Steve Rogers One Shots

Happenstance

The bar was empty except for another patron and the bartender who was cleaning mugs with a rag. It was late and you should have been in bed, sleeping soundlessly, but you were too nervous to sleep. So you got dressed in the first clothes that came to hand, grabbed your keys and decided to take a stroll around the neighbourhood.

Of course, that didn't do a thing to calm your nerves so you settled for the next best thing: a bar not too far from your apartment. You only had a ten dollar bill and some change in your pocket, but it was enough to order their cheapest drink -a vodka cranberry.

You heaved a heavy sigh as you stared into your glass, swirling the drink around. Raising your head, you met the eyes of the man sitting at the other end of the bar. He had dirt blond hair and a neatly manicured beard.

You felt self-conscious in your sweats and old t-shirt and so you ran a hand through your messy hair. He smiled at you and you gave him an embarrassed smile, ducking your head. When he started walking over to you, you sighed inwardly. You didn't need company, you just wanted to be left alone.

"Hi, I noticed you haven't touched your drink at all."

Forcing a smile to your lips, you turned to look at the cute blond standing next to you. "I just... I don't drink a lot."

"Do you mind?" He jutted his chin toward the empty chair beside you. You could have politely refused, Lord knows you wanted to, but there was something deep and sad in his baby-blue eyes. You nodded. "Thanks."

He cradled the beer bottle in his hands and watched the condensation drip down the bottle. Long minutes passed before he spoke again.

"I'm starving, do you want anything?"

"No, thanks."

He waved the bartender over and ordered some appetizers. After a few minutes, the bartender returned and placed the plate of food in front of him. The blond picked up a French fry, dipped it in ketchup and popped it into his mouth. He pushed his plate toward you as he licked the salt off his fingers.

"So, what's your story?"

"What makes you think I have a story?"

He grinned, not looking at you. "Everyone has a story to tell. But it's Sunday night... um, actually-" He flipped his wrist and looked at his watch. "-it's midnight so technically it's Monday morning, and you're sitting here, not drinking your cocktail."

"You're being very nosy," you said, taking a French fry from the plate. "Are you a cop?"

"Nope." He shook his head. "Just curious."

"Does Mr. Curious have a name?"

The mystery man chucked as he grabbed a napkin and wiped his hands. He then turned to you, extending his hand.

"I'm Steve," he said shaking your hand.

You swallowed your mouthful of food before you told him your name. Steve commented that it was a lovely name and fitted you quite well. You let out an unladylike snort. This guy was the very definition of charming, even though your face was bare of makeup and you were wearing old clothes that didn't fit.

The conversation flowed easily between you. You talked about food, music, movies, books; it might have been meaningless, but it made you feel relaxed. Steve was a history nerd, he claimed to know everything there was to know about World War II so you challenged him.

"Battle of Dunkirk?" you asked with a grin.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You mean Operation Dynamo, the evacuation of over 300 thousand soldiers in the spring of 1940? The one General Alan Brooke called a 'miracle'?"