Spring

She'd been wandering between the shelves for some time.

The afternoon rush had come and gone, the crush in the gallery had cleared, and the remaining stragglers had exited the store. All except for her. She had staggered in, gaze searching as she wandered around, her fingers barely ghosting over the numerous brushes and pencils for sale. He'd been keeping an eye on her, through ringing up the last few customers and the few glances tossed at him from the door. When the storefront had gone quiet, he'd turned to the sketchpad next to the register, his pencil tapping against the open page as he tried to concentrate on his incomplete drawing. Still, his eyes trailed over to her, on and off, the soft patter of her steps the only indication that she was a real, solid presence, and not a figment of his imagination.

In turn, she was watching him, sweating a little as he remained at his post by the register. She knew that she was the last one in the store area of the studio and gallery, and she felt entirely out of place. She'd come in on a whim, and while she didn't really regret the decision, she knew that focus was skittering over her. Braving the original crush would have been a better choice, perhaps. Then she wouldn't feel so weird, meandering around an art store in her new neighborhood and looking like a...well, a weirdo.

Looking like a weirdo to the tall, blond man at the register, his lips quirking at her uncertainty as she pretended like she knew what she was looking at.

"Hello," he called out suddenly, unable to take the oppressive quiet any longer. The young woman jumped at his words, though his voice was no louder than it normally was. Wide, brown eyes swept up to meet his bright gaze, and she blew out a short laugh at her temporary fright.

"Oh, um, hi," she greeted him, a lopsided smile on her face and a flush crawling up her neck. A corner of his mouth curved a little higher; her voice, while pleasant, pegged her immediately as a non-native. That, and the stiff way she held herself. Arms crossed over her stomach, as though to to provide a personal shield. Nervously, she tipped her head down, nodding towards the supply shelves. "Sorry, I'm just...looking around. If that's alright."

"Oh, no. It's okay," he reassured her, brow furrowing slightly. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. Her shoulders shrugged, fingers coming up to tuck the errant strands of her dark hair behind her ears.

"I'll be quick."

A placating hand was raised, bright eyes gleaming at her. "Really, take your time."

She smiled gratefully at him, and he couldn't help but return the expression.

"Thanks. I tried to get in earlier, but it was, like crazy-busy when I first got here," she explained, her palm tipping out and circling around the shop front, before jerking towards the gallery set-up at the back. Rolling her shoulders back, she continued, "I've been exploring the neighborhood a bit, trying to get my bearings."

His smile morphed into a half-grin, and he tucked his pencil behind his ear.

"Ah, thought you were new," he murmured aloud. Slight embarrassment fluttered over her features, and he felt his face twinge at his bluntness. Still, she managed to chuckle a little as more pink flooded her cheeks.

"What gave me away first?" she asked, taking a few steps towards him. "The lost look on my face or the voice?"

Relieved that she wasn't put off by his statement, he tipped his head to the side.

"A little bit of both," he confessed. After wiping his palm on his jeans discreetly, he reached out over the counter. "I'm Steve."

Carefully, the young woman completed her approach, taking his proffered hand and shaking it.

"Holly. Holly Martin," she introduced herself, her eyes trailing up slowly to meet his. He was a good-looking fellow from a distance, but it was a lot more obvious up close (baby blues and long lashes? Ugh, so unfair, she'd thought). Dropping his hand, hers wound up in the end of her sleeve as she went on, "In any case, since I am new, I haven't decorated my apartment yet, so I thought the gallery would be a good place to start."

The aforementioned baby blues seemed to lighten at her words, and he dipped his chin. "Well, I certainly appreciate being your first choice. And welcome to Brooklyn."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet a…well, a nice New Yorker."

Her voice had taken a sheepish cast at that confession, and Steve only lifted the corner of his mouth.

"We're not all that bad, I promise. Just a little rough around the edges."

"I'm sure," Holly retorted playfully, the tenseness in her shoulders starting to melt away. Biting her lip for a moment, she scratched at the curve of her jaw, mentally debating something. Seemingly reaching a decision, she inquired, "I'm sorry, I'm going to be terribly blunt for a moment, but I have to ask: are you famous or something? Because I mean, there were a lot of people in here earlier, and I just don't want to appear totally ignorant and insult you or something."

A lot of people, she said. A lot of women, she meant. All sorts, all ages, had clogged up the shop, perched in front of the portraits in the back and nearly refusing to let any others into the space. Being new to the community, she hadn't a clue why that was…until she caught sight of the proprietor at the till. Once she caught sight of him—tall, cut, with blond hair and a reserved grin just that side of diffident, even as he spoke easily while making a sale—she certainly had a better idea. Particularly when she overheard a few of them attempting to flirt with him as he pocketed his commission (she could've sworn she'd seen one of them flip her hair and bat her eyelashes, which made her wonder about the age of the girl in question when she did that). However, she did not want to imply that; perhaps he was a famous artist, and she was just unaware. It, after all, wasn't a community she'd been part of, so she didn't know who was making a splash in that regard.

The muted wince he gave, despite maintaining his pleasant expression, told her that he was aware of the implications that weren't being spoken.

"I have a pretty decent reputation, but as far as famous goes, not really," Steve replied, tapping a thumb on the counter top. She nodded at that.

"Oh, okay." A cheeky gleam came to her eye, and she teased, "Must be popular with the neighborhood, then."

He smirked back at her.

"Something like that," he responded, coughing a mite uncomfortably and pushing his sketchbook to the side. Gesturing towards the gallery, he invited her to go with him and take a look. The small space was well-lit, each piece receiving the focus of the track lighting above. The works ranged from photographs to paintings, pencil and charcoal drawings to sculptures. The young woman beside him gazed avidly, scanning over swiftly and unable to settle on one piece for too long. The spring of enthusiasm in her face was gratifying to see. As she stepped around and examined a few of the works, he watched, his own gaze occupied with her movements. "Anything jumping out at you yet?"

"I like a couple that I see so far. Are all of these your work, or do you feature anybody else's stuff in here, too?" Holly asked, bending and squinting at the labeling under one of them. For the most part, the works on display were his, but he featured a few from other local artists as well (he had a friend who dabbled, on and off, apparently; he had talent, but he worked full-time elsewhere). His personal preferences ranged between a few different styles, but when he pointed the particular media he enjoyed the most, she smiled widely.

"Oh, wow. My brother would love this," she said, her finger tracing along the edge of the frame of the artwork. Gesturing to the bold lines and the bright colors, she noted aloud, "He's really into the comic book style kind of art, like this."

Thinking that her brother had excellent taste (if he did say so himself), he asked her, "And what about you?"

Her smile remained as she moved to the next frame, a shoulder lifting. "I certainly appreciate it because of him. I'm more drawn to, um, realism, I think it's called, but I like that, too."

Happily enough, the portrait she paused in front was in the style she preferred, and so he walked along with her for several minutes more, small talk exchanged as she selected a couple of tiny contributions to purchase (both around four-by-six, and both experiments of his that he'd never thought would sell).

"How long have you been here?" Steve had to ask, once the tour of the gallery was finished and they moved back towards the front. He was ringing up the items at the register slowly, curious as to her answer. One of her hands twitched at the hem of her shirt and she dipped her chin.

"About two weeks. I'm still kind of stumbling around blind, but I'm trying to explore as much as I can on my free time." She canted her head a little, the overhead lights glinting and glittering over her dark irises. "It's tough, picking starting points for places."

The urge to do more, to help her, rose unbidden, and he cleared his throat.

"Well, if you're find yourself stumbling again, feel free to stop in," he offered, a wave of bashfulness flooding him. Scratching at the back of his neck, he shrugged. "I can help out around the neighborhood, at least. I'm generally here."

"As the owner of the studio, I'd hope so," she jested, smiling genuinely as she took the bag he'd placed her purchases in. The other extended once more, and he took it, shaking once again. "You've been really cool, Steve. Thanks for putting up with me."

"It was no trouble, really. And my offer still stands: you need any help with getting acquainted with the neighborhood, you can come here. I know this borough like the back of my hand."

Pausing at the door, she looked back at him over her shoulder. Her expression took on a saucy lilt, and a smirk cropped up.

"Your left or your right?" she inquired, a shade too innocently to be taken seriously. A snort shot out of his nose and he shook his head, raking a hand through his hair.

"…Funny," he retorted, sharing in her moment of hilarity with a grin of his own. At that, she giggled, lifting her hand in a final farewell and exiting the shop. For a long moment after she left, Steve was staring at the door, the sunlight of the day filling the space she had vacated. Eventually, he shook his head, all thoughts about whether or not she would take him up on his offer driven out by the need to check on the stock.

xXxXxXx

As it turned out, she did take him up on his offer. Roughly four days later, as the hours crawled by and few customers had come in, the bell above the door rang. There she was, her dark eyes bright and her lips sporting a timid smile. She'd gotten twisted and turned around on her trip over to the park, and instead of relying on her wonky navigation system, she decided to try her hand with an actual native. In return for his aid, she promised him one of the treats she had stashed in her backpack, or something from whatever street vendor they bumped into first. Smiling at that, Steve had taken the opportunity to close up for a lunch break, intent on helping her find her way, his ever-present sketchbook and pencil in hand as they left. Walking along, he had questions blooming in his mind about her, ones that he posed every few seconds. It turned out that she was only a few years younger than him, her original home being a suburb outside of St. Paul, Minnesota. She'd also received a higher education, though hers was in English, rather than art. Inquiries about her family were interspersed with what she'd been doing on her days away from the studio, all of which she answered with alacrity. She, in turn, would fire back ones for him. He replied truthfully, as well as pointing out points of the path for her to remember should she come that way on her own in the future.

Although his methods of denoting particular landmarks along the way was...less than orthodox.

"Okay, you have to stop," Holly groused. Steve spiked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking.

"Stop what?"

Her brow furrowed, and she frowned slightly as she hooked her thumb to the left. "Stop using places you've gotten beaten up at as points of reference. I'm not referring to that diner as the one where you were punched so hard you flew through the back door."

Sheepishly, he ducked his head. However, his smirk remained in place. "You won't forget it, though, will you?"

She blinked up at him, and blew out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

"...Just stop," she grumbled, the grin she was fighting almost breaking through. Affixing him instead with a curious look, she wondered, "How in the hell did you survive adolescence, by the way? You make it sound like you were a walking bruise factory all the way through high school."

Clicking his tongue, he caught her elbow just before she stepped off the sidewalk. Turning them both to make a right around the corner instead, he shook his head.

"Not sure," he replied, his mouth curving. "Just got lucky, I guess. And I pretty much was one."

Holly took in a deep breath; just from the bare minimum she was hearing from him, that seemed to be the truth. "What happened to change that?"

Steve shrugged, letting his head tip back as he contemplated the answer. "Graduating and joining the army had something to do with it."

Her steps faltered when he said that, and she stared up at him. Well, that would probably explain why he was built like a brick wall. "No shit."

His palm came up, avowing his honesty.

"None whatsoever. Shot up nearly a foot during basic training. Filled out during that time and when I got deployed. Kept it that way since I got back," he told her, focusing on that aspect over the grueling hours, the pain and brokenness that lurked in the corners of his mind. Forcing his grin to remain on his face, he reported, "My ten-year reunion was a blast, let me tell you. Scared the ever-livin' out of some of those bullies that night."

"I bet," she murmured out the side of her mouth. Her eyes trailed over him as he looked across the street, taking stock of his form and exhaling quietly. With a spring of pink coloring her cheeks, she muttered, "Thank God for puberty, huh?"

"I do every day," he retorted, a laugh in his voice and his eyes still drawn to the other side of the street. Grateful that he hadn't caught her glances, she looked down at her shoes, tucking a rogue piece of hair behind her ear.

"I'm sure," she said, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag she had wrapped around her. Fiddling with it a few seconds more, she inquired, "What, um, what rank were you, or are you, I guess?"

"Captain," he stated simply. Underneath the title was a multitude of memories and currents, all molding together. It was too much to tell to someone he'd only met days beforehand, but as her steady gaze continued to meet his, as he spotted the flicker across her irises, he wondered if she didn't perhaps already understand that.

"Cool," she commented, her lips curving slightly. Leaving the statement at that, she asked him how much further to the destination in question, Prospect Park. Gesturing ahead, he told her that it was only a block or two from the nearest entrance, and they continued on their way. A street vendor hawking falafel interrupted their path, and true to her promise, Holly paid for his lunch, his pleased chewing accompanying them as they finally made their way into the park. With the weather slowly warming up, and the trees amidst the cityscape coming to life again, she had wanted to explore it a bit. Since he ran his clock for the studio, he offered to stick around for a bit, make sure she didn't get lost there. Rolling her eyes at him, she still allowed him to tag along. Skirting the playground as they entered, Holly fetched her phone from her pocket, snapping a few pictures as they passed through, the Lafayette Statue recorded along with the expanse of the meadow. Though it could not be seen, Steve had told her that on the opposite side was the Brooklyn Museum of Art, which could be a stop for another free day, if she so desired, along with the botanical garden. Smatterings of conversation passed between them, with her asking about good memories he had of the neighborhood, and him obliging. Down the paths they went, the minutes ticking by but neither of them really noticing.

"It's so pretty here," she breathed after awhile, spying a nearby bench and making a beeline for it. Steve sat with her, his sketchbook resting in his lap as she began to dig through her backpack and eat her own lunch.

"Yeah, it is. You've been to Central, right?" he inquired, wondering how much of tourist she'd been in her time since moving. When she nodded, her mouth full of food, he tipped his chin at the extensive grounds that were greening, and to the people loitering around it. With pride in his voice, he continued, "Has a lot more space, but Prospect is ours."

"Right," she replied after swallowing, taking a look down the path. Just beyond the curve were the baseball diamonds, and absently she wondered if she would be able to pop down during the summer, get in some time to brush up on her old softball skills. When she turned back, her dark eyes darted to the man beside her. Steve had relaxed into the bench, his back against the arm and one foot planted on the seat. The sketchbook that he'd brought with him was propped against his elevated knee, and a pencil was in hand. Zeroing in on it, she tipped her chin. "What are you doing?"

At once, his posture stiffened, a smattering of red invading his face. Tapping his free thumb along the papers' edge, he lifted a shoulder.

"Do you...uh, do you mind if I use you as a reference?" he asked, his pencil hovering above the fresh sheet. It had become second nature for him to just start drawing whatever had captured his attention; he hadn't actively thought about it. A seeming shyness spread over his features, and he coughed once. "Occupational hazard, sorry."

Shaking her head, she let her smile return.

"No, it's okay," she said, fluttering a few fingers at him and granting permission. His features relaxed at that, and she attempted to do the same as he lifted the pencil again. Setting about the task of finishing her lunch and clearing her face of crumbs, she let him continue in silence for several minutes. The intense sweep of his gaze lingering over her every few seconds had her a little antsy. "You done?"

He chuckled at that, his focus maintained on the paper. "Not yet. I'll let you see it when it is."

"Well, clock's ticking," she joked, tapping a finger against the watch perched on her wrist.

"You'll be waiting on it for awhile," he warned her, knowing all too well how long a simple sketch could take. Perhaps he was a little nitpicky, but he wanted even the rudimentary picture to look decent. At least partway. However, it was unlikely that it would happen in the next five minutes. Flicking his gaze up to her again, he caught the slight fidget of her fingers, the way they curled around the ends of her sleeves. She was incredibly aware of the eyes on her, even as she forced herself to look around the park. Clearing his throat, he sought to put her at ease, or at minimum, distract her. "Now, tell me what you're doing all the way out here?"

A giggle coursed out of her throat, and a bright gleam danced across her eyes. "Currently, I'm letting you sketch me, though God knows why you want to."

Clicking his tongue, he rolled his eyes and tried again. "Okay, then, specific it is: why are you in Brooklyn?"

The teasing lilt to her features began to slide away, her gaze fixing on a point far away. Her free fingers reached up and tugged on the end of her ponytail. In the midst of her silence, as she collected her thoughts, Steve resumed tracing his pencil along the paper, his scrutiny all the more intense as he waited. Soon enough, she cleared her throat, the stiffness in her posture fading as she sank back against the rest of the bench.

"I...some days I don't even know why," she professed, the gravity of her tone making his sketching still briefly. Meeting his bright eyes again, she rubbed the back of her neck. "At the core of it, I guess I just wanted to do something. I've pretty much lived in Minnesota all my life. Grew up there, went to college in-state, and all that. Didn't really know what to do with myself once I finished, and I kinda just...drifted. About three months ago, I just decided that was enough. I made myself a promise to move somewhere different, and try to make it work for at least a year." A minor tremor shook her hands, but she laced them together in her lap, feigned confidence on her features as she sat up tall. "I quit my job, put down some money for an apartment, and boom! Here I am."

"Boom, so you are," Steve concurred, admiration slowly sneaking through him. The pencil stilled against the paper, his concentration on her entirely. Tilting his head to the left, he mused, "Kinda gutsy to take a chance on a place you've never been before."

Holly mirrored his posture, lifting a shoulder soon after.

"Or stupid, but I prefer your terminology," she stated, giving him a lopsided grin. Her gaze drifted away from him, back to the greening trees and passersby moving along. The honk of car horns and wailing sirens droned in the distance, a discordant backtrack to the calm of the park. Absorbing it all, she cupped a hand in the air. "Well, it is New York, still. If I can make it there—"

A palm flew up in the air, cutting her off swiftly.

"Stop right there, Miss Sinatra," Steve crowed, shaking his head when she laughed, her own hand lifting in surrender. Well, surrender until she pushed forward and met his in a high five. Snickering to himself, he leaned back against the arm of the bench, looking her over again. Trailing from the flyway nature of her ponytail to the curve of her shoulders, he sighed deeply. Sincerely, he told her, "Well, I hope you're able to figure out things. And enjoy yourself while you're here. It's not all that bad."

Her dark brown eyes wandered across the park, over the grass and trees, then back to him. Her grin became all the more genuine, and a little pink flushed into her cheeks.

"No, it really isn't," she agreed, and he could swear he felt the tips of his ears burning as warmth invaded her voice. Another shrug, and she looked away again. "And I've got a year; I'm sure I'll have something worked out by then."

Nodding along with her, Steve resumed his drawing, and Holly sat back again, both content to spend a few more minutes in peace at the park.

xXxXxXx

With the abrupt departure from her home and everything she had known over her life, it was inevitable that Holly would be in a precarious position, financially speaking. The last few years, she had been working for the box office of professional theater in the cities, and while it wasn't the most lucrative position, it had allowed her to accrue some savings. It had enabled her to make the move, but she knew it would not continue to indefinitely support her. Not through bills and payments, let alone catching up with her student loans. She was lucky enough to have scored a position as the registrar for a dance studio, her previous administration experience during school and afterward paying off. However, it was ludicrous to think that salary would maintain an apartment on its own, and so she branched out elsewhere. A coffee shop several blocks away from her new home had flexible hours and the pay was decent enough to supplement what she was currently making.

In between her adventures of the neighborhood—and the tours occasionally guided by a certain Steve Rogers—she could be found plodding her way to and from the locations, the dance studio to the west and the coffee shop to the south. It was the latter she was returning home from in the late afternoon, the city air warming as the breezes drifted past her. She didn't doubt that once summer rolled around, they would become heavy and stagnant on occasion, but she could treasure the greening of the fenced trees on the sidewalks and the stir of their new leaves as she went by. She could pretend, as she looked upon them, that she was in the park, even as she strode home for some dinner and Netflix. A lull in the traffic allowed to quickly dodge across the street, her backpack thumping against her back as she booked it (she wasn't going to wait for a taxi or an Uber driver to run her down at the crosswalk). She tugged on her jacket, pulling it a bit tighter around her, to shelter her black shirt and block out the tiny logo stitched to it, the last song on her playlist falling away and leaving her in silence. Well, in musical silence; no city was ever truly quiet. Car horns, sirens, church bells...not to mention the people flitting and babbling around every corner. Though, for the moment, the street she'd found herself on had relatively low foot traffic.

That should have been her first clue. The second was the guy leaning against the wall of the brick convenience store she passed. Dark hair was slicked back, his hands tucked into the pocket of his baggy hood, and he toed the sidewalk with his shoe. Still, his gaze ricocheted up to look at her as she passed, a cigarette and lighter appearing in his palms.

"Hey, sweetheart, got the time?" the guy mouthed around his cigarette, a puff drawn in as he lit it. Resolutely, she dug her hands deeper into her pockets, her pace increasing as she walked on by. Inwardly, she groaned at his use of a pet name, and the displeasure manifested as a frown. Pretending she was engrossed in the nonexistent music playing into her earbuds, she sauntered by him, another few feet of concrete churned beneath her. Instead of being deterred, as she hoped he would be, she heard the crunch of footsteps pick up as she passed, the acrid smell of his cigarette floating along. A derisive snort flew out of his nose, and she couldn't help the minute flinch that twitched her shoulders. "Oh, too good to talk to me? C'mon."

Dryness began to invade her throat, but she was determined to keep going. Pacing a little faster, she was disheartened to hear the ones behind her matching her treads.

"I'm not goin' anywhere until you talk to me, honey," the man said, the lackadaisical tone becoming cold. A sick slide wormed its way through her gut, and before Holly could take another breath, her arm was grabbed. Her fingers enclosed around her keys and the canister of pepper spray, but she was preempted from removing it by a sharp twist he gave her arm. Groaning, she tried to shimmy away, his disgusting breath blowing over her face as he bent closer. The cigarette was dropped to the ground, put out by his heel as he sneered at her.

"Uh-uh. Bad move, girlie." A painful squeeze enfolded her arm, and she bit her lip, cutting off the whimpers before they could escape. It hardly mattered, as the guy could clearly see the rise he was getting out of her. Glancing around, she could see that the closest people were at the end of the block, walking in the opposite direction; yelling for help might not do her any good. His own hand had disappeared into his pocket, a folded handle retrieved. A glint of silver peeked out, and she gulped. Toying with it for a few seconds, he let his eyes run over her, a smug smirk playing over his lips. "Got a wallet? Better hand it over."

"Better rethink that, pal," a new voice cut in then, and Holly whipped her head around, her eyes wider than before. Steve stood just on the other side of the mugger, his fists clenched at his side and his blue eyes narrowed. Where on Earth had he come from? Drawn to his full height, he looked down at the guy grabbing her, his stature and set jaw enough to give the other fellow pause. Icy eyes flicked from the greasy guy to her, at once assessing whether she was alright. Her body language all but pleaded for his help, even as she minutely shook her head. It wasn't worth the trouble, she thought; she didn't want things to escalate further. However, he did not release her, and the guy somehow found the gumption to glare back.

"Fu—" The growling curse was cut off, the sick crunch of a fist hitting the guy's face. The mugger stumbled away, his sharp grip around Holly's arm jerking before he dropped it. Cupping his hands around his nose, it was clear that a rivulet of blood was starting to pour from it. Muffled gasps and wheezes emanated from him, and he groused, "Prig…"

Freed, Holly barely had any time to react as Steve stepped between her and the mugger, his body shielding her from harm. Her fingers still dug around in her pocket, desperately pulling even as her new friend continued to stare down the guy.

"You've got five seconds to get outta here before I really let you have it," the blond man threatened, fists curling even tighter than before. His shoulders tightened as the mugger rose slowly from his crouch, and Holly's gasp could not be subdued when the bloodied-faced guy brandished his folded knife. That time, it was clicked out, the blade turned toward Steve. The harried look in his eye seemed to grow manic, and she could not help the sick, freezing slide drop into her gut. Steve eyed the knife with distaste, but he let his palms loosen. Still, the other guy was not going to drop the matter.

"Man, shut the fu—"

"Hey!" Holly barked. When the guy's focus latched onto her, the gleam of fury in his eye made her stomach tighten, and her limbs almost locked up. However, she reacted automatically, hand rising and thumb jabbing down on the button on the canister as she aimed it around Steve. Pepper spray streamed out, a gush of mist clouding over his face and dispelling into the air. While it downed the attacker without issue, it also floated around them, and soon enough her own eyes were watering, with Steve coughing hard.

"Oh, Jesus!" he gaped, tapping against his chest with one hand and covering his mouth and nose with the other. "Strong…"

"Good Lord," she moaned, the sting in her eyes not enough to deter her from scooping up her phone. As she dialed in the number for the police, Steve had also powered through the putrid cloud, kicking the guy's knife away and getting the drop on him. Once immobilized, arms twisted behind his back and Steve's knee wedged into his spine, the mugger could only spit obscenities at the pair of them until the cops arrived. Statements were taken, first from Holly, and then Steve's corroboration and explanation of his presence (he'd been passing on the opposite side of the street, intent on getting to the bodega a block down, when he'd spotted what was going on; it was literally a case of right place, right time), and soon enough the mugger was bundled into the back of a car.

"Mighty risky of you to do that," Steve told her after a short trip to the police station a few blocks over, the paperwork for charges to be completed and filed. She'd just come back after filling out the last sheet, the paleness of her face not abating in all that time. He'd done the same, but he'd managed to finish faster, and so he'd waited for her, wanting to make sure she was okay. Deep concern was etched into his features, which prevented her from snapping back.

"I know," she replied, owning up to her actions. Wincing slightly, she also said, "Sorry about, well…"

She gestured to the canister in her pocket, and he immediately shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," he said, brushing it off. A wry twist came to his lips, and he murmured, "At least you know it works."

Holly snorted at that, fiddling with the strap of her bag and shaking her head.

"Yeah, thank goodness." Risking another glance up, meeting his sharp gaze, she cupped a hand in the air, wishing to explain herself further. "I should've just left him to you, I know. But then I thought he was gonna stab you and, I didn't…

She trailed off, noting the muted surprise invading his features. He clearly had not expected her to do what she'd done in the first place, and had not expected her to be protective of him. From the little of his past that he'd shared with her, she knew that he had come to learn that he had to stand up for himself, even if others stood with him. Someone actively working for his safety over their own was not typical those days, it seemed.

Coughing once, she graced him with a tiny grin. "Well, whatever. Thank you."

He dipped his chin, taking a deep breath. "No problem. I was nearby; it wouldn't have been right to just ignore what was going on."

Holly digested that, allowing quiet to descend upon them both for a few moments. The ring of phones and the shuffle of papers from the nearby officers drew her out of her sudden reverie, and she flapped a hand back at the rest of the station.

"They need any more from you?" she wondered, with Steve canting his head in denial.

"No. You?"

"I'm free to go now." Swallowing hard, her hands tucked into the ends of her jacket's sleeves, and she bit her lip for a few seconds. Finding the gumption to continue, she implored, "Would you, would you mind maybe walking me home? They said they'd have an officer escort me, in case you've gotta be somewhere."

In all honesty, her apartment was not terribly far from the police station, and she didn't want to impose on them any further than she had to. She trusted Steve, trusted him to walk with her and make sure she came away unharmed. His lips curved then, his half-smile blooming.

"Was about to offer, honestly," he stated. Gesturing over his shoulder towards the front door of the station, he said, "Ready to go when you are."

Quickly pattering after him out the door, Holly reached out, her fingers curling around his bicep as they walked down the sidewalk. When he shot a look at her hand, she squeezed gently, gratefulness in her eyes and voice when she spoke again.

"Really, Steve, thanks." Another squeeze, and she dropped her hand back to her side. A flush of red was bleeding over his face, and he ducked his head slightly. Smirking up at him, she proclaimed, "If superheroes were real, I would definitely nominate you to be one."

His own grin grew wider, absolutely pleased at her words. Lifting a shoulder, he replied, "So long as I wouldn't be forced to wear tights."

A minute shudder ran down his back, something that Holly caught. Tilting her head to the side, she leveled him with an inquisitive look as they walked.

"I feel like there's a story behind that," she said, the leading tone in her words encouraging him to tell her about what caused the look of discomfort on his features. In response, he barked out a laugh, his head tipping back for a second or two.

"Another time," he promised, tucking his hands into his pockets and the conversation closed; his forays into the grade school drama club world could wait. The pair walked in companionable silence as the day slid closer to night. It took awhile to get back to her apartment building, a lot of cutting across streets and darting to avoid the worst of the traffic, but they eventually made it to her place. The brick building swam into view, and quickly she was digging in her pocket again, her keys fished out. Approaching the outer door, he spotted the increased shake in her hands as she fumbled them, and he couldn't stop himself from gripping her elbow. A hard flinch flashed over her, though she relaxed when he did no more than steady her arm. In a hushed tone, he asked, "You gonna be okay?"

The answer was written all over her, with him knowing it well before they'd gotten to the apartment building, but he wanted to hear the words aloud. To help her further, if she needed it.

"I, I think so. It's still kinda...sinking in, but I think I'll be alright. Soon enough," she confessed, mentally working through her thoughts out loud. A part of her thought she'd been in shock, or at least a form of it, since Steve had first showed up on the scene, but she knew, deep down, that she wouldn't be getting over it any time soon. She knew she'd be hyper-vigilant for the next little while, if not for the rest of her tenure in the city, and she wouldn't allow herself to trust others so easily. Not all of them would be like Steve, who was genuinely kind and protective. The groove in her brow didn't dissipate, but she did manage to shoot him a dry grin. Woodenly, she intoned, "Welcome to New York, huh?"

Steve scoffed audibly, raking a hand through his hair and skewing the blond locks.

"Some welcome," he muttered, feeling incredibly sorry that her first weeks in a new city were marred in such a way. Still, she showed remarkable fortitude in carrying on, shaken though she still looked. Opening his hand, he pointed to the phone that was held loosely in her grasp. Quietly, he asked, "Can I?"

Slowly, she nodded, handing him the device after unlocking it for him. Tucking back some of the strands that fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear, she waited as his fingers flew over the screen. In a few short seconds, he held it out to her to take. On the screen was a new contact page, his name and number already typed in.

Tapping the edge of the phone as she retrieved it, he let seriousness invade his expression. "Just in case you get into anymore trouble, you get in touch, yeah?"

Something like warmth spread through her chest, a sense of safety blanketing her as she inclined her head.

"Yeah. You, too," she returned, causing him to stare at her for awhile. It wasn't much, she knew, to offer her own brand of help to a capable soldier, to a man who clearly knew how to handle himself, but he'd made his in good faith. He deserved no less in return. He blinked, and then he dipped his chin, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips. Steve stepped back, and she turned to work her key into the lock, her hand no longer trembling. Once she'd worked the door open, she hovered in the entry, looking back at him and preparing to bid him farewell for the night. However, he cut into her thoughts and spoke first.

"G'night," he murmured, half-turning to go. Pausing, he glanced back at her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as he cleared his throat. "And, um...thank you, too. I'm glad you had that can on you."

She snickered, and jingled her key ring. "Thank my mother's paranoia about big cities."

A chuckle floated out of him, the final good-byes exchanged before she disappeared behind the door of her building. Letting out a slow breath, Steve pivoted, making it less than six feet down the block when his phone chirped in his pocket. Snatching it up, he grinned fondly down at the screen when he unlocked it, the new text message reflecting up at him.

You're welcome.

xXxXxXx

After the interrupted mugging, Holly took the opportunity to get in touch with Steve. What had started as little texts inquiring after him during random days, evolved to pictures exchanged when one or the other was bored at work. Articles about silly things ("I didn't really need to know those fifteen mind-blowing facts about the third Harry Potter movie," Steve had told her, though he sent one back about the outrageous theories about certain Disney films and a winking emoji. She'd rolled her eyes, but read it all the same, taking the opportunity to further engage in discussion the next time she stopped in at the studio) were then followed by actual phone calls. One of which that Steve initiated involved recommending a self-defense course, headed by an old high school friend. A few days later, she found herself on the mat of a beginner's course, Ms. Natasha Romanoff more imposing than her minute stature gave credence to, at first. (Although, Holly would later argue that her natural beauty was more intimidating than any moves that she'd taught; the petite redhead was downright gorgeous, and she had no idea where all the pretty people were coming from in her life at that point.) Following her instructions as closely as possible, Natasha appeared to take a liking to her. Well, enough of one that she let some of her stony facade slip as she taught her the proper way to block her body against an attacker.

And when Steve invited her to a small get-together at the end of the month, alluding to the fact that she would know somebody other than him there, she did not feel like she could refuse. Having been in Brooklyn for nearly a month and a half, she hadn't had the best of luck at making new friends. Not to say she was antisocial or anything, but working as much as she did, it was hard to find the time. His invitation was a reminder for her to alter the facts at the earliest possible moment.

It turned out, he was correct: she did know one other person when they'd arrived at the small place on Lefferts Avenue. Natasha greeted them at the door, immediately pulling Holly in for introductions all around. The owner of the apartment, one Bucky Barnes, had said his hellos as well, a charming smile in place as he dropped a line about hearing so much about her from his friend (she'd laughed and brushed it off, while from behind her Steve sent him an alarmed look). Tall, dark, and handsome had evidently been the mold he'd been made from, his shoulder-length hair gathered into a ponytail and his blue eyes bright with humor. Mildly, she retorted that she'd heard quiet a bit about him as well, particularly as he was Steve's oldest friend. Liking her spunk, he invited her to help herself to the goods in the kitchen. He'd also appeared tired, as he'd recently started the building season in the construction firm he worked with. Still, he was gracious enough to lead the way, asking quickly what had been said about him. Another nervous chuckle was the answer, and the brunet man simply let her go.

From there, she encountered several others: a Sam Wilson who had served overseas as well, his unit often working in conjunction with Steve and Bucky's had stationed himself in the kitchen, handing her a beer with an easy smile. Beside him was a girl with auburn hair, her accent thick as she introduced herself. Wanda Maximoff's green eyes flashed at her when she stated that Steve had brought her with, though she merely wondered if she were the out-of-state person he'd mentioned before. The two bonded quickly over shared stories of their first days in a big, scary new city, as Wanda had transferred for work in the administrative offices for the construction company. Taking her drink, she followed the other young woman out into the living room, both of them plopping down onto the plush, gray couch that nearly dominated the space. More of the space was filled by a veritable behemoth of a fellow, idly switching the music on the player between jazz and classic rock. Thor Blake was a massive, blond with a hearty laugh that cracked and boomed when she remarked out loud upon his size. He certainly took after his Norse ancestors, he claimed, right down building their weaponry. Though his metalwork orders were for aficionados and collectors rather than for actual combat, but it was all the same to him. He'd come into the circle when he started to teach martial arts part-time to children in the space one floor down from Natasha. Beside him was a pretty brunette, encased in a flannel shirt and her brown gaze firm. Jane Foster, after a careful greeting, quickly spoke of her work in astrophysics, which threw Holly for a loop. She'd never known an astrophysicist before, and she soon found herself mired in a conversation about the amazing strides Jane was taking. Spying the proud look on Thor's face, and the small smiles she would direct at him in between speeches, Holly mentally added asking how those two had met onto her list of topics. Even despite all that, even despite feeling slightly intimidated by the others filling the room, she was holding her own, answering questions about herself with her typical forthrightness and solidity. All in all, she thought she was acquitting herself well, even though her gaze would stray to wherever Steve was at that moment. Catching him returning her gaze often, he would give her a careful smile or a nod, silently encouraging her as she went on mingling.

Steve, for his part, was pleased that his group of friends were receptive to Holly. Before picking her up and bringing her over, he'd had a rogue worry spiking through him that she wouldn't meet with approval, despite there being no good reason in his mind. He'd hoped, he wanted, them to like her, to see her and welcome her. As he stood near the arch of the kitchen that looked out over the living room, over them all, he observed her as she tipped a palm out, admiring the metalwork hammer necklace Thor had made for himself. Warmth was sneaking through his system as her eyes lit up, questions about its significance falling from her tongue. Rotating the bottle of beer he had in hand, he noticed Bucky leaning against the nearby counter, a knowing look on his face and a smirk blooming.

"What?" Steve asked, his gaze hardening as his oldest friend shook his head.

"Nothing," Bucky responded innocently, the glimmer in his cornflower blue eyes reflecting the exact opposite. The blond grunted to himself; From childhood all the way to the unit they had both been assigned to overseas, the other man had known exactly which buttons to press so that he could get a rise out of him. Waiting for the clincher, Steve was not stunned when the brunet fellow supplied, "I'm just shocked you brought a girl. Without my help, I mean."

A mocking laugh coursed out of the taller man, and he rolled his eyes.

"That's why you were put on this earth: to be my permanent wing-man, whether I want you to be or not," he riposted, taking the opportunity to swallow some of his beer before thinking too hard about what he'd said. A hand clapped his shoulder, and he glanced back as Sam nodded.

"God's honest truth, right there," Sam proclaimed, raising a palm heavenward. Taking a peek at the room over his shoulder, he focused on the brunette woman on the couch, her attention now turned back to Wanda. Scanning her briefly, he flicked his dark gaze over Steve. "She's cute."

"Hmm," Steve grunted noncommittally, another long pull taken from his drink. It wasn't like his friend was wrong; Holly did look nice, with her brown waves pulled up into a messy bun and her usual jeans traded for a dress. Before he could stop himself, he let his eyes flit down her legs, to the tops of the boots concealed by the coffee table in front of her. The warmth grew, and he felt the flare invade his face. Coughing hard, he shifted his stance discreetly. However, the movement was not lost on Wilson or Barnes, the pair of them sharing a look before Bucky hooked a thumb at Holly.

"...You gonna do something about that, or..." he wondered, letting the question dwindle as he watched the red in his friend's face flush darker. Ever since Steve had first brought up the new girl he'd met, he'd been curious as to his state of mind regarding her. After all, it had been awhile since he'd shown anything but platonic interest in a woman, and just from his tone of voice, he suspected something was slightly different that time around with Rogers. Perhaps he was testing his luck with prodding the beast, but he'd yet to get a straight answer out of Steve, and it was good a time as any to figure it out, in his opinion. Sam nodded, curious about the answer as well.

Something like a twist registered in Steve's gut, and he narrowed his eyes at his two friends. It was time to set them straight.

"Look, she's new in town, hasn't made a lot of friends, I thought it would be a nice gesture to bring her along. End of story," he said, his tone clinical and firm. The twist in his gut pinched a little harder, telling him that he was stretching the truth, but he pushed it down. Instead, he spiked an eyebrow at Bucky's earnest look. "Besides, aren't you with Nat, or are you guys doing that whole break BS again?"

That wiped the pleased expression off his face. "Shut up."

"For the record, it is the break BS again," Sam interjected, a winded grunt knocked out of him when the back of Bucky's hand smacked into his stomach. The back-and-forth flow of relations between the redheaded beauty and their close friend had been a subject of debate and fodder for the gossip mill for over seven years, after the horrid fussing they'd done around each other since high school. It could get tiring just keeping track of where they stood with one another, but one could not deny that it kept things interesting between Bucky and Natasha. Steve snickered at that, taking a pull from his own bottle; it certainly wasn't something he could ever be a part of, and he could only marvel at his friends engaging in that way for all that time.

"Figured as much," he muttered aloud, earning another scowl from his best friend.

"The situation with Nat is none of your business," Bucky grumbled, giving them both hard glances. Raising his free hand, he jabbed his forefinger in his oldest friend's direction. "And you're avoiding my question."

Ice blue eyes flickered over the brunet man, a shoulder lifting. Fetching up a fresh bottle from the fridge, he popped the cap on it. Holding it and his own in his hands, he dipped a nod to Barnes and Wilson.

"See you out there," he said, pivoting on his heel and walking towards the arch.

"Seriously, you're just gonna..." Bucky trailed off, shaking his head as Rogers wedged his way between the coffee table and the couch where the Holly girl was sitting. As he sat, he proffered the bottle to her, light smiles playing across their faces as she took it and drank. Eventually, Barnes finished, "Walk away."

Sam snorted, entirely unsurprised by the turn of events. "You pushed, you knew the consequences."

Barnes scoffed, flapping a hand out. "Of course I pushed. I've been his best friend since preschool; how could I let that slide?"

"Whatever, dude," Wilson retorted, draining the last of his bottle. Fetching up another, he moved closer to the arch again, joining Bucky in scanning over the room. Old habits truly did die hard, but at least they could be certain that no enemy insurgents had invaded the apartment. Instead, he found his focus being pulled to the couch, where Steve and his new friend were listening avidly to a story Natasha was telling. Behind the couch, Wanda had braced her arms along the back, Thor and his girlfriend Jane having taken spots on the floor to listen. Reaching the end of her tale, which involved a well-placed kick and taking a rambunctious student down a peg, the others laughed along with the redhead, Thor attesting to the truth as he had been in the class that day. As he spoke attention turned to him, though Sam's moved over to the other blond man, his subtle shifting towards the brunette to his left not unnoticed. Dipping his chin, he let his glance slide sideways towards Barnes. "You think he will?"

"We'll see," Bucky said, shaking his head and sipping his beer. Time would tell exactly what happened there. In the meantime, he was content to merely watch as his friend and the new girl at his side occasionally caught themselves leaning towards one another as they spoke, the unconscious undercurrent running strong for the moment.

A/N: So this is a project that I started working on months ago, and only recently picked up again. I wanted to do something a little different, in that I would take my original character—Holly Martin—and place her in a slightly altered setting of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and see how it would affect her interactions with one Steven Grant Rogers. And thus, this puppy was born. This is the first of a four-part series, which I will be updating sporadically. As my full priority will be given to my other story, In Due Course, I cannot honestly say when the next update for this will be. However, I do intend to finish it in time, and I hope you will all bear with me.

Yes, this is a modern, real-world AU, and yes, that means no superpowers for any of the Marvel heroes mentioned in the text. Also, it is a Steve/OC friendship-turned-romance story. If any of that isn't your cup of tea, then that's fair; I wish you well in your reading endeavors once you leave this page. I just want to see if I can make this work. One more thing: this story is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others'. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

Any landmarks/streets/parks in Brooklyn, New York were described via online research. My last trip to New York City was eleven years ago, and even then, I only had the chance to explore a bit of Manhattan. Therefore, I may not be 100% accurate in my descriptions. I tried, I swear!

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any of the pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Netflix, Uber, Disney, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!