New Avenger (A Steve Rogers love story)

Steve and Technology

A/N: All right, so, this chapter is incredibly long, but I didn't want to split any of it up. So, here you go. Comment! Enjoy!

A familiar scent from long ago filled my nose and I couldn't help not taking in a deep breath. 

I opened my eyes and sat up, looking at the couch, but I was on the couch. How did I not wake up when I was moved? I'm usually a light sleeper. I breathed in again, then yawned and stretched.

I could sense that Steve didn't know I was awake yet. I looked down at myself, making sure my tank top and sweatpants were descent, then got up quietly.

Steve was standing at the stove, a spatula in his hand. I stood a few feet behind him and discreetly fed the flames underneath the skillet with my own fire, causing them to grow quickly. I kept it under control, not wanting to burn the bacon.

Steve jumped back as the flames seemingly grew out of control. Smoke rose from the flames and quickly set off the smoke alarms, which scared Steve. He dropped the spatula and almost ran into me while he was trying to find a dish towel to wave away the smoke. I laughed and made the flames shrink back down. Steve waved a dish towel by the smoke alarm while I continued to laugh, opening a few windows. Once the windows were opened, I used my telekinesis to gather the smoke and send it outside.

After the smoke alarms stopped, I helped Steve finish making breakfast. We each ate three eggs, three pieces of toast, and several strips of bacon, then washed it all down with a glass of milk.

It had been a week since we decided we were going to look for Bucky. Steve was letting me stay with him in his apartment, since I had nowhere else to go.

Steve sat at the table and looked over the file Nat gave him for the one hundredth time.

I grabbed his plate, placed it on top of mine and went to the sink. "If you keep looking at that, you'll have Russian imprinted on the backs of your eyelids." I teased, scrubbing the dishes. I had changed into a plaid flannel over a tank top, a pair of leggings and white ankle socks. My hair was pulled into a side braid, draped over my right shoulder. 

A plate slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor, shattering. I knelt down quickly, frantically trying to clean up the shards of glass. I felt a stinging pain in my palm and gasped, pulling it away from the broken plate. Blood began to leak from the new cut in the middle of my palm. I sucked air in through my teeth and pressed my thumb against the cut.

"I can't believe I just did that." I mumbled.

Steve ran over and knelt in front of me, gently taking my injured hand into his own. He looked at the cut, then helped me to the bathroom. Steve sat me down on the toilet, found his first-aid kit and set it on the counter, opened.

Steve grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and looked at me. I held my hand out over the sink. "This may hurt." Steve warned.

He slowly poured the clear liquid over my hand, the cut burning. I clenched my jaw as the peroxide at at anything that could infect the cut, white bubbles foaming all over the wound. The peroxide flowed off my hand, blood washing down the sink with it.

When he was done with the hydrogen peroxide, Steve found some gauze and an ACE bandage.

"Steve, I can heal my hand in five seconds." I reminded him as he put Neosporin on the cut.

"I think you should save your healing abilities for something more serious." Steve replied. He placed the gauze over the Neosporin and grabbed the bandage. "Hold this in place while I wrap the bandage around it."