. Lift your arms higher, and tuck in your elbows."

Steve was the one smirking now.

IOI

July 01, 2011, Location: Goldie's Boxing Gym, 15th Street, Brooklyn NY

The exterior was almost exactly like he remembered, with a few alterations. The sign had been replaced, a new coat of paint, as well as slightly larger windows. The interior had made an attempt to cling to the past, but as with most things the passage of time could be seen. Mirrors on one wall, rows of machines and weights filling the main space in between.

Nicole, he noticed, had wandered up to the main desk and was chatting with a bubbly brunette wearing a grey top and tight pants that stopped just past her knees. The brunette was swinging around the counter, a stack of towels in her hands and smiling brightly at the woman who had drawn her attention. Steve wandered closer, his bag thumping against his back. He couldn't help the wandering of his eyes around the gym; it was almost exactly the same! The machines were new, the screens—modern televisions—and music as well, but the walls were the same beige color that he remembered. And…there were those old pictures of once famous boxers and athletes!

"This place is just like I remember. Well, almost. Do you still have the boxing ring?" He asked excitedly, stopping beside his housemate. Her head twitched to the side at his approach, fingers digging for her wallet and pulling out a three and a half inch plastic card. She had explained it to him once; cards that were linked to bank accounts so that someone could buy whatever they wanted. So long as they could afford it anyway.

Sometimes—and this Nicole mentioned in thin amusement—people liked to buy things that they couldn't afford. But that was nothing new; whenever there was a type of currency there were people who didn't know how to manage it.

"Uh…" The brunette stared up at him with huge hazel eyes. "Yeah! The boxing ring is through that door, to the left."

He nodded at that, murmuring his thanks. She was still watching him though; there was a smile on her face that stretched it quite prettily he supposed. In a way that reminded him of the blonde woman he'd met once in a little Podunk town a few miles north of Sacramento. It had been during his time selling bonds for Senator Brandt, and she had come for an autograph… at least he'd thought that was what the woman had wanted. One thing was for certain though, Steve definitely was not going to let the brunette corner him.

"So," Nicole had a smug smirk on her face, the amusement casing away the annoyance from everywhere except for her eyes. "Locker rooms are through that door. Get changed and meet me in the ring."

She was definitely still steamed from their earlier argument. Granted, he was still pretty ticked himself; SHIELD was always watching him, they just couldn't seem to trust him without a damn babysitter. He'd shown up to their meetings, talked with their historians like he was still in school, let their doctors poke around in his head, and he still couldn't receive a damn moment of piece. No, instead they gave him someone to 'be his friend'. And by that of course Fury meant someone to report all of his dirty little secrets. And Nicole now wanted to meet him in the ring?! Did she mean to fight him?

"Nicole, wait!" Steve called, reaching for the royal haired woman to restrain her. His hand brushed against the material of her jacket, rough and worn, but ultimately grasped at air. She seemed to dance around him, light on her feet as she practically floated towards the doors that had been indicated just moments ago.

"Meet me in the ring, blondie." Came the light response.

Oh yeah, she was definitely mad.

With nothing else to do except for running—and Steve Rogers didn't run—he squared his shoulders and made his way to the locker room. There was an ominous twist in the pit of his stomach, the one he got when he knew someone (his mom, or later Peggy) was mad at him. Along with that sensation that he was in the right to be angry. Bucky would call it that stubborn stupidity of his that had gotten him into all kinds of trouble with his ma and countless other blockheads in his days.

Bucky… It still hurt to think about his best friend. It might have been y—well, a lot of time might have passed chronologically but for him, to Steve, it had only been a handful of weeks. A handful of weeks that had been so filled with everything that wouldn't give him a moment's peace. First it had been stopping Schmidt, then he'd been unfrozen and everything was different. Of course the nightmares didn't just up and stop simply because he had some new problems to deal with.

Not that it really mattered, did it? It definitely didn't stop Cross from trying to poke around in his brain. It didn't stop the graying doctor from trying to make him talk about how he felt. Dragging up his nightmares, everything that he didn't want to think about, so he had to stay on high alert near constantly. He had long since given up trying to sleep regularly ever since his first night off the ice.

But he kind of wondered what Bucky would have thought of the woman he now lived with. Steve had a feeling that Bucky would have liked her a lot; she had the fiery, sassy type of personality that his friend had always loved. Nicole was certainly the kind of woman that would have caught his friend's attention… and probably a lot more than that.

Steve found himself focusing intently on the slightly dented door of his chosen locker, the number 32 written in black paint on a small brass tag riveted at the top. He had been vaguely aware of entering the locker room, more or less, but his thoughts had become completely absorbed in the past. It wasn't the first time that he'd worked on autopilot, far from it in fact, but it had been some time since he'd quite zoned out this much. There was a lot going on in his mind these days, and Steve had been spending a lot of time trying to make sense of it all. Which meant that he would get so caught up with everything that the world would pass him by as he was puzzling over all of the buttons on the remote.

Rubbing a hand down his face Steve set his bag on the bench and began digging through it in search of a change of clothes from the jeans and shirt that he'd worn to the doctor's this morning. It had been the first order of business after Nicole had taken him to the apartment. Steve had been given a few sets of spare clothing from SHIELD; what he'd woken up in and another change of pants, track pants that had been too short for him.

He could practically hear the smart comment Bucky would have made while wearing his characteristic shit-eating grin.

A wry smile curved his lips at that thought and, hurriedly changing, he slung his bag into the locker and turned back to the door. Steve knew exactly how to find the boxing ring, he had spent almost every day for nearly two weeks straight in it and those memories hadn't faded. His mind had always been sharp, but after receiving Dr. Erskine's formula it had become a steel trap. He was certain that if a map had been placed before him, he could still pinpoint almost exactly where HYDRA's bases had been scattered across Europe.

"'M getting to old for this." His head swiveled in the direction of those words, muttered so low that the average person wouldn't be able to hear them unless they were right next to the woman who had spoken. But Steve wasn't an average person; his hearing was exceptional compared to what it had been. Granted, before the war he had been deaf in one ear so almost anything would be an improvement. But it was more than that, so much more. His hearing was sharp, way better than average.

Which meant that he could hear Nicole's very grumpy mumble, and it sent a tremor of apprehension through him. The thought of boxing with a dame didn't exactly sit well with him, especially one who seemed to have had previous injuries.

Steve had been surrounded by strong women for all of his life. His old man had died during the war, so he'd never actually gotten the chance to really meet him. He'd been raised alone by his ma, who had worked tirelessly to keep food on the table and make sure her sickly boy had all of the medical help he could ever need. She'd been the strongest woman he'd ever known, and she'd died from a case of TB that she just couldn't shake.

It was funny, really, of the two of them Steve had always figured he'd be the one done in by an illness.

Sarah Rogers had possessed a quiet, self-assured type of strength. The woman herself seemed small and almost frail at a glance, but her spine was stiff and stronger than steel and her words could crack sharper than a leather whip. Not to mention the fact that she had a grip like iron that was especially daunting if she got ahold of your ear which, in his and Buck's case, had been a lot.

And then Steve had met Peggy and the first time he'd seen the British agent she'd laid a soldier out flat for insulting her. Peggy had been regal, aloofly beautiful and haughty in a way that spoke of a fine upbringing. But she had been more than just a pretty face—though Peggy Carter was absolutely stunning—she was also smart as hell. Smart and fierce, Peggy had been unlike any dame he'd ever encountered before… they could have had one hell of a future together.

He wondered if she was still alive, if any of his Howling Commandoes were still alive. He knew that if he asked, Nicole could find out for him and she would most likely be happy to do so. Steve wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to know; right now in his ignorance he could pretend that they were all still alive, happy with families of their own. If he asked, all of that would change. He did know that Dum Dum was still alive, Nicole had confirmed it the first night he'd come to their apartment. But the others? She hadn't been certain and he didn't press any farther.

Steve looked nervously at the woman currently swinging her arms back and forth to stretch them out, facing away from him. She was… well, she was definitely related to Dum Dum. She had that brash, tough personality. The one that said she could take a punch and come back laughing and asking for more. He had no doubt that she could hold her own in a fight, but that didn't mean he liked the idea of boxing with her. Call him old fashioned if you would, but the truth was that Steve Rogers was stronger than the average man and he was fully aware of how much damage he could do to another human being.

"Are you just gonna stand there looking at my backside?" He had zoned out again he realized with a flush of embarrassment. Nicole had shifted so that she was facing him, arms lazily slung through the ropes as she leaned against them lightly. There was an amused smirk on her face, her hair slicked back out of it and pinned in place with a number of bobby pins.

The rest of her words sunk in, and he found himself turning redder. "I—uh—I wasn't looking! I mean, I was just thinking and—augh."

Nicole laughed, her words drawing a brief glance from a man pounding against a sand bag not too far from them. With the exception of that man, and a couple of girls in the far corner, the room was their own. "I know Steve, I'm just teasing. Let's face it, it's remarkably easy with you anyway. Now c'mon and get in here."

Her nose wrinkled as soon as the words were out of her mouth, lips twisting into a slight grimace. "That sounded better in my head. Just… come on."

"I really don't think that this is a good idea." He warned, pushing himself between the ropes. Nicole took a few steps back, tossing him a set of padded gloves as she reached for a set of her own, black and worn with use.

"I'm sure you don't. You might even be right, really, but let's be honest we're both more than a little miffed at one another. And what better way to deal with it than knocking the stuffing out of one another?" There was a crooked twist of her mouth at that, wry but serious at the same time.

Steve frowned at that, watching with narrowed eyes as she rotated towards her phone. It was plugged in to a small four inch square speaker. Loud music started playing, a mix of vibrating sounds that had seemingly no reason. It was music he had never heard before, but it sounded… weird, and somewhat like machinery. "What is that?"

"Dubstep." Nicole explained, straightening with her hands pressed into her knees for support. She scooped up the gloves and started fixing them onto her hands. "It's an electronic type of music that's made on a computer. It's really easy to dance to, has no lyrics, and sort of makes a 'wubwubwub' sound. It's a pretty new type of music, and part of my workout mix."

He had to admit, the music itself had very high energy. To Steve though, it sounded like a mess of noise clashing against one another. Still, the purple haired woman seemed to like it, so he might as well give it a try. "Have you ever actually boxed before?"

Brown eyes locked on him in disbelief as she used her teeth to tighten the strap of her second glove. "Uh, yeah. I'm a SHIELD field agent blondie, I know how to fight."

The words came out slightly muffled, distorted as she fastened the Velcro strap. Nicole dropped into a basic boxing stance, arms lifting as she danced from foot to foot. "Put up yer dukes."

A slight smile broke out across his features at that; now there was a saying he was familiar with. He'd heard it plenty of times, but more than that he'd said it so often in the past. "I think we should start out slowly, warm into—hey!"

Apparently Nicole didn't believe in starting out slowly, because she struck out with a jab that he'd barely been able to block in time. He quickly went into the defensive as she came at him, her moves quick, clean and surprisingly strong. She hadn't lied when she said that she knew how to box; Nicole was good. And her blows had enough force behind them to leave an uncomfortable ache whenever they landed.

"Arrête de pleurnicher et frappe moi, Rogers." She swore, making him stumble. That mistake earned him a ringing in his ears as she whacked him upside the head.

"Excuse me?" He gaped, parrying and landing a light strike against her ribs. Nicole arched an eyebrow, sweat starting to dot her brow as she danced around him.

"You speak French, you know what I said." She smirked, "Donc cogne moi, gamine."

That trash talking was definitely from her grandfather.

There was a challenge in her eyes, a familiar challenge that he recognized from a different set of eyes but features that were close. Steve loosened his shoulders, shaking his head as a slight smirk curved his features. "Ne dis pas que je t'ai pas prévenu."

He struck back at her, determination hardening his eyes. Nicole was a good opponent; she knew when to dodge and how to reciprocate and he had a feeling that once all of this was said and done he would have a few aches that weren't there before. Steve pulled his punches, but not a whole lot really. Nicole seemed to recognize when he was holding back and she'd taunt him in French until he started really trying. The upbeat music that she was playing was infectious almost, and before he really understood what was happening they were timing their attacks to the beat of the music. During somewhat slower songs their moves were a little more spaced out, before moving into a flurry as the music increased tempo.

"You're not bad." Steve grinned, ducking out of the way from her swing and placing a few firm hits into her ribs. Nicole bounced backwards, feinting to the left before dipping right. It was a familiar song and dance to Steve, he had done more than his fair share of boxing over the years. But Nicole… well, she was the type of opponent that he didn't see every day. Her movements reminded him of her grandfather, but they were a little more refined. Dum Dum had gotten his starts in back alley scraps, picking up a style that wasn't exactly well polished but brutally effective. Nicole had taken that and smoothed out the edges, her movements calculated but explosive at the same time. Full of force and vicious.

"Not bad?" The purple haired woman arched a single eyebrow. Steve struck out with his fist, fully expecting the woman to try and spin out of the blow. But she surprised him by grabbing his arm and tugging him off balance, leg swinging out to collide with the back of his knees, right in the weak spot. "Blondie I'm fantastic."

"Ouch, okay, I yield." He groaned, blinking up past the stars dotting his vision to focus on his purple haired house mate. She was breathing heavily, features flushed as she reached for a blue towel in her bag to wipe at her face.

"So then, I win?" She grinned, a bright expression that stretched across her whole face. It was nice, a natural looking smile that seemed to warm the woman from the inside out. It was a smile that chased away the annoyance in her features, leaving her completely at ease. Steve was a little stunned at that smile; it was the first time she looked well and truly happy since he'd known her.

Nicole extended a helping hand out to him, one that he easily accepted after peeling off his boxing gloves. "Yeah, you win. Though in my defense I am pretty rusty."

"Hmm…" Her nose wrinkled as she pulled with a strength that he hadn't expected but wasn't surprised by. Not after she'd completely knocked him on his ass. "Yeah, it has been about seventy years now hasn't it?"

Her face crumpled into a grimace at that. "Oh, shit. Sorry Steve."

Those words floored him for a few seconds, his heart stammering in his chest in a manner reminisce of when he was a kid. Seventy years. Seven decades where the world had passed him by like he'd been nothing.

Just a nobody from Brooklyn.

Dr. Cross avoided mentioning it, she didn't want to overload his brain as she put it. If he brought it up, which he did every now and again, she wouldn't avoid the subject though. She would just work him through it in that methodical, patient way of hers.

It wasn't particularly hard to overload his brain these days though; there were a lot of new things for him to learn and only so much brain space to store that knowledge in. Things got a little complicated when he tried keeping every bit of information in the right place; which countries were allied with which, what buttons to press on his phone to turn it into a camera or play music…

Actually, those were relatively simple to understand and, contrary to growing popular belief, Steve did easily pick up on the use of newer technology. The problem with his so-called smart phone was that his thumbs were too big for the buttons. And Nicole herself was so insistent on sending him random messages throughout the course of the day, which meant he spent a lot of time hitting the backspace button during his replies.

"It's fine. I have to start getting used to it somehow. I mean, I'm ninety-two aren't I? I've gotta come to terms with that somehow." He groaned, hands digging into the sore muscles of his back. At the moment, it kind of felt like he was an old man.

"Yeah…" Nicole bit her lip, looking down bashfully. "So, speaking of your age… your birthday is in a couple of days."

His head dropped down into his hand, a low groan coming from his mouth. He hadn't even realized that his birthday was approaching in all of the hubbub of his life. Would he be celebrating his ninety-third, or his twenty seventh? A part of Steve just wanted to let the day pass by with no remark at all. Bucky and his ma wouldn't be there to surprise him with a handmade cake and those brightly painted newspaper hats as per tradition. He would wake up to see them hovering over his bed wearing those huge grins and throwing some of that handmade confetti on his head. After his ma had passed on, Bucky refused to let the tradition die. His friend had been pretty great in the kitchen, but he couldn't decorate a cake to save his life. Steve's birthday cakes had really been spongy yellow with splotches of chocolate frosting tossed in between. And he wouldn't dream of teasing Buck about it because to do so would invite the man to shove the cake into his face.

And then they would head down to the bay to go watch the fireworks over the water.

"I had almost completely forgotten." He admitted after a few seconds.

Nicole smiled sheepishly at him, collecting her phone and speaker and wrapping the cord up. She juggled her phone in one hand and her boxing gloves in the other, towel thrown over her shoulder. "Did you… want to do anything? I mean, we could go get drinks, or I could invite some people over for a small get together? Anything you want to do, it's your day."

The offer was somewhat shy, sweetly sincere as she looked away. A splash of pink had risen beneath her freckled cheeks, completely out of place on the confident woman that he knew. Steve found himself responding with a dry chuckle, embarrassedly reaching back to rub his neck. "No… I mean… I'd rather just spend the day in. Not really looking for a reminder of how old I'm getting, you know?"

He didn't want to think about it, actually.

"I got'cha. We'll treat it like any other Monday; with contempt and by pretending it's almost Friday." She offered, lip quirking into a half grin.

Yeah… just like any other Monday.

IOI

July 04, 2011, Location: 19th Street, Brooklyn NY

Chalk it up to his late nights, or fatigue from going out to the gym for the past couple of days, but the night before his birthday Steve had slept like a rock. And for once—the first night in twelve days straight—it was a blank, empty sleep. Completely black, and deep enough that he didn't hear his alarm going off which, he would learn later, was more for the fact that Nicole had shut the alarm off.

But when he woke up it was to the sweet scent of confectionaries and the sultry notes of Ella Fitzgerald filling the space of the apartment. For a moment Steve lay in bed feeling completely disoriented without daring to open his eyes. Any moment now Buck would push open the door bitching about how he couldn't lie in bed all day, and how Mrs. Barnes was expecting them for the picnic and to watch the fireworks. Winnie baked the best pies this side of the Potomac and Steve wouldn't miss em for all the world. He tried to force his mind away from those thoughts, it would probably be for the best because thinking about them filled him with that bittersweet sort of misery that he couldn't seem to shake.

For a moment though, for just one brief moment, he could go back to before the war. Before he lost his ma, before the train and losing his best friend. Before he died.

Steve was shocked out of those thoughts, and the macabre turn they were taking, when the song ended. It was followed by a loud, cheerful advertisement near-shouted in Spanish that made him recall with sharp clarity that he wasn't back in that little brownstone in Brooklyn. It made him remember that he was currently in the year 2011, living with the granddaughter of one of his friends, and everything was different. Even worse; it was his birthday.

He rolled over in his bed, much larger and softer than any he was used to—it was actually pretty huge considering the thin cots he'd grown up on—and faced the clock. It was an older one, almost archaic in comparison to the rapidly improving technology of the 21st century, with an analogue clock face and a mallet that swung between two bells. He lay there staring at the face, the short hand brushing past ten as the longer ticked off the minutes in between. This had to be the first time in years that he'd actually slept in past dawn, which shouldn't have been possible because he'd set his alarm.

An alarm that had been shut off at some point.

"Okay…" He groaned, sitting up into a stretch that had the bones in his spine and neck popping like bubble wrap. "What's going on?"

The answer to that was less likely to be discovered hidden among the nooks and crannies of his room, and probably waited outside. Outside with the scent of baked goods and the sound of music that he actually knew.

It didn't take long to smooth the rumpled blankets back into crisp corners and flat expanses, the mechanical movements clearing away the lethargy of sleep. And replacing it with a sense of alarm when he realized that if it was already going on half-passed ten then that meant he was missing his session at the Bank with the historians. He wasn't entirely sure what they would—or could—do about it, but his pride still rankled, and the punctual part of him felt an agitated twist in his gut.

An agitated twist that had him shoving open his bedroom door and glowering all the way into the kitchen. Nicole didn't notice his approach in the doorway, her back turned to him and facing the sink as the sound of running water was heard over her rinsing a large porcelain mixing bowl.

"Morning." She called without preamble, not looking up from the dishes. Steve opened his mouth to reply, eyes casually drifting to their table and the veritable bounty heaped upon it. There were waffles stacked neatly on a plate, as well as sausage links, hash browns, several bowls of fruit and to top it all off, on an elevated display plate, a round cake covered in chocolate icing.

"You—what is all of this?" There was a question somewhere in his mind about how he'd slept in so late, but it was completely washed away by confusion.

Nicole whirled around to face him then, drying her hands on her pants even though they, much like the rest of her, were covered in flour and frosting. She had pulled the corner of her lower lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep from smiling, ultimately failing as she gestured for him to sit. "Well, I know you said we'd treat today like any old Monday but… it is your birthday, Steve. So I figured I'd let you sleep in today, bake a cake, make breakfast."

He was blown away by that answer. Steve had expected that his birthday had something to do with it—the cake at the very least—but he hadn't even begun to suspect that she would go as far as to make him breakfast as well. "I—thank you, but you didn't have to. It looks great, but you must have woken up early to do it all."

Steve was almost positive that his face was starting to turn red again. People going out of their way to do things like this, people that he hadn't known his entire life that is, they weren't really a part of the norm of his life. But Nicole just shrugged it off, reaching down to grab a clear glass and set it on the table.

"Well blondie, today gets to be all about you. And the independence of our country of course, but it's your birthday. You deserve something nice for a change." She poured a glass of orange juice for him, watching as he began piling his plate. "And I didn't actually go to sleep last night, so I had plenty of spare time."

That caused him to look up sharply, blue eyes taking in the features of her face. There were dark circles under her eyes that had definitely not been there when he'd gone to sleep the night before. "You…?"

The question dwindled as the woman began making her own plate, covering the waffle in an almost obscene amount of syrup. "I'm a field agent, yeah? Done some things that sometimes keep me up at night. Sometimes keep me up all night. Every once in a while I pull some stupid crap because my brain can't shut off so I stay up for three nights straight in a Netflix driven delirium."

His brows furrowed at that; the first part made sense but that last bit… "Netflix?"

"It's like TV, only on the internet. So instead of waiting to watch a series or movie until a new episode premiers you can watch them all at once." She explained around a mouthful of food, chasing it down with a swig of coffee. "Want some?"

"Sure!" It was an oddly domestic scene as she swung around to pour another cup, stealing a strawberry as she did so. "I can't believe I slept in so late."

"Well, I figured it's your birthday and if you wanted to spend it in bed, meh." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I mean that's essentially what I did for my twenty first. My friends were all like 'ey, yo you're legal let's go get druuuuunk' and I'm just lying in bed feeling lazy as hell like 'nah man, lemme just stay here and play this game non-stop until my eyes roll out of my head'. Which, honestly, story of my life."

She cleared her plate easily, eating quickly and ravenous as though it were the first meal she'd had in a long time. Of course, Steve ate with just as much enthusiasm; he was a super soldier after all, his metabolism ran high meaning that he was almost always hungry. "Anyway, we can do whatever you want. And there's cake for you."

She was very blasé about it, as though discussing something as inconsequential as the weather. The kindness of her actions and the humble way she played them off… Steve was starting to realize that he had been wrong about his first impression of the woman. He was beginning to see the part of Nicole that reminded him so much of her grandfather; not the brusque, tough exterior but the warm heart that was hidden underneath. And just like Dum Dum, she was doing a very thorough job of trying to hide it.

"I don't think I've had a day all to myself in… years, actually." He admitted after a few moments, picking at the remains of his breakfast.

"I'd say tell me about it, but SHIELD actually does give me time to myself every once and awhile." She paused then, lips quirking. "But I think that's because they really don't want me to snap."

SHIELD, or the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, a lengthy title made up by someone who had really wanted the initials to spell SHIELD. He supposed he should feel honored—considering the fact that Peggy was the one who had come up with the name—but really, the only emotion that he could summon for the organization was a bone deep wariness. They were an espionage and law enforcement agency, focusing on information… secrets.

"How long have you worked for SHIELD?" He asked, watching the woman hide her face behind her coffee mug.

"Officially?" Nicole pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I've worked there full time for two years, since I graduated college. I've been in Operations since I was sixteen though, balancing my education with my training. But to be honest, I've been involved with SHIELD for all of my life."

"Because of Dum Dum?" A flash of unease danced across her features for a brief moment, whisked away as though it had never been.

"Yeah, well, my grandpa was with them since the beginning. My mom didn't really get into it—she's a high school teacher in Georgia—but I followed in his footsteps." There was something that she wasn't telling him, but he didn't pry.

Steve stood to help put the dishes away, enjoying the sound of familiar music. "I bet he was thrilled with your decision."

She actually laughed aloud at that, tossing another strawberry in the air and catching it with her mouth. "Oh he was fit to be tied. I honestly thought his head was going to explode, both he and my mother turned a concerning shade of purple. Now, they probably would have been much happier if I'd gone Science and Technology or Communications but… you know, I wanted to be a field agent."

It was, perhaps, the most open that she had ever been with him. Granted this was probably the most he'd asked her about her life. If they were going to be living together for God knew how long, it would be better if they knew more about one another. And the more he learned the more Steve realized that Nicole was actually a rather decent, friendly person. One that he would actually enjoy calling his friend.

And that was perhaps one of the biggest surprises since he'd woken up.

"So anyway," Nicole's words drew him out of his startling revelation. "Happy birthday, Steve."

IOI

Translations:

Arrête de pleurnicher et frappe moi, Rogers. Stop being a bitch and hit me, Rogers.

Donc cogne moi, gamine. So hit me, little girl.

Ne dis pas que je t'ai pas prévenu. Don't day I didn't warn you.