Yes, Captain (Chris Evans FanFiction)

Chapter 1

"Hurry and bring home a man yes? A nice boy! You need to get married and have babies before you get too old, Bella. I want more grandchildren." My nonna said to me, her thick Italian accent ringing through the phone. I let out a deep breath and ran my fingers through my long chocolate brown waves, exasperated.

"Yes nonna" I answered in a dull tone, rolling my eyes and letting my head drop off the back of the chair. I looked up to find my receptionist Julia standing at my office door and holding a stack of files, an insulated coffee mug that read 'i'll have a skinny vodka latte please' in her outstretched hand. Julia cocked her head to the side and puckered her dark painted lips. "Is that the family back home?" she whispered to me, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I nodded to her and rolled my eyes for the tenth time, "Okay, okay. I love you too nonna, i'll call you next week sometime" I said into the phone before the line went dead. Julia handed me the coffee mug and I flashed her a grateful smile, putting the phone down on my desk and cupping the warm mug in my hands.

"Double shot of coffee, no fat milk and a hint of caramel" Julia announced to me as she shuffled the pile of files in her arms. I grinned at her, "Oh you're the best J, I love you" I said smiling at her, blowing on my drink to cool it down. "Oh I know" Julia said flashing me a knowing grin, her slick, silky blonde ponytail bobbing behind her head. She sat on the empty chair in my office and crossed her dainty legs, her black peep toe pumps clicking together as she put the stack of files down onto her lap. "Everything okay?" Julia asked, nodding her head and gesturing to my phone.

I rolled my eyes and took a sip of my coffee, sighing softly in contentment as the hot liquid ran down my throat. "Oh just the usual, you know - Bianca when are you bringing home a boy? A nice Italian boy? You have to get married and have babies before you get too old" I said to Julia, mimicking my nonna's thick European accent.

Julia laughed at my impression - it was a performance that she saw me do at least twice a week. "Oh because you're so old right B?" she said with a small giggle, shaking her head and raising an eyebrow at me. She stood up and shuffled the stack of files again, glancing at the sheet of paper on top of the pile. "So, do you need anything else? Your next patient is in ten minutes" she said, tapping her manicured nails against the files.

"No thanks J" I said smiling at her, nodding as she left my office. I turned to my laptop and took another sip of my coffee, closing my eyes and waiting for the caffeine to work its way into my brain.

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Here I was, 27 years old, a fully qualified physiotherapist running my own clinic in Burbank, on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I was born and raised in Melbourne, Australia and almost immediately after my third year of university I moved to the States on scholarship to complete the fourth and final year of my degree.

After I graduated, I toughed it out for the next few years - working more than 50 hours a week at three different clinics, getting only 5-6 hours of sleep every night and living on instant noodles and Chinese takeaway. To this day, it still amazes me how I didn't put on 20 pounds from the shitty eating every night - it had to be because of the stress. Despite the tough times though, I had met many people, gained so much invaluable experience, and had made the most amazing, lifelong friends.

Now, 5 years later I was running my own successful practice and living quite comfortably in an apartment in Castle Heights, west of central LA. I was a firm believer that you got out of life what you put into it, and I was now more than happy to say that I was reaping the rewards of my efforts. I knew that deep down I still had many years of hard work in front of me, but at least I could say that I was proud of what I had achieved - and most of all, I was genuinely happy.

However, when it came to my family, it didn't matter how much money you earned, what degrees you had or where you lived. To my family, success was measured by your marriage and how many children you had. My dad was German but grew up in Italy, and my mother was born and raised in the Southern part of Italy. Both of their families migrated to Australia when my parents were young teenagers, where they eventually met and years later got married.

I loved my parents, both of them - even though they were no longer together, divorcing a few years after they had my brother and I. They both supported me in every single decision that I made, even when they didn't necessarily agree - mum in particular was terrified of me moving to the other side of the world, but deep down I knew that they were both incredibly proud of me for getting this far.

Unfortunately, the rest of my family didn't share the same views as my parents. My grandparents - in particular on my mothers side, did not, could not understand why I was moving to another country to work of all things. Never mind that it was an amazing opportunity for me, never mind the experiences I could gain or the advancements in my career that I could make, none of that mattered if I wasn't married and didn't have babies.

According to my grandparents, every 'good Italian girl's' role in life should be to get married to someone fairly well off, have many babies - and stay at home to look after them (no more working for you!), and of course, to feed everybody. That movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding? That was basically my family, except we were of course Italian.

Now it's not as if I didn't plan on one day getting married and having a couple of kids - at the moment I was just extremely focused on my career - I actually enjoyed coming to work everyday. Wasn't that the real goal in life? To enjoy what you did everyday? To my grandparents though, a woman having a career, let alone an unmarried and childless woman having a career, was unheard of.

Now that I was 27, turning 28 in a few months, my family was beginning to worry - I was getting too old to find a husband and if I left it any longer, I wouldn't be able to bless them with grandchildren. When I was living back home in Australia, they would constantly try and set me up with their friends sons and it was like a never ending nightmare.

I was constantly asked why I couldn't be more like my female cousins, almost all of them married to good, Italian men and either had, or were about to have children. I let out a deep sigh, still holding my coffee in both hands - and yet they still wonder why I jumped at the opportunity to leave Australia.

Despite all of that, I loved my grandparents dearly, making sure I spoke to them at least once a week. I visited regularly, almost every three months I flew home and stayed for a week - and every single time without fail I was greeted with "have you found a nice boy to bring home with you yet?"

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My laptop made a noise, alerting me that my next patient had arrived. I stood up and smoothed down my black trousers, grabbing my iPad and taking a last sip of coffee, before walking out into the waiting room to continue my day.