Little Star // a Steve Rogers, Captain America, Avengers story

First Date

"Hello."

"Hello Ellie, it's Steve."

Steve. Steve? Did she know a Steve? But that voice... Oh... STEVE!

"Yes. Hello. Hi. Steve."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, I don't think that could be possible."

He chuckled, "Well good. I wondered if your offer to meet again still stood?"

She was proud not to miss a beat. "Of course. That would be lovely. When are you going to be in town?"

"I'm in town now."

"Wow. Awesome. I need some clothes, though. Other clothes. Than the ones I'm wearing. And a toothbrush. To brush my teeth. I need to brush my teeth. When did you say you would be here?"

There was a knock on the door.

Ellie grumbled "Motherfucker" as she made sure every part of her body that needed to be covered, was.

"What was that? Are you all right?"

"Fine, almost there."

She hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

There he stood. Nearly as tall as the door frame and as wide, Steve Rogers was on Ellie's porch. No suit. No shield. Khaki pants, a plain white t-shirt beneath a leather jacket, and a shock of honey blonde hair hanging over one eyebrow. She really hoped she wasn't drooling.

"Hello. This is a surprise. A very happy surprise, but a surprise. Can you give me ten minutes? I've been doing paperwork all day in these sweats and I'd like to change. Will you come in?"

"Take all the time you need. It's such a lovely evening, I'll sit here on the porch swing." He began to put his weight on the old wood of the seat and there was a loud crack. "Or maybe I'll go enjoy the park."

"I won't be long. Really."

She wasn't. In under ten minutes she was coming out the front door, wearing jeans and a light sweater, hair in a ponytail and teeth freshly brushed. She waved at him across the street where he sat on a sturdy park bench.

He walked back to the house, asking as he came up the front steps, "Have you ridden a motorcycle before?"

"I've never been brave enough to drive one myself, but I've ridden as a passenger a few times. I understand about leaning with the driver and not letting go."

"That'll work. Here's a helmet for you. A friend of mine owns a house not far from here and he said a person can get a good meal and the best ice cream around in a pretty little town down the road. Does dinner and a cone sound good?"

"Fantastic. Your friend's right about the ice cream, too. And the crab cakes can't be beat."

He mounted the motorcycle, checked her helmet, then helped her climb on behind him. Ellie had never been on a bike this powerful. The thrum of the engine resonated through her thighs and she reached both arms around him to hold on, wondering just how fast the machine went.

It went fifty miles an hour, the speed limit. Of course. The eleven miles of country road rolled gently past as Ellie focused on holding on tight enough to get a sense of the abs beneath the t-shirt, but not so tight as to be technically groping. They had already hit the town limits before she thought to warn Steve about the police chief who pulled everyone over, for the smallest infraction, but he was already braking and keeping the speedometer right at 25. Of course.

The picturesque town sat at the juncture of a small river and the Chesapeake Bay, and most of the restaurant's seating was outside on a large deck over the water. As they approached the hostess, Steve pulled a ball cap from his back pocket and put it on. In a quiet voice he said, "It won't stop the gawkers, but it might slow them down."