This is a bit of a longer chapter.
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Steve stared back at himself through his bathroom mirror. Tilting his head to the side and running his fingers along his jawline, he noticed some hair growing in. The stubble gave him a near 5 o'clock shadow.
He sighed, getting a little tired from constantly shaving, but he got out the supplies for it anyway. Steve had to shave every other day because his beard kept growing in too fast.
In the 1920s, '30s, and '40s, the respectful and hygienic thing to do was to have a clean-shaven face. Steve rarely ever saw a bushy beard or even any amount of stubble on other men back then other than the occasional mustache. Now, there were many more males walking around with all kinds of facial hair, like Tony. Which he thought of as strange.
Washing his face with some warm water, he lathered shaving cream all along his jaw, chin, top of his neck, upper lip, and just below his cheekbones. He took his razor and began with his right cheek first. It left a blank trail on his skin through the white shaving cream as he went from his cheekbone to his jaw.
He rinsed the razor after each swipe, watching the clumps of shaving cream and hairs swirl down the drain. After the final swipe and rinse, he splashed some cold water on his face and then patted the spots he shaved dry with a towel.
He applied some fresh-smelling after-shave and looked back into the mirror, feeling slightly better with no facial hair. Presentable.
He felt ready to see her.
He didn't know what it was that made him want to look decent today, maybe it was the nerves. He had no idea how she would react to him being Captain America.
Would she be impressed? Intimidated? Upset? Starstruck? He could only hope she wouldn't react negatively.
He chose to drive his Harley Davidson that day, not wanting to run. He was fixing his wind-blown hair as he walked into the art studio.
When she came into class, his eyebrows rose and his back straightened. He took a deep breath, preparing for what he was about to say.
"Hi, Steve," she greeted as she sat next to him, laying all her art supplies on the desk in front of them.
"Hello, Ma'am."
She smiled. "You're allowed to use my name, you know."
"I know, Ma'am. It's just... more polite."
It was more than that. He respected her too much. Though he really liked how she said his name. No one other than Bruce said his first name, and it was refreshing to hear someone say it after such a long time of being called something along the lines of, "Captain" or "Cap".
A couple of seconds passed, and Steve finally gathered the courage to ask, "Would you... Are you free after class?"
"Are you asking me out?" she questioned back, eyes wide.
He glanced down at his hands, which were rubbing together anxiously. He didn't mean for it to sound that way, but the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea. "Well, I don't know if you're rationed or anything, but if you'd like to... yes."
"Rationed?"
His eyebrows furrowed. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Realization came over her face. "Oh, no I don't. And... I'm free. I'd really like to go out with you."
Did she just agree to go out on a date with him or did he mishear her? Because it sure sounded like she said yes.
He couldn't control the smile that crept upon his face. "Great."
They continued working on their facial sketches, and when they met each other's gaze, neither of them looked away awkwardly. They would hold eye contact and smile before returning to drawing and shading the other person's face.
She was so perfect to draw. Her features were so unique and distinguishable from others, he knew he could pick her out in a crowd in an instant. At this point, he didn't know whether it was because she really was one of a kind, or if he spent so much time staring at her that he'd burned her features into his mind. Either way, she defied categorization.
This time, when the class was dismissed, she didn't dash out the door like she usually did. She stood above him and waited.
This was so new to him. He'd never been on a date before- well, he'd never been on a date by himself before. He just knew Bucky would have been so proud of him right now.
"Did you drive here?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "No, I walked. Why?"
"Well, I brought my motorcycle today-"
"That thing's yours?" Her voice got really high. She sounded worried.
"Yeah, I was thinking we could take it to get something to eat if that's alright."
She gulped. "Oh. Yeah, that's fine."
Taking notice of her hesitance he said, "We can walk if you're uncomfortable with the bike."
She looked up at him, this time with a steady and more confident expression. "I'll be fine."
He didn't say anything more, choosing to believe her. If she thought she was capable, then she was most likely capable.
After standing outside and talking for a little while, she persuaded Steve into getting pizza. Now, the issue was the Harley.
Steve thought about the fact that she would have to wrap her arms around his midriff and press her front against his back in order for her to ride the motorcycle. He took his and her art supplies and put them under the lift-up seat. His heart was beating fast, nervous but also happy about the circumstance as he mounted the bike.
She slung her leg over the seat after he did, getting her feet situated. She then circled her arms around his waist, halting for just a second at his ribs when he tensed from her sudden touch. Her hands settled on the space under and between his pectorals, on the top of his abdomen. He felt her fingers through the shirt he was wearing, smaller than his hands and warm.
He wondered if she was overthinking this as much as he was. They'd never had this much physical contact before. Her stomach to his lower back, her chest on his spine, her inner thighs on the backs of his...
He was taking shallow breaths as he started up the motorcycle. He could barely believe that he was actually going on a date with a girl all by himself. And she was touching him, her arms wrapped tightly around him so she wouldn't fall.
She gave him directions to the place she wanted to go, all the while he was distracted from her body pressed so close to his. He'd never had a woman so very close to him, it stole his attention away.
Miraculously, they both made it safely to this pizza place she was talking about. She got off first, her legs a little shaky from the ride. She balanced out within just a couple of seconds, thankfully. He immediately felt the absence of her body heat on his back.
Steve parked his Harley and ran to open the door for her. She thanked him and then he followed her into the restaurant, hands in his pockets. He was somewhat dreading telling her about his alter ego, and was thinking about how he would tell her.
"Steve?" He snapped out of his daze at the sound of her calling his name. "What kind of pizza would you like?" she asked, having already put in her order.
"Oh, sorry. Just cheese, please. Thanks," he said, pulling out his wallet and handing the cashier the correct amount of money owed for the both of them.
She frowned. "You didn't have to do that, Steve."
Pretty much panicking on the inside, he wondered what he did wrong. "What?"
"Pay for me."
He was confused. Did men not pay for their date's meals anymore? "It's no problem, Ma'am."
Steve was relieved when she smiled. "Thank you, that's very gentleman-like of you."
They sat down across from each other at a booth, and Steve decided then and there that he'd tell her before their food came.
"Ma'am," he said, getting her attention. She hummed, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "I have something to tell you."
"Okay. What is it?"
"I haven't exactly been truthful about who I am, and I apologize for that. But I want to tell you before we continue this... date."
She nodded, a serious expression on her face. This was it.
"My name is Steve Rogers, I'm Captain America."
There was a long pause, filled only with silence. His jaw clenched, gauging her reaction.
Her eyes were scanning his face for lies, and when she found none, her eyebrows rose in recognition. He waited for rejection, for her to freak out, or for her to get up and leave altogether, but she never did.
"You're Captain America? The whole time?"
"Yes."
She ran a hand through her hair. "I suppose that makes sense."
Was he that obvious? Did he really not belong here, in the present, at all? Did he really not fit in?
He never fit in. Not as a kid, not in the army, and not now, even seventy years later, did he fit in. Just when he was starting to feel like he had gotten a routine down. He was even on a date.
"Thank you."
He looked into her eyes, which held a sincerity and gentleness that he'd sworn he'd never seen before.
"For serving, saving New York... saving the world."
He shook his head. "I was just doing what needed to be done."
"So... this means that you really are 94?"
The mood between them shifted, and they both laughed. Steve, still smiling, said, "I was born in 1918, so yeah. I was 27 when I crashed into the ice, though."
She let out a breath and whispered, "This is crazy."
Steve was scared to ask, "Does this... change anything?"
"Hm?" Her eyes then widened and she protested, "No! No, of course not. I... I still like you..."
She liked him. "...I like you too."
Their pizzas came. Steve told her about himself, his true self. He told her that he went on missions for SHIELD and that waking up was difficult for him. He opened up about having a hard time adjusting to modern things, and in turn, she promised him to introduce him to the things he had yet to experience.
Overall, their date was eye-opening and he loved every second. He drove her home when it was dark, having spent the entire evening talking at the pizza place. She gave him directions to her apartment, and he parked on the side of the road when he got there.
She got off first, and he followed, opening up the lift-up seat and handing her her drawing materials. She mumbled a quiet, "Thank you," as he swung his leg over his Harley again.
She didn't go inside yet, she just stood there and waited.
Bucky would have told him to go in for the kiss, but with his heart pounding in his ears he couldn't bring himself to. Plus, he wanted to ask for permission first, but he was incapable of speaking at the moment. She was so pretty, standing there with her art supplies in her arms. She was cuddling them close to her chest to protect her body from the cold of the summer night. Unsuccessful, because a breeze swept by and she shivered. The lights of the city illuminated her face, her eyes twinkling with the light.
He wanted to kiss her.
He cleared his throat. "It's pretty late, and cold. I'd hate to keep your warm apartment waiting."
She grinned, and he did it back. Unexpectedly, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. Her cold lips pressed just below his cheekbone for just a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before she stepped away.
"I'll see you next class, Steve."
He waited until she closed the door to her apartment building before speeding off. Back at his apartment, he took off his clothes and got ready for bed. Laying on his mattress, which still felt too soft, he stared at the ceiling.
Steve Rogers fell asleep with a broad smile on his face that night.