I'm Here | ✓

12 - Tin Man

Steve never did go talk to those reporters. He had Natasha go shoo them off the property to avoid a scene and stayed with me. I was grateful, even if I felt a little guilty.

I learned Steve had a notebook like mine, of stuff that he had to catch up on that happened since he went into the ice. It was lots of movies, songs, technological innovations, that sort of thing. I was familiar with a lot of them because I was... alive, I guess, but I never was allowed time for leisure activity. Steve and I spent the day watching movies people had suggested to him. They were really different, and a lot of them didn't make sense; Jurassic Park, Indiana Jones, movies like that. It was fine, because Steve was there.

For a lot of it, he was just sketching in that notebook. Occasionally, I would glance over, and he'd be drawing a scene from Star Wars or The Matrix. His drawings were incredible. Accurate, fictional, beautiful. I wish he had gone through art school like he dreamed about when we were kids. We couldn't afford it back then, and certainly not now. It's okay. He's still great at it.

I muted the TV as the credits started to roll through. "Mind if I look through?" I asked, gesturing to his notebook. I wondered what else he had in there. Steve shrugged and handed it to me.

The first few pages had lists. I glazed over those - I could read them later - and flipped through the sketches he had. There was one that looked remarkably like this safe house from the outside, another that looked like his apartment. I winced as I spotted the broken window in the corner with the glass on the floor, and quickly turned the page.

On the next page, there was a little thumbnail sketch that looked remarkably like... myself. My hair was up like how it is now, and I was grinning in a side profile view. It wasn't shaded and my face was a little bit smudged, but it looked a lot like me.

Steve glanced over and saw me looking at it. His face immediately turned beet red and he reached for the notebook, sputtering. "I - you - you looked so happy, I just - sorry, you were - "

I chuckled, holding the sketchbook out of his hands. "No, no, it's fine. It's really good."

"Give it back," Steve laughed, clambering in my lap to grab at it. I pushed him off the couch lightly and held the page open with my thumb, looking at how finely he detailed the outline of my face and how he sketched each individual hair with incredible focus.

"Steven Rogers, if I didn't know better, I'd think you fancy me," I said with a smirk, looking at him from my position high on the sofa. He grinned deviously and yanked my leg, sending me sprawling on the floor beside him. He scrambled to his feet and stole the notebook back from where I had dropped it, closing it delicately. I wheezed out a laugh from the ground as our roles switched and he was the one grinning down at me. I felt my own cheeks start to blush too, but I rolled over before he could see it. These are the moments I missed so dearly, and I savored my own happiness for a second before standing.

Steve knelt to fiddle with the movie player and I wandered over to the kitchen, still smiling. I cracked open the fridge and plucked out a bottle of water tucked in the door. I watched him as he dropped the disc and cussed lightly under his breath. I twisted off the cap as gently as possible, my eyes locked on the graceful way Steve moved. He twisted around to look at me and I glanced down at my water, pretending I hadn't been staring at him seconds ago.

"It's getting kinda late. Do you wanna watch another movie, or do you wanna take a break for tonight?" He asked.

I thought about it for a second, peeking at the time shown on the microwave. It was only 8:02, but I was exhausted and really just wanted to get some sleep for once. "What else do we have to watch?"