Steel Hearts

- 9 -

Tony and Bruce had convinced Thor to stay for three more days. How? I had heard their overly convincing topic of drinking and party-throwing through the grapevine. Meaning, Tony was throwing a party on Saturday evening.

Meanwhile, the day before the party Steve and I had finally decided to get around to going on that date we had been talking about for a year now.

"Okay, so we have two choices," I tell him as we sit at an outdoor table at a Thai cafe halfway between my apartment and Avengers Tower, "We can go to an art museum, which there are many not too far from here... Or, we can walk around Central Park and be tourists for the day."

"Well, it has been seventy years since I've been to Central Park," he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink and sitting up straight. I choked slightly on my water, sending it down into my lungs and I cough to clear it out.

"I hope that was meant to be funny," I wheeze, still coughing into my arm.

"It was," he presses his lips together into a thin line, trying not to laugh while holding out a napkin for me. I take it from him graciously, wiping excess water from my face and catching my breath finally. All the while, Steve was waiting for me to be able to breathe once more, he had been folding up one of the paper napkins into an origami swan.

"Where'd you learn that?" my gaze settles on the paper swan sitting on the table in front of him.

His face falls slightly, memories coming back to him, "Uh- World War 2."

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. I understand."

"No, it's- it's alright. Um... One of the Howling Commandos, Jacques Dernier, showed me once when we were stuck in a trench for hours," a sad smile finds its way to his face as he stares at the folded napkin, "It's the only origami I ever learned. I learned French because of him too."

"Oh, did you now?" I ask in French, smirking because I had already known he understood the language.

"You know French?"

"My mom taught me when I was little," I say, switching back to English, "I kept it up after she died to sort of commemorating her, I guess."

By this time our bill had been paid and we were already strolling down the sidewalk side-by-side; the two of us silently walking directly to an ice cream shop nearby. Wordlessly, it seems we had both decided ice cream was a good pick me up.

"Okay, favorite ice cream flavor? This is very important because it says a lot about a person," I tell him as the two of us entire the shop, the sugary sweet smell hitting us like a ton of bricks when the door opens.

"This isn't going to get me shunned, is it?" He questions, standing next to me as we wait in line, hands in his pockets with an awkward smirk on his face.

I smile at him, placing my hands into the pockets of my jacket before rocking back and forth onto the heels of my boots, "Fine. If you're not gonna answer, I'll start. My favorite flavor is mint chocolate chip, but vanilla is an honorable mention because you can mix things in it and not ruin it."

"Vanilla is a front runner."

"Okay, but vanilla ice cream with warm apple pie though?" I bring my fingers to my lips and do a chef's kiss, "Best dessert ever."

"Can't argue with that," he tilts his head to the side with a smile on his face just before the lady behind the counter calls up the next customer, the two of us. We both order two scoops in a waffle cone, wrapping napkins around it to prevent sticky hands before leaving the ice cream shop and making our way further down the sidewalk.