Felicity and the First Avenger : Reel Extras (Arrow - Captain America Crossover)

In the Still of the Night

This is the main story to which this side short is connected:

http://www.wattpad.com/story/16986689-felicity-and-the-first-avenger-an-arrow-captain

 A/N:  This is for a prompt from sr-rambunctious on Tumblr:  Felicity and Steve bond over hot cocoa outside on the steps of her porch.  Hope this is what you had in mind!

 'In the Still of the Night' – Tommy Dorsey and his Orchestra (1937)

                                                       In the Still of the Night

"You know, when most guys cruise a girl's house, they're not breaking the speed limit and there's usually a car involved."

Steve jogged the last few paces up the walkway to Felicity's house, the slap of his running shoes against the pavement loud in the 2 a.m. stillness.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement as the front curtains in the house next door quickly twitched shut.  Felicity perched on the top step of her stoop, flanked by two big green mugs, her lips pressed tightly together as if trying desperately to hold back laughter.  He stopped at the bottom of the steps and put his hands on his hips, catching his breath.

 "It's not cruising if you're invited," he pointed out.  "I've got the text to prove it and everything."

 "And the three laps around the Triangle at cruise missile speed?"

"You said to meet you outside and you weren't outside yet," he protested.  "I figured it was better to take a few laps than hang around on your front porch, just in case your neighbors decided I was a prowler and called the police.  Didn't think the whole Captain America in handcuffs would do much for my image."

"You'd be surprised, especially given the phone call I just got."  She lost the struggle with the giggles.  "You have no idea how glad I am you said that and not me, for a change."

He sighed, shaking his head.  There were days he thought he could sprain an ankle tripping over unintentional double entendres.  "Yeah, that did kind of come out wrong."

She stood, satin rustling as her loose sunset-patterned lounge pants settled into place, then bent down and picked up her cups.  He caught a peep of bare toes as she made her way down the rough concrete steps.  Stopping at the step above him, she handed him one of the cups.  White veins of marshmallow swirled across a nearly black surface and the smell of chocolate was strong enough to lean against. 

He cupped his hands around the sides, savoring the heat.  On bad nights, like this one, not even the heat of exercise and the warm night air were enough to drive away the memory of ice, not entirely.  These were the nights he avoided sleep, preferring fatigue to nightmares.  He wondered how she'd guessed.  The concern behind the gesture warmed him as much as the liquid.

"You could have knocked, you know," she said, eyes sparkling up at him behind her glasses.  "I would have let you in, suspicious character though you clearly are."

"Yeah, well..." He shrugged uncomfortably.  "In my day, people would have assumed the worst about a single girl who had a fellow over at this time of night.  Didn't want your neighbors getting the wrong idea about you."

She padded back up to the top step and settled down, then patted the space beside her in invitation.  Once seated, he tried a tentative sip of the chocolate, finding it still too hot to drink.

"You've already been spotted," she said blithely.  "Mrs. Hopkins next door saw I was up and called me to say I should look outside if I wanted, and I quote, 'a gander at the best guns she'd seen since the male strippers at her niece's bachelorette party'."

Steve choked, glad for the flush of exertion that covered his blush. "She who what?"

 "Hey, she's ninety, not dead, and girls like to look, too.  Welcome to the twenty-first century."  She shook her head, amused, then bumped against him.  "Thank you for looking out for me, though. Times have changed, haven't they?"

 "You know, that thought has occurred to me," he said drily. "Once or twice a day, even."

 "That's very good for a blond," she assured him.  "Or so people tell me."

 He snorted.  "And how many times do you stomp on the people who say that?"

 "I told you, I don't usually get that violent."  The corners of her mouth tipped up in a mischievous hint of a smile.  "I only slash credit ratings and let their bosses know about their web viewing habits."

 "And that's not violent?" 

 "No, it's not violent, it's vicious," she corrected him.  "There's a difference." 

 "Yeah.  I think violent scares me less.  I've got a better chance of dodging bullets."

 "The first time you saw me, I skewered a man's foot with a stiletto heel and then told you I hacked your best friend's e-mail and sent him a letter bomb because he annoyed me," she retorted.  "You're a smart man.  You knew what you were getting into before you ever asked me out."

 He grinned. "Yeah.  Part of your charm."

 "You really should scare more easily."  She shook her head, then leaned into him, hair brushing silkily against his arm.  "But I'm glad you don't.  How's the chocolate?"

He sipped again, tentatively, then took a deeper drink.  The taste exploded like a shellburst on his tongue, the texture thick, slightly grainy, almost rich enough to chew.  Worlds away from the weak stuff in the packets.  Exactly what his mom and Bucky's used to make for them, his favorite cold weather treat.  He took another drink and closed his eyes briefly, letting the goodness of taste and memory seep into him. 

"Perfect," he said.  Mindful of the watching neighbors, he didn't try to kiss her, but took her hand instead and squeezed it.  Small but surprisingly strong in his, the palm hot and slick from her cup.  "Thank you."

 "Someone posted the recipe on a Brooklyn history site.  I'm glad you like it." 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks, listening to cicadas shrilling in the bushes and watching moths dive bomb her porch light.  Absently, she ran her thumb in patterns over the shield calluses at the base of his fingers, the touch hypnotic and soothing.  She was warm and soft against his shoulder, the faint citrus scent of her hair surrounding him like sunshine and summer.  The warmth and company was finally achieving what he'd been unable to do alone; the ice receded enough so he could lock it away in its compartment in the back of his mind.  

 "Promise me you'll stop running yourself into the ground and go home to get some sleep?" she asked at last, her voice low, barely rippling the surface of his relaxed haze.

"Promise."  He wished the eloquence which came so easily to him under fire didn't desert him when he needed it for himself.  Wished he could think of a way to say how good it felt to have someone who cared and how much it helped.  He groped past shyness for something which might work.

"Remember when you said I should have known what I was getting into?  Don't think I did."

 "What, changed your mind?" she teased, turning her head to look up at him.  Her face was bare of makeup, revealing a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, unpainted mouth soft rose.  Pretty in a way that made his chest clutch and made the words that much harder to get out.  A lock of hair swung free from its anchor behind her ear.  He tucked it back carefully, the texture of her skin delicate as eggshell beneath his thumb. 

 "Don't think I could imagine anything that good."

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 I had some requests for scenes which wouldn't fit in the main Felicity and the First Avenger story.  I hated not to use them, because they were great ideas, and things which logically could happen during the story timeframe, but they wouldn't fit in the plot.  For those of you who submitted things already:  I will get there, I promise, and I actually do have several written and waiting for the main story to catch up with them.  This was the first prompt which fit where the story is at this time.