Oops I Overdid It Again - for @americanass

[phasing_cat]

Kitty struggled out of the taxi, nearly falling to one knee when she stepped up onto the sidewalk. Every part of her felt like it was filled with lead, and her clothes and hair smelled like smoke. She assumed that she looked as disheveled as she felt, but that wasn't important at the moment. Looking up, she was greeted by a small miracle. Since the last time she'd been there, a shelter had been built over the bench at the bus stop just a few feet away. She shuffled over to it, planted her feet, locked her knees, and leaned back against it. Immediate threat of collapse handled. 

It was late, after midnight, and the street was deserted though the sounds of traffic from the main thoroughfare a couple blocks away floated in the air. This was a good neighborhood, on the nicer side without being obvious about it, and the building was very secure. She didn't have the key fob or code to get in on her own. So she pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed Steve's number. If she weren't so utterly exhausted it would have occurred to her to call while still in the cab, so that if he wasn't home she could have chosen a different destination. But she was committed now, for better or worse.  Glancing up at the darkened windows she knew looked into his bedroom and living room, she prayed that he was there. And awake. Or at least had left his phone ringer on.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up...

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[americanass]

Her hand was offered and of course Steve took it without hesitation. Hands were easy, and safe, and just touching her reassured him that she was whole and healthy. Or on the way there, at least. Which was the only thing he really cared about. Hoping for the future, letting himself imagine what it would be like to really have her in his bed, not just because it was better recovery than his couch would have been, could all wait for another time. His only concern for the time being had to be caring for her.

She deserved better than him letting his own feelings and desires getting the better of him.

Smiling at her teasing, he shifted a bit closer all the same, her hand small in his in a way that always felt comfortable and right. "You caught me," he joked right back. "This is all just an excuse to get you where I wanted you."

There was no use denying it was, pretending that he wasn't completely interested. He never pressed for more than she was willing to give at any given moment but he'd never shied away from wanting her, letting her know with looks and touches if not with words that he did.

[phasing_cat]

He moved closer and despite everything, she just wanted to kiss him and let him wrap his arms around her and make her feel safe, like the whole thing had never happened. But she knew it had. She'd just seen the ramifications in the bathroom mirror.

She was practically skeletal. She could see so many of her bones, looking as if they were trying to break their way out of her skin. And her face, well, she hardly recognized it. The circles under her eyes, the way her cheekbones jutted out, scared her. It was no wonder he looked so relieved that she was upright and acting like herself. She was more than a little surprised that he'd let her walk back from the bathroom, and hadn't just picked her up and carried her.

So she stayed rooted right where she was, trying not to think about how she must look to him, when her stomach saved he from herself by grumbling. Loudly. Unmistakably. Making her laugh.

"Did I mention I'm hungry?"

[americanass]

He had to laugh, quiet as it came out. She had mentioned it, and he'd breezed right by it in the relief that she was alright. He could only imagine, after a couple of days, just how hungry she actually was, and it was probably an impressive thing that she was thinking about anything else.

"Did I mention," he countered, playfulness creeping into his smile, "that your friend mentioned you like blueberry pancakes?" Which, over the course of the time she'd been passed out, he'd figured out how to make. Definitely not well, barely more than edible, but that was a few steps better than he'd had before. "What d'you say?"

He absolutely was not going to invite her to come sit at the kitchen table, to let him take care of her there. She ought to stay in bed and relax. But at the same time, now that she'd come around and was looking a little more alive, if a little more thinned out than he liked, he was loathe to leave her side.

[phasing_cat]

She had yet to see him laugh - really laugh, the belly laughs that make tears well up in your eyes. Laughs that grip your middle so tight you can't help but bend over. Maybe he was too even-keeled for that. She still wanted to see it.

Her eyebrows shot up and she shook her head. He and Storm really had bonded, hadn't they? It had been inevitable, really, but she didn't like not having any control over when and why it happened.

"I will never say no to pancakes. There's a place nearby that delivers?" He had more than made it clear that he was an unmitigated disaster in the kitchen. That was okay. Why not let someone else do the cooking? Besides, her appetite was much bigger than a stack of pancakes. She also wanted eggs. And turkey bacon. And cinnamon toast. She reached for the juice again, hoping it would quiet her grumbly middle.

[americanass]

After a few conversations, Steve had bonded with her friend. In a way. Enough that Steve had given her his own number so they could keep in touch while Kate slept. They’d chatted a little. He wouldn’t go so far as to say they were friends, but by a long shot, but they were friendly and he’d taken her advice every step of the way. 

“There is. But I was thinking I’d try my hand at it.” He couldn’t promise better. He couldn’t even promise good. But he could manage not to poison her and it had to be the thought that counted. He’d done a little practice and it was far from impressive. It was just him doing his best. “I’ll keep the delivery as backup. Do you feel up to coming to sit out in the kitchen?” 

Under any other circumstances, he’d object to the very idea of anyone eating in his bed. But these weren’t average circumstances and in this case, he’d prefer her to stay just where she was if she had even a sliver too little strength. He wouldn’t ask her to push herself for something so small. 

[phasing_cat]

Now there was a surprise. She nodded in response to his question, unable to keep her skepticism from showing on her face. She would need to actually see him make the pancakes in order to believe that he'd done it. She moved the covers back and swung her legs out of bed, taking the glass of juice and finishing it before handing it to him. She let him help her up, then they make the slow march to the kitchen. By the time they reached the living room she was shivering. She paused and took the blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around her, then they finished the walk to the kitchen.

She hated to admit it, but she was exhausted. She collapsed into a chair and took a moment to rest and catch her breath before arranging the blanket around her more comfortably, akin to a burrito.

"So you're making these from scratch? That means you have eggs... have you learned how to scramble eggs, too? If not I could slide the chair over there and make the eggs while you make the pancakes."

[americanass]

He absolutely could not blame her for wanting to see it for herself. Steve had made no secret about his lack of skill in the kitchen, had in fact cracked a few jokes about just how helpless he was. But for her, with the help of a lot of hours of research and too many burned practices, he’d managed not to be completely hopeless. 

He took getting her to the kitchen table as slow as she needed, kept a close eye and a careful hand to make sure she didn’t stumble or fall. He’d taken care of her this far, wouldn’t slack in that now that she was on her way to better. If anything, Steve would be more attentive now that she could tell him what she needed. 

Helping her settle at the table, helping to pull the acquired blanket snugly around her, he wound up just chuckling at her question. “I’ve always been able to manage scrambled eggs.” They just weren’t ever going to be anything worth writing home about. “You just stay right where you are, let me know if you have any other requests.” 

He made sure first, once he was convinced she was comfortable and not going to topple out of her chair any time soon, to refill her juice. 

[phasing_cat]

She took the glass with both hands and sat back in her chair, ready for the show. She wouldn't be able to jump up and help him, but she could offer advice if things started to go badly. Or be a stove-side cheerleader.

"My mom always said the secret to scrambled eggs was cooking them in butter." Not particularly healthy, but she was already going to be downing pancakes which had little nutritional value outside the blueberries. She didn't see that as a problem, though. She just wanted tasty food.

[americanass]

“Mine would roll over in her grave at that idea,” Steve had to laugh. A lifetime of poverty had made his mother very particular about several things, and he’d grown up watching those peculiarities. Learning nothing until it was too late, of course. “Lucky for you, this isn’t 1933.”

Which meant of course he could, and would, cook with butter. Steve might not have grown up with that sort of thing but if he’d learned one thing about living in the future, it was that the food was a lot better now. And things were less scarce or rationed. The food situation, at least, was much better. And gave Steve every reason not to learn to cook.

Kate had provided him exactly one to try.

“I don’t know what else I have. Maybe next time you stay over I’ll be more prepared for company,” he noted, moving around the small kitchen to get out everything he needed. Easier if it was all set out ahead of time, he’d figured out through his bit of practice.

[phasing_cat]

The next time she stayed over.

"I like the sound of that." Staying over and not being completely helpless the whole time was what sounded the best. Him also having more food around wouldn't be a bad thing, either.

"Later, remind me to introduce you to Instacart." She took another sip of juice and watched as he set out his ingredients. Pancake mix, eggs, milk, and the berries, of course. She was happy to see they were fresh ones and not the dried ones that are supposed to rehydrate but never really do.

As she set her glass back on the table she spotted his sketchbook. Mostly out of curiosity, and a little to avoid making him nervous by watching him like a hawk, she pulled it over and opened to the page the pencil was stuck in. She immediately smiled.

It was a drawing of a ballerina in passe, legs creating a perfect triangle. Toes en pointe, arms stretched gracefully over her head, tutu perfectly flared out from her waist. Her eyes, though, were closed, and little 'z's floated out of her mouth and up and away from her head. Kitty chuckled as she picked up the book and showed him the page.

"Did I really sleep like this?"

[americanass]

He chuckled quietly as he started to cook, deliberate movements clearly unfamiliar with the process, though he'd practiced enough times to make himself sick of pancakes while she'd slept. Instacart he was familiar with, it was how he'd gotten the things he needed to practice in the first place, but it was far from his favorite way to do things. It just wasn't the same as taking his own two feet down to the store, and doing his own shopping. Maybe one day he and Kate could do that sort of thing together. That was something sort of mundane in a nice way that he definitely wanted to explore. Eventually.

After they got past the consciously staying over hurdle.

Something to think about another time. He was otherwise engaged taking care of his girl.

He glanced over when she picked up his sketchbook, thought nothing of it until she was holding it up to him. Another glance over and he had to hold back his laugh, nodding solemnly. "Exactly like that. It's a really good likeness, actually."

There was unmistakable humor in his eyes, though, and he couldn't keep himself from smiling completely.

[phasing_cat]

She laughed and shook her head.

"You could have said 'just the arms' and I would have believed you." She watched him for a minute, measuring ingredients into a bowl, before turning her attention back to the book. She flipped backwards a few pages, finding his usual doodles - combinations of observation and whimsy - until she came upon one that was different.

It was her, sleeping. Well, half of her face, the other presumably hidden by the pillow. Nose, eye, most of her lips. Hair sweeping away at the edge, making her wonder if he'd moved it there and away from her features. It wasn't professional by any means, but it was recognizable as her. She had not thought in much depth about what he did while she was asleep. The drawing made her wonder just how much of that time he'd spent watching her. Had he been scared? Had he formulated a plan in case she stopped breathing? He hadn't been in the room when she woke up so he must have eventually felt comfortable leaving the room. How long had that taken?

She closed the book and put it back where she'd found it, suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of emotions she had trouble separating. Guilt and sadness the most prevalent.

"I guess it'll be a while until I can dance again."

[americanass]

“Legs feeling a little weak?” Steve wondered as he worked on pancakes. Carefully and precisely. He could imagine they did after being in bed for as long as she was, knew they had to be with the help she’d needed moving around his small apartment. No doubt it would be a day or two before she felt strong enough to move around on her own.

It did seem to him though that trying to dance might be good exercise for unused muscles, and that might be what she needed. He didn’t say as much, wouldn’t want to imply he thought he knew any better than she did about it, or about what her own body was capable of.

He’d made it clear more than once that he’d be gentle with her if she needed him to be, but he’d let her tell him if she did. He had to trust her to know herself best and even when he thought maybe she was pushing herself too far, he knew better than to say it. All he’d ever needed to be sure of that choice was to imagine what he would say if, when, someone had made the implication he couldn’t handle something.

He would just push harder, and that wasn’t what he wanted to press her into doing with a wrong word.

[phasing_cat]

"Something like that," she answered softly. She closed the book and set it back where she'd found it. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and watched him quietly for a few moments. He didn't seem nervous like she would have expected. He must have been overstating just how bad of a cook he was. Still, she couldn't help but want to help, even from across the room.

"Want to know a trick?" she asked, not wanting to be bossy or tell him how to do things. She waited for him to give an indication that was okay.

"You can use that measuring cup to scoop the batter out of the bowl and pour it into the pan. It's easier than pouring out of the bowl and all of the pancakes will be roughly the same size."

[americanass]

Something like that wasn’t really an answer, or rather it was one that spoke of something deeper. Steve would file that away for the time being. She was in no state to be interrogated by him worrying over her. She was subjected to enough of it just being there. He’d press later if she was noncommittal about it when he asked again. In a few days at least.

He glanced her way with a raised eyebrow and a little tug of amusement on his lips at her suggestion.

“Who ever said pancakes need to be the same size?” he countered. The chaos of them was just part of their charm, he thought. Not that he was any expert when it came to pancakes. He’d honestly never given them much thought at all. They were something he ate occasionally and not much more than that.

Until they’d turned out to be his girl’s favorite. They suddenly meant something.

[phasing_cat]

"The person who invented silver dollar pancakes," she replied, impressed that her sleep-addled brain managed to come up with a retort.

"But if you want to make a mess, go right ahead." Normally she would have offered to clean since he was doing the cooking, but these were not normal circumstances. He'd be left to clean up on his own. Which, of course, he already knew but was willing to do both without complaint. She had respected him since their first conversation, but she was starting to admire him as well. He was so much more than a soldier. He was a caretaker, too.

[americanass]

That was a fair argument and Steve just laughed softly, shaking his head. He was absolutely going to continue making a mess, mostly out of stubbornness at this point, though the part that did it for her amusement wasn't small either. From their first evening spent together, he'd been invested in making her smile, bringing her any scrap of joy he could provide her. He only wanted that more the more time they spent together. The greater the feelings he was developing for her grew.

"I promised you edible pancakes," he pointed out lightly, "not good looking ones." Good looking really was asking too much. Even the few things Steve could cook, all old recipes, all from before the war, weren't nice to look at. By design for the most part, but not even artistic talent could save his cooking from looking a little messy.

Edible really was the most he could have offered.

[phasing_cat]

Good looking. Her brain struggled to make a joke about how he was all the good-looking she could handle but, after a minute or so, she gave up. He probably would have balked at the compliment anyway. He did that a lot.

"I don't think my stomach will care what they look like." As the first pancake cooked the smell wafted over to her, making her stomach growl in what sounded like agreement. She just laughed.

"You know about the bubbles, right? Using how many there are to tell when it's time to flip?" She really didn't want to sound like she was telling him how to do things. So in the spirit of being there for moral support, she changed directions.

"That smells really good."

[americanass]

"I know about the bubbles," Steve confirmed with a soft chuckle. He'd done enough research to make sure he wasn't going to produce something grossly over or undercooked to know about that at least. He'd practiced a few times while she'd been asleep and had figured out the rough range to make sure they weren't raw at least, though he had no idea how to tell if hey were a little overdone. Better that than the other way, though, he figured, and he could be sure of still in the edible range.

Turned out pancakes were pretty simple, even with blueberries in them.

He made the choice not to tease her about having a lot of opinions for someone who'd said she couldn't cook either, figured he'd be cautiously nosey too if she was trying to cook him his favorite thing. Instead he cast a glance over at her and offered a smile at her praise.

"I think I managed to track down a halfway decent recipe. Don't give me any credit until you try it, though." It would taste fine. He had that confidence. Now. "Maybe next time you're over, it'll be with more warning and I can do better."

He'd want to make an effort. But for now, he just brought the first pancake out of the frying pan and placed it on a plate that he immediately set in front of her. It wasn't pretty, far from it, and maybe a little darker than it should be, but it passed as a pancake and his girl was hungry. She could eat while he cooked. Steve would just keep putting pancakes on her plate until she told him to stop.

[phasing_cat]

She grinned up at him as he set the plate down in front of her, briefly touching his hand in a silent 'thank you'. If it hadn't been fresh out of the pan she'd have picked up the pancake, rolled it like a taquito, and inhaled it in three bites. It took every ounce of self control she possessed to instead take the time to put butter and syrup on it, then use a fork to cut off a piece and blow on it to cool it down.

Once the first bite was down, the floodgates were opened. It felt like she lost control of her own body - again. After she swallowed the last bite, she wasn't even completely sure she had tasted it. Sheepishly she looked in his direction and was relieved to see him focused on his cooking. Something had changed that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Not in him, per se, but in the way she saw him. He wasn't America's hero any more. He was her hero. Hers. And all the anxiety she had felt around being intimate with him was gone.

"Maybe next time, we can have breakfast in bed."

[americanass]

Steve glanced over and lifted an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You might have high hopes for my cooking if you want it anywhere near a bed,” he teased. Lightly, so as not to put any pressure on the theoretical next time. While he absolutely, intensely, wanted her to stay over intentionally, for there to be more than just one next time, he wasn’t going to give her any reason to think he wanted it before she was ready. Before they both were, really, though his thoughts were rarely toward his own comfort.

“Though I’ll take the idea as a compliment,” he added with a breath of laughter. He’d clearly done a passable job of feeding her with the way she ate, the way she invited doing it again. That was something to take pride in, being able to take care of his girl any way she needed him to. Even if he couldn’t manage more than pancakes and scrambled eggs that were a little bland.

[phasing_cat]

She finished the pancake in three distinctly unladylike bites.

"I have faith in your ability to eat in bed, not cook in it. I've had enough of fire for the foreseeable future, thanks." That came out pretty muffled, because shoving nearly a whole pancake into her mouth turned out to be harder to swallow than she would have anticipated.

"Could I get some water?" The juice was good, but she knew from experience that it would taste weird and not so sweet compared to pancakes and syrup. It was time to go back to water.

[americanass]

Without a word, Steve just turned around to pour her a glass of water. That, at least, he had in the house. Beyond what he needed to make her pancakes he hadn’t thought to have anything brought by and as someone who didn’t cook with any regularity at all what he‘d had was scarce. But water he could provide.

Just like he’d provide support for as long as she needed it.

“I’d really be more worried about the quality than fire risk,” he noted, amusement still in his eyes and in his smile. “And since you’re not going anywhere until you can do it under your own power, next time’s a lot sooner than you think.”

He knew the theoretical next time was one where she chose to be there, where she wasn’t in his bed because she couldn’t move, but he didn’t want to put that weight on staying over. Especially not while she was convalescing. He wouldn’t add any expectation to his hopes.

[phasing_cat]

The water was just what she needed to swallow her mouthful of pancake.

"You can stop pretending to be inept in the kitchen. You've set the bar low enough that anything not resembling a charcoal briquet will be impressive." And more so, it was not accurate. She had enjoyed the first pancake for the few seconds it actually came into contact with her taste buds.

"Wait... is this what you were doing while I was zonked out? Practicing making pancakes?" She marveled that she hadn't figured it out sooner, because she could not think of a more Steve-like thing to do. "Want me to pass out for a couple more days so you can learn how to make omelets?"

[americanass]

It really was only a little pretending. Playing up what he knew was bad. He could feed himself, sure, but his taste was questionable at best. But poking fun at himself was plenty worth it if it made her smile. The surprise in her expression at the realization that he’d put in a bit of effort for her, though, was rewarding in its own way. 

“Yes, actually. That’s exactly what I did. Had to keep myself busy somehow.” And more than that he wanted to give her something she’d actually enjoy. At the very least not butcher her favorite food. But he had needed something to keep himself busy. He wasn’t going to leave her alone and he wasn’t a sit around the house sort of guy. Practicing pancakes has been good for him too. “If you want omelets, that’ll take a day at least. Two if you want it presentable.” 

As it was he could present slightly overdone scrambled eggs.