AN: Here we go, second part! Part three will be up soon!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Marvel Universe. If I did I would not be counting pence for bus fare :).
"That was close!" I shouted above the engine noise.
"I know. We might have to change our plans!" he shouted. An idea popped into my head.
"Head back downtown! Lets have dinner at your place!" I shouted and felt Steve hesitate and then nod his head. We raced up midtown, reaching Avengers Tower quicker than I had thought possible, pulling in underneath the building into what seemed like a giant parking garage. Steve parked in a spot near the elevator with a tiny version of his shield hanging above it. We dismounted from the bike and I took off my helmet, shaking out my hair.
"Cute." I murmured, pointing to the sign. Steve rolled his eyes.
"Tony's idea. He had it put up a few days ago when I officially moved in," he replied, leading me to the elevator.
"Good evening Captain Rogers, Miss Samuels." JARVIS asked us.
"Hi JARVIS. How are you today?" I asked kindly, happy to be reaquainted with the British A.I.
"Quite well Miss. Which level?" he asked.
"My level JARVIS. Level 29." Steve replied.
"Right away sir," JARVIS replied and the elevator silently slid into motion.
"I'll never get used to that." Steve muttered.
"Yeah, even for someone who grew up in the 21st century its a bit strange. But at least he's friendly," I told Steve reassuringly.
"Thank you Miss, I do try." JARVIS replied. I laughed out loud.
"See? Very friendly," I turned toward Steve, "So, Blue Eyes, you got anything you can call food up in Level 29?" Steve blushed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"I'm honestly not sure. I haven't checked the fridge in a few days." I tsked at him and wagged my finger disapprovingly.
"You should always know what's in your fridge. I'm sure we'll find something I can put together." I replied as the doors opened to Steve's apartment.
"You put together? You're going to cook for me?" Steve asked incredulously.
"Of course I am. How else are we gonna eat tonight?" I asked. Steve shook his head.
"No, no I'm supposed to take you out. You shouldn't have to do any work tonight. I'll cook. Or we can order takeout," Steve offered. I turned toward him in faux outrage.
"What, Blue Eyes? Don't think I can cook?" I accused. Steve looked shocked, his eyes widening and his hands coming up defensively.
"No, no, that's not what I meant at all-" I laughed and he blinked, halting in his apology. I walked over to him, still standing shocked on the steps. I stopped on the top step, smiling up at him.
"I want to cook you dinner Boy Scout. I happen to like cooking for other people. Don't worry about it. You can even help me prep. And if it makes you feel any better, you've got KP afterwards," I finished, pecking him sweetly on the cheek, leaving a faint red lip mark. I turned away, striding over to the stainless steel fridge and throwing open the doors to survey our options. The fridge was surprisingly well stocked, filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, meat and cheese.
"You've been holding out on me Blue Eyes," I announced, "You've got enough in here to feed an army, no pun intended," I chuckled to myself, pulling out a container of hamburger, a head of lettuce and a few tomatoes. Steve had followed me into the kitchen as I began pulling out more ingredients. "We may not be able to go to that diner uptown, but I do make a mean cheeseburger. Oh, and onion rings." I pulled out three bottles of beer, offering one across the kitchen island to Steve. "One for you, one for me, and one for the onions," I smiled, popping the top off of Steve's beer. I hesitated, "Oh sorry, I didn't even ask. Do you drink?" I said hesitantly. Steve gave me another of his million watt smiles.
"I do every once in a while. I can't get drunk, but its almost like a habit. Comforting I suppose," he accepted the bottle of Budweiser, taking a swig of the amber liquid, "Thankfully, this is one of the few things that hasn't changed too much in 70 years." I smiled.
"Good to hear. Now, how good are you with a knife?" I asked, leaning over the counter. I watched Steve's eyes droop almost imperceptibly to my chest, and I gave him credit for not lingering, bringing his gaze back to mine almost immediately. I smirked knowingly, suppressing a giggle.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. I chuckled.
"I asked about your knife skills," I teased, "I need someone who can handle a big knife." I pulled an impressive looking chef's knife from the butchers block and Steve's eyes widened slightly. I couldn't help but laugh. "These onions need to be sliced and then placed in milk. Think you can handle that Boy Scout?" Steve nodded and gingerly took the blade from me.
"Yeah, I can do that. I think I'll handle the big knife for now. You might be a safety hazard with a knife this size," he remarked, turning to grab a cutting board and the onions I had placed to the side. I scoffed in mock insult, mixing the ingredients for a beer batter in a large glass bowl.
"I happen to be very good with knives. I've only cut myself twice. And I still have most of all my fingers," I replied. Steve paused in slicing the onions and looked at me incredulously.
"Most?" he asked. I smiled and held up my left thumb.
"I cut myself a few years ago while slicing cucumbers for a salad. Blood was everywhere. Turns out I cut off the very tip of my thumb. It was stupid really. I was daydreaming and then-slice." Steve examined the finger, noticing the small piece that seemed to be missing. He shook his head, grabbing my hand in his and bringing my thumb up to his lips, kissing it gently.
"Well I'm glad you didn't lose more of it. You have beautiful hands," His blue eyes met mine as he spread out my fingers, exposing my palm and kissing the center of it. He placed kisses all over my hand, leading up to the sensitive skin on my wrist. Heat pooled low in my stomach and I felt my breathing shallow out. Snapping myself out of it I pulled my hand away.
"No distractions Blue Eyes. We eat first. Maybe we'll have time for that later." I stepped back, looking at him, my eyes still dreamy from his kisses. He watched me attentively, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. I shook my head, my eyes narrowing. "Now, you stay on your side and prep the onions. I'm staying over here." He chuckled, turning back to the cutting board. I whipped up the batter, setting it aside and searching through the cabinets for a large pot, my eyes alighting on a deep fryer tucked into the corner of a cupboard.
"Aha!" I muttered, pulling it out onto the counter. "Geez, Stark really well stocked these kitchens huh?" I plugged the machine in, filling the fryer with oil.
"Tony never does anything halfway." Steve muttered.
"What is it like living with Tony? I've only met him once, and he was…" I searched for the proper term, "overwhelming." I finished. Steve laughed.
"That's fairly accurate. He's pretty much like that all the time. He kind of sweet-talked us all into moving in after the invasion. He's determined to make us into a 'team', though god knows Tony's no expert at playing well with others." Steve answered, plopping onion rings into a bowl of milk I had set next to him.
"Isn't he an only child?" I asked. Steve nodded.
"So am I, what does that matter?"
"Well, he's never had a family. Never had brothers or sisters. He's probably treating The Avengers kind of like that, trying to make the team into something of a family. Its kind of sweet really," I mused, shaping the beef into patties.
"I never really thought about it that way." Steve paused, "How'd you get that out of him being an only child?"
"I've got a bachelor's degree in psychology," I answered, "never really was my focus, but every once in a while its useful."
"You went to college?" Steve asked. I chuckled humorlessly.
"Multiple times. My student loans reflect it."
"How many times?"
"Four-ish," I replied hesitantly. Steve's eyes widened.
"How many degrees do you have?" he asked.
"Four," I admitted sheepishly, "Two bachelors; one in psychology, another in physics. One masters in biochemistry and a doctorate in mathematics." Steve's eyes widened even more, and I sighed deeply, "I probably shouldn't have told you that." I muttered, turning my attention wholeheartedly to seasoning the hamburgers.
"What do you mean?" Steve asked. I looked up to see him standing next to me, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest.
"I don't like telling guys about my degrees. Most of the time they just get really intimidated and the relationship gets awkward fast." Steve's brows knit in confusion.
"Why would they be intimidated?" he asked.
"Well, because guys nowadays are still intimidated when they think a girl they're seeing is smarter than them." Steve's brows shot up and then he chuckled, standing up from his lean and returning to the cutting board.
"Men still don't know anything about women then? I'm not the only one?" he asked, slicing tomatoes now with careful precision.
"Uh, I guess so. You're not intimidated? Freaked out?" I asked softly. He looked up at me in surprise.
"Intimidated? No, Charlotte, I'm not. I encountered my fair share of intelligent women in my time. I'm just surprised that guys are still as stupid about women now as they were 70 years ago." he admitted, turning to look at me, a smile on his lips. "An intelligent woman is nothing to be afraid of. In fact, it's kind of sexy," he blushed on the last word, his eyes falling to the floor. I laughed and grinned, walking over to give him a quick hug.
"Steve Rogers, I believe that you are a feminist." I said, turning back to the stove.
"A feminist? What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, slightly insulted. I chuckled.
"A feminist is someone who believes in the equal treatment of men and women. And you Captain America," I continued, pointing the frying pan at him, "are a feminist."
"Maybe I am." Steve hesitated, "Is it a strange thing, to be a feminist in the 21st century?"
"Stranger than you'd think," I muttered.
"Why? Its just common sense." I grinned, looking back at him.
"Yes, yes it is. But a lot of people don't feel that way. Obviously Steve, humanity's still got more growing up to do." I said, dropping the first batch of onion rings into the oil. Steve shook his head, placing a plate of washed and cut toppings for the burgers next to me, walking around to take a seat opposite me at the counter.
"So why four degrees?" he asked. "And, psychology, physics, biochemistry and mathematics? Those seem a little bit-"
"Scattered?" I prompted. "Yeah, I had a hard time making up my mind in college. I loved learning and being in class, but I once I finished with one, I didn't really see the point in continuing. I knew everything on that topic. Why continue? So I kind of hopped around. And now I'm working in a craft shop," I sighed and shrugged my shoulders, "I get bored easily I guess." I pulled out the first batch of onion rings, placing them on a plate lined with paper towels and dropping in the next batch.
"How did you end up at the craft shop with four degrees?" Steve asked as I put the burgers in the hot skillet.
"Honestly, I needed a change. I'd been doing science and math for so long, but I didn't want to do that work anymore. I didn't like any of it. Like I said before, I learned all I could, and then I was done. Simple as that." I flipped the burgers, and turned to grab the hamburger buns, placing them in another pan to toast.
"But why the craft store?" Steve prompted. I sighed.
"I don't really know. I guess I wanted to do something creative. I've never really been good at that sort of thing. For god sakes I can barely draw a star without embarrassing myself," I muttered.
"Really?" Steve asked incredulously as I pulled out the rest of the onion rings.
"Really. And don't ask me to try because it's kind of pathetic." I chuckled softly, remembering my journals full of misshapen stars and doodles. I plated up the cheeseburgers and onion rings, grabbing my beer and heading toward the table. Steve followed, grabbing his plate and beer. I set the food on the table, noticing a sketchpad lying on it.
"Are you enjoying your sketchpads? I obviously don't draw, but Stella said that these would be good for just about anything." I picked up the pad and flipped through it, observing pages of random doodles, and talented sketches of the New York skyline, flipping to the last page before my hand froze.
"Oh, no, Charlotte, that's just-" Steve stopped, standing next to me as I stared down at a sketch of my face.
AN: Semi-cliffhanger maybe? I'll post the next chapter soon, I promise.