fic: Kicking ass in the morning, taking names in the evening (Avengers/BtVS; Steve/Buffy; pg)
Kicking ass in the morning, taking names in the evening
Avengers (2012)/Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Steve/Buffy; pg; 7,065 words
The girl was stronger than she looked, stronger than Steve would have thought possible if he hadn't been who he was, hadn't seen what he'd seen.
Title from Eminem. No Buffy comics canon involved. Thanks to
snacky for all her help with brainstorming and handholding.
~*~
Kicking ass in the morning, taking names in the evening
Steve was at loose ends after he came back from his road trip. He'd decided to see some of the world he'd helped save, and look up the few people he'd known in the war who were still alive, but that only took a couple of weeks, and then he was back in Brooklyn, with no real direction or purpose. He worked out with Clint and Natasha, did some training with SHIELD agents, and some volunteer work with the clean-up and rebuilding efforts around the city, but it never felt like enough. He was still left with time on his hands, time he didn't want to spend thinking about all the time he'd lost.
He ran every morning, because he liked the feel of the neighborhood as it was just waking up, the sun peeking over the horizon and the day fresh and new, and because he liked being able to run, even after all these years, without wheezing or developing a stitch in his side after one block.
It was a nice way to start the day, but it didn't help with the itchiness under his skin, the need to be doing something useful that had set him on the path to becoming Captain America in the first place. Missions for SHIELD were few and far between, and all the volunteer work in the world--as necessary as it was--didn't help. He'd been made for more than this, Peggy had once told him, and he wanted to live up to that expectation.
There were a lot of hours in the day, and even the art and history lessons to catch him up on everything he'd missed didn't fill them all, and didn't wear him out enough to sleep. He added a nighttime run to his daily routine, and it took him all over the city, through neighborhoods that didn't look like they'd changed all that much from his day to places that were in a constant state of construction, the new replacing the old the way it always had in New York, even if he'd never paid attention before. At first it was just a way to wind down, a way to get rid of that ants-in-his-pants feeling that he wasn't doing enough, but it ended up being so much more than that.
He never really thought about it as a patrol, but after breaking up a couple of fights and stopping a few muggings, he felt like he'd finally found a purpose, one that didn't require a shield or a gun, or even a uniform (Fury had nixed his plan to join the NYPD), but let him help people, just the same.
One night, he was jogging past a narrow, cobblestoned street in the warrens that made up the Financial District, streets that had been built when the Dutch colonized the island, and which were now mostly residential after years of housing nothing but finance and law firms.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blonde hair and the low growl of a threat, and he didn't even have to think twice. For too many years, he'd been the one getting beat up in alleys, and his whole purpose in letting Dr. Erskine experiment on him had been to keep it from happening to anyone ever again, if he could stop it.
There was something wrong with the bullies' faces--there were three, they were at least twice her size, and they looked like something out of a movie with their leather jackets and slicked back hair--but the girl (and that made it even worse, because he knew the threats women faced in these situations always had an extra dimension that even he, at his weakest and smallest, had rarely dealt with) didn't seem fazed, even when she hit the cobblestones hard. She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with one hand and pushed herself up to her knees even as Steve wanted to tell her to stay down, to let him handle it.
And then she exploded out of her crouch in a flurry of punches and kicks that were almost too quick from him to follow. Still, Steve couldn't let her fight alone. He ducked in under the third mugger's wild swing with a punch that should have put him down for the count, but the guy shook it off and grinned, showing teeth that had been filed down into fangs.
Steve was never going to get used to some of the weird fashion trends in the future.
The girl was stronger than she looked, stronger than he would have thought possible if he hadn't been who he was, hadn't seen what he'd seen. Still, Steve wanted to end the fight as quickly as possible, before she really got hurt. He was about to say so when from inside the sleeve of her leather jacket, she produced something that looked like a wooden stake and stabbed her three attackers, one after another. They each exploded into a cloud of dust that Steve tried really hard not to breathe in.
She turned back to him, the tip of the stake pointed right at his heart and a hard, bright smile on her face. "You're a pretty one, aren't you?" she said. "What's your deal?"
"I'm Steve," he said, caught off guard, even though he was ninety pounds heavier and nearly a foot taller than she was. He held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender and returned her smile ruefully. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to explode into a pile of dust like whatever those guys were, but I'd really prefer not to find out."
She brought up her other hand, and he braced, because he'd just seen her punches knock over guys as big as he was, but she laid the flat of her palm over his heart, which sped up noticeably at the touch, the heat of it palpable through his sweaty t-shirt.
"No, I guess you're not," she said still smiling as she lowered her weapon. "Steve, huh? I'm Buffy." At first he thought he'd misheard and was about to say that wasn't funny, but then she said, "Buffy Summers."
"Hi," he said. "You're really strong, huh?"
Her smile turned into a laugh that made him smile in return. "I'm glad you were paying attention."
"It'd be hard not to," he answered. "You're really something else."
"You sure know how to flatter a girl," she said. He looked down at the toes of his sneakers, feeling the blush climb the back of his neck and trying to think of something to say. Unsurprisingly, he didn't think fast enough. "We should probably get out of here, in case those guys had friends." She slid the stake back into her sleeve and tucked a hand through the crook of his elbow. "I'm new in town. You know a place we could get something to eat?"
"Something to eat?" he echoed, still trying to catch up.
"I'm always hungry and--well, I'm always hungry after a fight." She cocked her head and looked up at him curiously. "Aren't you?"
He laughed softly. "I could eat."
"Okay, then."
He walked her up to the all-night coffee shop on John Street and they slid into a tiny booth where his knees bumped against hers and she laughed when he tried to apologize.
The waitress took their order and placed a couple of glasses of water on the table. Steve drank gratefully, surreptitiously watching Buffy do the same. She was older than he'd thought, at least as old as he was--well, without the time in the ice--so at least he wasn't contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He could just imagine what the others would say about that.
"Listen," she said, setting her glass down and running her fingers through the ring of condensation on the table, "you can't tell anyone about what you saw tonight."
"That's okay," he answered, "since I don't know what I saw tonight, except a very strong young lady winning a fight against some thugs." He wondered if she worked for SHIELD or some other agency, but since he didn't really want to reveal that he did, he didn't ask.
She reached out and touched his wrist, her fingers cool and wet against his skin. "What would you say if I told you vampires are real and it's my job to kill them?"
Steve thought about the Red Skull, about Thor and Loki and the Chitauri, and his own unbelievable history, and said, "Okay. Given some of the things I've seen lately, I could believe that."
"Yeah, even I was surprised by the whole aliens thing, and I've been a slayer since I was sixteen."
Before he could ask what that meant, the waitress came back and placed their plates in front of them--he'd ordered the reuben and Buffy was having pancakes--and Buffy reached out and stole a couple of his fries.
"Hey!"
She looked so genuinely gleeful munching on them that he couldn't really be upset. And anyway, it was the sort of thing he'd always imagined would happen on a date. Not that they were on a date. He shook his head and reminded himself of that.
"So were you here for that?" she asked when she was done chewing.
"The alien invasion?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
She nodded. "You look like a cop or a fireman." She cocked her head and considered him. "Definitely a fireman."
"Really?"
"'Cause you're so hot." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops, did I say that out loud?" They both laughed, even though Steve could feel himself blushing again. "Are you from here?" she asked when the laughter had subsided.
"Brooklyn-born and bred. You said you were new to the city?"
"I grew up in California and have spent the last few years in Europe. But my sister just got a job at Columbia, so I decided to visit, and take care of some business while I was here."
"She's a teacher?"
Buffy's face lit up. "Yeah. Well, visiting scholar. She studies ancient civilizations and languages. I don't get most of it, but she's an expert." She took a bite of her pancakes. "You have any brothers or sisters?"
"No," he said, his throat suddenly tight. He was used to his grief now; it didn't ache in his chest all the time, but it still occasionally caught him by surprise. "Not anymore."
She touched his wrist again. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks. It was a while ago, but..."
"It never goes away completely." Her eyes were sad and knowing.
"No," he said. "I guess it doesn't." They ate in silence for a few minutes, but when Steve was done with his sandwich and his fries, he said, "So, a stake to the heart really will kill a vampire?"
Buffy nodded and gulped down some more water. "Stake to the heart, decapitation--which is messy but effective--sunlight, fire. All the famous tricks."
"Huh."
"Yeah. Who'd've thought the movies would get it so right?"
"But there's no sparkling, right?"
She started laughing again, loud and carefree, and Steve found himself laughing with her. "No. No sparkling. Though they do occasionally hang out in high schools. If that high school is on a hellmouth."
"A hellmouth?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
"Huh." If that was true, he was going to have to figure out how to fit that into a universe with Norse gods and aliens.
"Yeah."
He leaned back, the vinyl of the booth creaking beneath him, and said, "You know, sometimes I still have a hard time getting my head around, well, everything."
"Yeah, I know how that goes. But you did pretty well tonight against the vamps."
"I grew up fighting bullies in alleys like that," he said. "I've been fighting a long time."
"Yeah," she said softly. "Me, too."
They were silent for a long moment, and Steve could feel the awkwardness building up inside, ready to burst out if he spoke again, but Buffy broke the silence before he could put his foot in his mouth.
"So, you're a fan of sparkly vampires? Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?"
He laughed and some of his anxiety drained away.
The waitress stopped by with the check and Steve braced himself before picking it up. He knew the prices were reasonable--even cheap by some (Tony's) standards, but sometimes seeing how much more everything cost now made him feel more out of place than even the aliens.
"What's the damage?"
Natasha had mostly broken him of the idea that it was a man's responsibility to pay, at least as long as the woman he was with could afford it, but he said, "Since you're new to the city, at least let me buy your post-fight pancakes."
"Oh," she said, with a pleased look on her face. "You don't have to."
"I'd like to, if it's all right with you."
"Since you ask so nicely," she said with a grin, which he returned after breathing a soft sigh of relief that she wasn't offended. "Thank you."
"Can I walk you home?" he asked once they were outside again. It was late and the streets were deserted. "I'm sure you can take care of yourself," he continued when she gave him a surprised look. "But I've enjoyed our conversation so much I don't want it to end."
She tilted her head, looked up at him, and smiled. "I'm right up the street at the Millennium," she said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow again. It had been a really long time since a woman had done that, and Steve took a shaky breath through the sudden odd tightness in his throat, and walked her the few blocks to her hotel.
Once they were inside the lobby, with its giant chandeliers and fancy carpeting, he felt self-conscious in his sweats, but Buffy didn't seem to notice or care.
"Thank you," she said when they reached the bank of elevators. "Not many people would have stopped to help, let alone bought me dinner and walked me home afterwards." She went up on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Have a good night, Steve."
"You, too." He waited until the elevator doors closed and then pressed his fingers to his lips, which still tingled from her brief kiss.
He was distracted the whole way home.
*
He was distracted most of the next day, as well. Steve knew he could call the hotel and ask to speak with her, but each time he turned on his phone, he turned it off again with a sigh. He told himself he didn't know the number, but he was perfectly capable of Googling it, or asking Jarvis, but he didn't. She hadn't asked him to call her or given him her phone number or any other signal that she wanted to see him again, and he didn't want to be what Darcy called a creeper. She had kissed him, but it had been no more than friendly, as much as he'd have liked it to be more.
Still, that night he ran through the Financial District again. All he saw was people out walking their dogs and putting out their garbage and going about their business. No sign of vampires or Buffy. He didn't even have any muggings to distract him, though he supposed that was a good thing. He wouldn't have minded taking some of his distraction out on bad guys, though.
The next night, he had dinner with Tony, Pepper, and Bruce, and then he and Bruce watched the baseball game on the big television Tony'd had installed in the living room where the team gathered when they were all in the city at the same time. If Bruce noticed his distraction, he didn't say anything, and he just smiled when Steve said he was going out for his nightly run.
He changed into his sweats and headed north on Park. It was a Thursday, and people were out in force, enjoying the summer night, so he didn't turn west until he hit 56th Street. West of Ninth Avenue, the streets were less crowded, and he headed down Eleventh towards Chelsea Piers.
He stopped a purse snatching at 48th Street and helped a guy change a tire at 33rd Street, and in front of the open air parking lot on 21st, he hit pay dirt. Under the dim glow of the streetlights, Buffy was fighting a pair of vampires, and there was a third coming up behind her.
Steve yelled, "On your six," and threw a trashcan lid at him. It didn't have the heft or edge that the shield did, but it still hit the guy in the head and gave Buffy time to twirl and stake him.
"Fancy meeting you here," she said when she was done with the other two. "Out for another evening run?"
"Yeah," he said. He brushed his sweaty hair off his forehead. "I was hoping I'd run into you again."
"You know, they have this thing called the phone." She pulled hers out of her pocket.
"I know. I'm just not very good at the whole--phone thing."
"Okay." She sounded amused instead of annoyed, which he was going to count as a plus. "Thanks for the heads up."
"No problem. Happy to help." He offered his arm and she took it. "There's an all-night diner on Ninth, if you're hungry."
"Yeah," she said. "I think I am."
This time, she ordered an ice cream sundae and Steve had a gyro. One of the things he liked best about the future was all the different kinds of food that were readily available for what were, he supposed, fairly reasonable prices. He just hoped he didn't end up wearing half of it on his t-shirt. He also wished he were wearing something nicer than his running clothes. Buffy didn't seem to notice, and he wasn't sure if that was because she didn't care or because she wasn't interested. He still wasn't used to the casualness of everyday clothes, though it was better than having to wear a suit and tie all the time. And a hat. He'd never looked as good in a hat as Bucky had.
"That was a cool move with the trash can," she said after she'd eaten the first few spoonfuls of her ice cream in pleased silence.
"Thanks."
"You must be killer at Frisbee huh?"
"I guess. I've never really played."
"Oh."
"Yeah." There was another awkward silence, and Steve wanted to kick himself. "You know how I said I'm not very good at the phone thing?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not really good at the talking to pretty da--ladies thing, either."
"That's okay. I'm used to the broody, silent type, and I think we already established that I could talk enough for both of us, and I would, too, except this ice cream is really great." She took another mouthful of ice cream and licked the spoon clean. Her tongue was very pink as it wrapped around the spoon and Steve was transfixed for a moment, his fingers itching for his pastels and other parts of him showing less respectable interest. He was startled out of it when she said, "Do you want any?"
He cleared his throat, feeling himself flush at being caught staring. "No, thank you." And then what she'd said penetrated. "I don't think I'm broody. I don't mean to be, anyway."
"No?"
"No. I was thinking about drawing you. And I like hearing you talk."
"You'll probably be sorry you said that ten minutes from now."
He laughed softly. "I doubt it. You said you'd been in Europe recently?"
"Yeah. Rome, mostly, with some side trips to other places. Have you been?"
"Not lately. And I didn't get to see much while I was there." He took a sip of his coffee. "I always wanted to go to the Louvre, though. And the Uffizi."
"And you said you wanted to draw me. So you're an artist."
He shrugged diffidently, never confident enough in his skills to claim that title for himself. "I wouldn't say that, but I studied art for two years. Did a little work as an illustrator before I--" He stopped. SHIELD hadn't really been enthused about his identity becoming public, and though he didn't deny it if someone recognized him from the footage after the Battle of New York, he also hadn't gone out of his way to tell anyone. It changed the way they acted; it always had, and it was one of the few drawbacks he'd experienced since Dr. Erskine had turned his whole life upside down.
"Before you joined the army?"
"What makes you say that?" He didn't mean to sound defensive, but he couldn't help it.
She shrugged a shoulder and took another sip of her water. "One of my exes was an army guy. You remind me of him a little."
"Oh." Steve breathed out slowly; he was glad it wasn't because she'd recognized him, but on the other hand, it might not be a good thing to remind her of an old boyfriend. (He wondered if that made him a hypocrite, because while Buffy was nothing like Peggy, there were similarities he couldn't help but be attracted to.) "I hope not in a bad way."
"No." Buffy shook her head and waved her spoon at him. "Just that whole clean-cut, square-jawed hero thing."
"You're the one who's been doing all the heroics since we met."
She grinned sharply and rattled the ice in her glass with her straw. "Does that bother you?"
"No," he answered without hesitation. "I like it. The woman I--I was in love with, she was one of the most courageous people I've ever known." Losing Peggy, and the life he'd hoped for with her after the war, still ached, but he'd begun to live in the future, begun to hope that it held something good for him, even if it wasn't what he'd ever expected. He thought a little more about Buffy's question, the edge in her voice when she asked it. "Did it bother him?"
"More than either of us liked, yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago. Water under the bridge and all that."
"Yeah." He nodded, annoyed with himself for bringing the conversation to a screeching halt again. "Anyway, tell me about Rome. That's one place I never managed to get to."
She accepted the change in subject gracefully. She didn't know much about art, but she was a sharp observer of people, and she also had some funny stories about vampires that were probably not as amusing to live through as they were to hear. He hadn't been lying when he said he enjoyed listening to her--she was witty and smart and he just wanted to bask in her attention for as long as she'd let him.
When the check came, she insisted on paying. "You got it last time," she said. "It's only fair."
There wasn't much he could say to that. He knew he couldn't offer to walk her back to her hotel, so he hailed her a cab, but not before she put her number into his phone. "If you don't like to talk, we can text. Either way works for me."
"Okay," he said. "I will."
The walk back to the tower went quickly because he was wrapped up in trying to compose a text that didn't sound awkward or boring. When that didn't work, he sent one that said, Thank you for the gyro. I really enjoyed our conversation. After he sent it, he spent the next forty-five minutes wishing he could take it back, right up until his phone buzzed with a reply that said, Me, too.
He wrote back, Have a good night and received a smiley face in response. It might not have been the most scintillating conversation he'd ever had, but at least it was a start.
He spent the rest of the night trying to capture the quirk of Buffy's mouth, the slope and angles of her nose, and the blue-green spark of her eyes before he fell asleep, fingers still faintly smudged with color.
*
On Sunday night, Steve didn't intend to run through lower Manhattan again, but when he found himself on the Brooklyn Bridge, he didn't turn around, either. He made a loop down to the Seaport and was on his way back towards Broadway when he passed a couple of men hassling a young lady.
He held the door to the bar open for her and then turned back and glared at the men, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't know where you went to school, fellas, but you should have learned by now that when a lady says no, she means no." He waited for a moment, giving them a chance to apologize or run, but secretly he hoped they wanted a fight, because his usual sparring partners were out of the country and he had a lot of pent-up frustration that needed venting. As if in answer to his wish, one of them took a swing at him. He ducked it easily and shook his head in mock sadness. "I guess it's up to me to teach you a lesson."
They didn't have much finesse as fighters, but they didn't need it. They were stronger than he expected, strong enough to give him a fight, and they just didn't stay down. He had his suspicions even before one of them growled and showed fangs, and he looked around for something he could use as a stake even as he swept the legs out from under the other one.
"Having fun?" Buffy stood under a streetlight a few feet away, her hands clasped behind her. He really hoped she had a stake.
Steve grinned and threw another punch. "Yeah, it's been swell, but I'd like to end it now. Can you help with that?"
"I think I can." She tossed him a stake, which smacked into his palm like it belonged there. He turned in the same motion and used it on the first vampire.
It was harder than he expected to find the heart and force the stake in while both he and his target were moving, and he took another punch from the second vampire while he was pulling the stake back from the first, not sure if it would explode into dust if he didn't. He had to exchange another round of punches with the second vampire before he could get close enough to drive the stake home, and the dust stuck to his sweaty skin when he was finished. He made a disgusted noise and wiped it off on his T-shirt. When he smoothed his shirt back down and looked up, Buffy was giving him a frank appraisal that made him flush.
And then her expression turned from impressed to annoyed, and she nodded her chin at the SHIELD logo on his sleeve. "You work for SHIELD?"
"Yes." He blinked. "Do you work for SHIELD?"
"I consult on a certain type of problem." She gestured towards the scattering of dust on the street.
He nodded; after all, he'd wondered from the moment they met. "Do you have backup?"
"We split up, but they're supposed to meet me on the corner of Fulton and Broadway. We should get back to them. Who knows what kind of trouble they'll get into without supervision? It's vamps' night out around here lately and they're still newbies."
Steve followed her up Fulton Street and pretended he wasn't blushing when she looked back over her shoulder and said, "Enjoying the view?"
He made a strangled noise and kept his eyes on her ponytail, which bounced cheerfully as she walked.
The four women standing outside St. Paul's were all wearing civilian clothes, but they stood like trained agents and Steve could tell they were armed.
"I don't think anyone's climbing out of those graves tonight since they're, like, from the Revolution, but good job," Buffy said.
Steve couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.
The agents all turned and then straightened when they saw Steve. "Captain Rogers," said one of them.
"Agent Quinones," he said, nodding in greeting. It took him a second to dig up the others' names, but he managed. "Liu, Fallon, Dolinski."
"Captain," Dolinski said. He shifted uncomfortably at the tinge of awe in her tone.
"Why don't you come uptown, Captain, and someone can explain to me why you were following us," Buffy said. The edge in her voice made him want to wince but he didn't.
"I wasn't following you," he answered. "I was just out for a run."
"I thought you lived in Brooklyn."
"I do."
"But you were just in the neighborhood." Her skepticism was palpable. "For the third time."
Steve sighed. "You don't believe me."
"I really don't. But that's okay. I'm sure we'll get it all straightened out back at the SHIELD office. We can do trust falls and braid each other's hair, and you can tell me why SHIELD has assigned me a secret babysitter."
"I'm not a babysitter. SHIELD has nothing to do with this." If they'd been alone, he would have said he was interested in her, not what she was doing for SHIELD. (He would have tried, anyway.) But they weren't alone, and while Steve knew the agents vaguely from various briefings, he didn't want to air personal business in front of them.
"Uh huh." She tapped the passenger side door of an SUV parked on Broadway, right underneath the No Parking Any Time sign. It looked like it had simply come to a stop and been left there rather than intentionally parked. It took up enough space for at least two cars. "This is us."
Fallon hopped into the driver's seat.
"I wanted to drive," Buffy said with a small pout. "I drove on the way over."
"You're a terrible driver," Quinones said.
Buffy shrugged. She didn't seem offended. "That means I fit right in here."
"I call shotgun," Liu said.
The agents all looked at each other and then at Steve, and it was his turn to shrug in resignation. "I guess you're gonna make me sit in the middle."
Fallon muttered something Steve didn't catch, but it made Buffy laugh and say, "You could let me drive."
Fallon looked like she was considering it for a moment before she shook her head. "I'll probably kick myself later, but no."
"That's what I thought." Buffy's grin was wide and bright. "I'll sit on Steve's lap."
"I don't think that's safe," he protested.
"It'll be fine. I'm pretty sturdy and Fallon is a great driver." She gave him a little shove and it rocked him back on his heels, reminding him that she was stronger than she looked. It was probably wrong to be excited by that, but he was. "Get in the car."
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."
He climbed into the backseat and slid into the center when Quinones pushed Dolinski in behind him before circling around to the driver's side and settling in next to him. Buffy crawled into his lap and buckled his seatbelt for him. He felt his face heat when her fingers brushed across his belly and it didn't subside when she took his hands and wrapped them around her waist. She wriggled a little to get comfortable and Steve bit his lip to hold back the profanity he wouldn't use in mixed company, despite being told repeatedly that it was acceptable nowadays.
"All right," Buffy said, "let's go."
The women were having a conversation about something that might have been related to the vampires, but Steve spent the ride praying Buffy couldn't feel his reaction to her. She smelled nice, like baby powder and sweat, and for all that she could throw a punch that could probably knock him down, she felt light and delicate in his arms. Her shirt rode up when they hit a bump and his thumb brushed the warm skin of her belly. They both froze for a moment, and Steve felt a small surge of satisfaction that she seemed as affected by their proximity as he was, even if she hid it better.
They all piled out of the SUV (neatly parked between the lines in SHIELD's underground garage), but Fallon waited for Steve to swipe his badge at the elevator instead of doing it herself. He waved to Gaspar, the guard on duty at the moment, and the elevator doors slid open silently. The button for the thirty-second floor was already lit.
Maria Hill greeted them when the doors opened again. "Captain, I wasn't aware you were involved in this operation."
"I'm not," he said. "I ran into Buffy on William Street a few days ago. I thought she was a civilian being mugged."
"But I'm not, and I wasn't," Buffy interjected. "But he was totally going to do the hero thing if I was." She smiled up at him, the kind of smile that made him a little nervous. "Which is kind of sweet, actually, if totally unnecessary. And then he bought me dinner."
"It seemed like the right thing to do," he said, surreptitiously wiping sweaty palms on his thighs.
"And then we ran into each other again on Thursday night," Buffy said. "I admit, it seemed a little odd, but he's cute and he knows where all the twenty-four hour diners are, so I didn't question it. Until I ran into him again tonight."
Hill hummed skeptically and turned to Steve. "And what were you doing down by the Seaport at this hour, Captain?"
"I was on my evening run, ma'am."
"I see." She led them into a conference room and let them all file in before she closed the door and took a seat at the head of the table. "I thought we discussed your extracurricular activities and agreed that you would refrain from--"
"Helping out people who need it?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and meeting her gaze.
Hill huffed and pursed her lips. Steve knew that she and Tony didn't get along, but Clint and Natasha respected her, and she'd always struck Steve as a consummate professional with a sharp bullshit detector and a good sense of humor. Of course, he wasn't usually the one who got the sharp edge of her tongue when things went weird, as they so often did these days.
"You interrupted a training mission," Hill said. "Ms. Summers is only going to be with us for a short while, and your intervention tonight took away valuable training time for other agents. I know you understand how vital it is that they be trained to face a variety of threats, especially since neither you nor Ms. Summers will be around to intervene every time those threats occur."
"Yes, ma'am." He looked down at his hands for a moment and attempted to appear suitably chastened; it was a skill he'd perfected on the nuns at the orphanage and it even seemed to work on Hill most of the time. "Though I think my team also needs to be informed about these threats and trained in how to deal with them." He thought Clint and Natasha might already know, but could only imagine how Tony would take it. He wondered if there were vampires in Asgard.
"And when Agent Coulson returns, you can ask him about that, but he's not here now, and this is my operation. I'd prefer not to have to deal with your fans in addition to the," her lips twisted, like she'd sucked a lemon, "vampires."
"And also demons and zombies and things that go bump in the night," Buffy said cheerfully, as if she knew how much the existence of the supernatural annoyed Hill. "Though luckily it's only been vampires so far this time around. We split up into teams tonight and everybody got their slayage on. Brenda could use a little work on her one-liners, but they all did fine." She jerked her thumb in Steve's direction. "Even the captain here took out two."
He smiled at her, letting his admiration show. "Only because you showed me how."
"You, out," Hill said to him, jerking her thumb at the door. "You can flirt on your own time. Agents, your reports should be on my desk before you leave tonight. Ms. Summers, we'll speak again tomorrow." She stood, and they all stood with her.
Steve said, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am." He looked at Buffy. "There's a gym downstairs, if you want to take a swing at me."
Buffy studied him for a long moment, long enough that he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Then she said, "Sounds good to me."
"Try not to do any permanent damage," Hill said to her, brushing past them and herding the other agents out of the room. "He's kind of a national treasure."
Buffy's gaze cut to Hill and then back to Steve, and he could see the moment the penny dropped. "Oh my God. You're Captain America?"
He shrugged and gave her a little half-grin. "My friends call me Steve."
"Well, Steve, let's get on with the ass-kicking. I'll try not to hurt you too much."
"I appreciate that," he said wryly, holding the door open for her.
*
Sparring with Buffy was amazing. Steve trained regularly with Natasha, and while Natasha could beat him sometimes with her speed and agility and an almost preternatural ability to anticipate his punches (she was still trying to break him of some of his more obvious tells), he always held back, just a little bit--not enough for her to notice, because that would make her angry and her anger was fearsome, but enough that he wouldn't accidentally hurt her when they were working out. With Thor, he was able to fight full throttle, but Thor wasn't around as much, and so he'd gotten used to having to calibrate how much force he could use, and sometimes it made him a hair slower than he could be.
So it was a pleasure to realize, after the first exchange of punches, that Buffy could more than hold her own, that her small fist could snap his head back, and that while he was recovering from that, she could sweep his legs out from under him and cartwheel over his supine form, ready to jump away from his counterattack.
He didn't know how long they fought; she kept up a steady stream of chatter that he paid little attention to, recognizing it as an attempt to distract him. He was distracted enough by the scent of her hair, the soft give her of her skin over hard muscle when he was able to get his hands on her.
The fight ended with Buffy sprawled on his chest, both of them breathing heavily.
He smiled up at her. "That was bracing."
"Most guys can't keep up."
"I bet." He laughed softly and reached up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear and then, when she didn't move away, he ran his thumb over the arch of her cheek. He still wanted to draw her, wanted to capture her every angle and side, but he wanted to learn the curves and contours of her by feel first.
"I'm glad you can." She licked her lips, and he found himself mesmerized by the pink bow of her mouth for a moment.
He cupped her cheek and, when she didn't pull away, drew her down into a kiss, sighing gratefully into her mouth when she opened to him. He kissed her gently, reverently, slowly, and thoroughly, learning what made her gasp and moan low in her throat. The sound made his groin tighten, and heat blossom under his skin. He skimmed his hands down her back, feeling the delicate jut of her shoulder blades, the fragile bones of her spine, the firm swell of her behind. He didn't want to presume, but he also didn't want to stop touching her, not for a long time, not as long as she'd let him.
Buffy's cheeks were flushed when she eased back, and her smile was somehow both pleased and wicked. "Come on," she teased, bringing his hand up to cup her breast and arching into the touch when he palmed it. "You don't have to go easy on me. I'm not gonna break." Her voice was throaty, breathless.
"Yeah?" he asked, rolling them over without warning and settling between her parted thighs.
Steve couldn't stop his hips from jerking against her, and the tops of his ears and back of his neck burned in chagrin. But she just laughed and rubbed up against him, the heat of her warming him even through their clothes and the friction lighting fires in his veins.
"Yeah." She tipped her face up and he kissed her again, deep and wet, the touch of her tongue against his sending jolts of pleasure through him. She hummed with approval when he kissed his way down her throat and pushed aside her loose tank top and the lacy edge of her bra so he could lick at the curve of her breast. He could taste the salt of her sweat and a hint of coconut lotion.
She slipped her hands up under his shirt to skate her nails down his back and while he was distracted, she managed to roll them so she was on top again. He gasped and let out a low moan, not used to being manhandled and enjoying the experience.
She sat up, straddling his hips, and rucked his shirt up so she could run her hands over his chest. He tore the shirt off over his head and tossed it aside, then curled his fingers over her hips and held on, waiting to see what she'd do next. She leaned in and kissed him, her hands skimming over his ribs and chest, and then she thumbed his peaked nipples. He shivered and sucked in a shaky breath at the touch.
Her smiled widened. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
Steve grinned up at her, happy to go along for the ride.
end
~*~
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~*~
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Avengers (2012)/Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Steve/Buffy; pg; 7,065 words
The girl was stronger than she looked, stronger than Steve would have thought possible if he hadn't been who he was, hadn't seen what he'd seen.
Title from Eminem. No Buffy comics canon involved. Thanks to
snacky for all her help with brainstorming and handholding.
~*~
Kicking ass in the morning, taking names in the evening
Steve was at loose ends after he came back from his road trip. He'd decided to see some of the world he'd helped save, and look up the few people he'd known in the war who were still alive, but that only took a couple of weeks, and then he was back in Brooklyn, with no real direction or purpose. He worked out with Clint and Natasha, did some training with SHIELD agents, and some volunteer work with the clean-up and rebuilding efforts around the city, but it never felt like enough. He was still left with time on his hands, time he didn't want to spend thinking about all the time he'd lost.
He ran every morning, because he liked the feel of the neighborhood as it was just waking up, the sun peeking over the horizon and the day fresh and new, and because he liked being able to run, even after all these years, without wheezing or developing a stitch in his side after one block.
It was a nice way to start the day, but it didn't help with the itchiness under his skin, the need to be doing something useful that had set him on the path to becoming Captain America in the first place. Missions for SHIELD were few and far between, and all the volunteer work in the world--as necessary as it was--didn't help. He'd been made for more than this, Peggy had once told him, and he wanted to live up to that expectation.
There were a lot of hours in the day, and even the art and history lessons to catch him up on everything he'd missed didn't fill them all, and didn't wear him out enough to sleep. He added a nighttime run to his daily routine, and it took him all over the city, through neighborhoods that didn't look like they'd changed all that much from his day to places that were in a constant state of construction, the new replacing the old the way it always had in New York, even if he'd never paid attention before. At first it was just a way to wind down, a way to get rid of that ants-in-his-pants feeling that he wasn't doing enough, but it ended up being so much more than that.
He never really thought about it as a patrol, but after breaking up a couple of fights and stopping a few muggings, he felt like he'd finally found a purpose, one that didn't require a shield or a gun, or even a uniform (Fury had nixed his plan to join the NYPD), but let him help people, just the same.
One night, he was jogging past a narrow, cobblestoned street in the warrens that made up the Financial District, streets that had been built when the Dutch colonized the island, and which were now mostly residential after years of housing nothing but finance and law firms.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blonde hair and the low growl of a threat, and he didn't even have to think twice. For too many years, he'd been the one getting beat up in alleys, and his whole purpose in letting Dr. Erskine experiment on him had been to keep it from happening to anyone ever again, if he could stop it.
There was something wrong with the bullies' faces--there were three, they were at least twice her size, and they looked like something out of a movie with their leather jackets and slicked back hair--but the girl (and that made it even worse, because he knew the threats women faced in these situations always had an extra dimension that even he, at his weakest and smallest, had rarely dealt with) didn't seem fazed, even when she hit the cobblestones hard. She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with one hand and pushed herself up to her knees even as Steve wanted to tell her to stay down, to let him handle it.
And then she exploded out of her crouch in a flurry of punches and kicks that were almost too quick from him to follow. Still, Steve couldn't let her fight alone. He ducked in under the third mugger's wild swing with a punch that should have put him down for the count, but the guy shook it off and grinned, showing teeth that had been filed down into fangs.
Steve was never going to get used to some of the weird fashion trends in the future.
The girl was stronger than she looked, stronger than he would have thought possible if he hadn't been who he was, hadn't seen what he'd seen. Still, Steve wanted to end the fight as quickly as possible, before she really got hurt. He was about to say so when from inside the sleeve of her leather jacket, she produced something that looked like a wooden stake and stabbed her three attackers, one after another. They each exploded into a cloud of dust that Steve tried really hard not to breathe in.
She turned back to him, the tip of the stake pointed right at his heart and a hard, bright smile on her face. "You're a pretty one, aren't you?" she said. "What's your deal?"
"I'm Steve," he said, caught off guard, even though he was ninety pounds heavier and nearly a foot taller than she was. He held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender and returned her smile ruefully. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to explode into a pile of dust like whatever those guys were, but I'd really prefer not to find out."
She brought up her other hand, and he braced, because he'd just seen her punches knock over guys as big as he was, but she laid the flat of her palm over his heart, which sped up noticeably at the touch, the heat of it palpable through his sweaty t-shirt.
"No, I guess you're not," she said still smiling as she lowered her weapon. "Steve, huh? I'm Buffy." At first he thought he'd misheard and was about to say that wasn't funny, but then she said, "Buffy Summers."
"Hi," he said. "You're really strong, huh?"
Her smile turned into a laugh that made him smile in return. "I'm glad you were paying attention."
"It'd be hard not to," he answered. "You're really something else."
"You sure know how to flatter a girl," she said. He looked down at the toes of his sneakers, feeling the blush climb the back of his neck and trying to think of something to say. Unsurprisingly, he didn't think fast enough. "We should probably get out of here, in case those guys had friends." She slid the stake back into her sleeve and tucked a hand through the crook of his elbow. "I'm new in town. You know a place we could get something to eat?"
"Something to eat?" he echoed, still trying to catch up.
"I'm always hungry and--well, I'm always hungry after a fight." She cocked her head and looked up at him curiously. "Aren't you?"
He laughed softly. "I could eat."
"Okay, then."
He walked her up to the all-night coffee shop on John Street and they slid into a tiny booth where his knees bumped against hers and she laughed when he tried to apologize.
The waitress took their order and placed a couple of glasses of water on the table. Steve drank gratefully, surreptitiously watching Buffy do the same. She was older than he'd thought, at least as old as he was--well, without the time in the ice--so at least he wasn't contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He could just imagine what the others would say about that.
"Listen," she said, setting her glass down and running her fingers through the ring of condensation on the table, "you can't tell anyone about what you saw tonight."
"That's okay," he answered, "since I don't know what I saw tonight, except a very strong young lady winning a fight against some thugs." He wondered if she worked for SHIELD or some other agency, but since he didn't really want to reveal that he did, he didn't ask.
She reached out and touched his wrist, her fingers cool and wet against his skin. "What would you say if I told you vampires are real and it's my job to kill them?"
Steve thought about the Red Skull, about Thor and Loki and the Chitauri, and his own unbelievable history, and said, "Okay. Given some of the things I've seen lately, I could believe that."
"Yeah, even I was surprised by the whole aliens thing, and I've been a slayer since I was sixteen."
Before he could ask what that meant, the waitress came back and placed their plates in front of them--he'd ordered the reuben and Buffy was having pancakes--and Buffy reached out and stole a couple of his fries.
"Hey!"
She looked so genuinely gleeful munching on them that he couldn't really be upset. And anyway, it was the sort of thing he'd always imagined would happen on a date. Not that they were on a date. He shook his head and reminded himself of that.
"So were you here for that?" she asked when she was done chewing.
"The alien invasion?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
She nodded. "You look like a cop or a fireman." She cocked her head and considered him. "Definitely a fireman."
"Really?"
"'Cause you're so hot." She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oops, did I say that out loud?" They both laughed, even though Steve could feel himself blushing again. "Are you from here?" she asked when the laughter had subsided.
"Brooklyn-born and bred. You said you were new to the city?"
"I grew up in California and have spent the last few years in Europe. But my sister just got a job at Columbia, so I decided to visit, and take care of some business while I was here."
"She's a teacher?"
Buffy's face lit up. "Yeah. Well, visiting scholar. She studies ancient civilizations and languages. I don't get most of it, but she's an expert." She took a bite of her pancakes. "You have any brothers or sisters?"
"No," he said, his throat suddenly tight. He was used to his grief now; it didn't ache in his chest all the time, but it still occasionally caught him by surprise. "Not anymore."
She touched his wrist again. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks. It was a while ago, but..."
"It never goes away completely." Her eyes were sad and knowing.
"No," he said. "I guess it doesn't." They ate in silence for a few minutes, but when Steve was done with his sandwich and his fries, he said, "So, a stake to the heart really will kill a vampire?"
Buffy nodded and gulped down some more water. "Stake to the heart, decapitation--which is messy but effective--sunlight, fire. All the famous tricks."
"Huh."
"Yeah. Who'd've thought the movies would get it so right?"
"But there's no sparkling, right?"
She started laughing again, loud and carefree, and Steve found himself laughing with her. "No. No sparkling. Though they do occasionally hang out in high schools. If that high school is on a hellmouth."
"A hellmouth?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
"Huh." If that was true, he was going to have to figure out how to fit that into a universe with Norse gods and aliens.
"Yeah."
He leaned back, the vinyl of the booth creaking beneath him, and said, "You know, sometimes I still have a hard time getting my head around, well, everything."
"Yeah, I know how that goes. But you did pretty well tonight against the vamps."
"I grew up fighting bullies in alleys like that," he said. "I've been fighting a long time."
"Yeah," she said softly. "Me, too."
They were silent for a long moment, and Steve could feel the awkwardness building up inside, ready to burst out if he spoke again, but Buffy broke the silence before he could put his foot in his mouth.
"So, you're a fan of sparkly vampires? Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob?"
He laughed and some of his anxiety drained away.
The waitress stopped by with the check and Steve braced himself before picking it up. He knew the prices were reasonable--even cheap by some (Tony's) standards, but sometimes seeing how much more everything cost now made him feel more out of place than even the aliens.
"What's the damage?"
Natasha had mostly broken him of the idea that it was a man's responsibility to pay, at least as long as the woman he was with could afford it, but he said, "Since you're new to the city, at least let me buy your post-fight pancakes."
"Oh," she said, with a pleased look on her face. "You don't have to."
"I'd like to, if it's all right with you."
"Since you ask so nicely," she said with a grin, which he returned after breathing a soft sigh of relief that she wasn't offended. "Thank you."
"Can I walk you home?" he asked once they were outside again. It was late and the streets were deserted. "I'm sure you can take care of yourself," he continued when she gave him a surprised look. "But I've enjoyed our conversation so much I don't want it to end."
She tilted her head, looked up at him, and smiled. "I'm right up the street at the Millennium," she said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow again. It had been a really long time since a woman had done that, and Steve took a shaky breath through the sudden odd tightness in his throat, and walked her the few blocks to her hotel.
Once they were inside the lobby, with its giant chandeliers and fancy carpeting, he felt self-conscious in his sweats, but Buffy didn't seem to notice or care.
"Thank you," she said when they reached the bank of elevators. "Not many people would have stopped to help, let alone bought me dinner and walked me home afterwards." She went up on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Have a good night, Steve."
"You, too." He waited until the elevator doors closed and then pressed his fingers to his lips, which still tingled from her brief kiss.
He was distracted the whole way home.
*
He was distracted most of the next day, as well. Steve knew he could call the hotel and ask to speak with her, but each time he turned on his phone, he turned it off again with a sigh. He told himself he didn't know the number, but he was perfectly capable of Googling it, or asking Jarvis, but he didn't. She hadn't asked him to call her or given him her phone number or any other signal that she wanted to see him again, and he didn't want to be what Darcy called a creeper. She had kissed him, but it had been no more than friendly, as much as he'd have liked it to be more.
Still, that night he ran through the Financial District again. All he saw was people out walking their dogs and putting out their garbage and going about their business. No sign of vampires or Buffy. He didn't even have any muggings to distract him, though he supposed that was a good thing. He wouldn't have minded taking some of his distraction out on bad guys, though.
The next night, he had dinner with Tony, Pepper, and Bruce, and then he and Bruce watched the baseball game on the big television Tony'd had installed in the living room where the team gathered when they were all in the city at the same time. If Bruce noticed his distraction, he didn't say anything, and he just smiled when Steve said he was going out for his nightly run.
He changed into his sweats and headed north on Park. It was a Thursday, and people were out in force, enjoying the summer night, so he didn't turn west until he hit 56th Street. West of Ninth Avenue, the streets were less crowded, and he headed down Eleventh towards Chelsea Piers.
He stopped a purse snatching at 48th Street and helped a guy change a tire at 33rd Street, and in front of the open air parking lot on 21st, he hit pay dirt. Under the dim glow of the streetlights, Buffy was fighting a pair of vampires, and there was a third coming up behind her.
Steve yelled, "On your six," and threw a trashcan lid at him. It didn't have the heft or edge that the shield did, but it still hit the guy in the head and gave Buffy time to twirl and stake him.
"Fancy meeting you here," she said when she was done with the other two. "Out for another evening run?"
"Yeah," he said. He brushed his sweaty hair off his forehead. "I was hoping I'd run into you again."
"You know, they have this thing called the phone." She pulled hers out of her pocket.
"I know. I'm just not very good at the whole--phone thing."
"Okay." She sounded amused instead of annoyed, which he was going to count as a plus. "Thanks for the heads up."
"No problem. Happy to help." He offered his arm and she took it. "There's an all-night diner on Ninth, if you're hungry."
"Yeah," she said. "I think I am."
This time, she ordered an ice cream sundae and Steve had a gyro. One of the things he liked best about the future was all the different kinds of food that were readily available for what were, he supposed, fairly reasonable prices. He just hoped he didn't end up wearing half of it on his t-shirt. He also wished he were wearing something nicer than his running clothes. Buffy didn't seem to notice, and he wasn't sure if that was because she didn't care or because she wasn't interested. He still wasn't used to the casualness of everyday clothes, though it was better than having to wear a suit and tie all the time. And a hat. He'd never looked as good in a hat as Bucky had.
"That was a cool move with the trash can," she said after she'd eaten the first few spoonfuls of her ice cream in pleased silence.
"Thanks."
"You must be killer at Frisbee huh?"
"I guess. I've never really played."
"Oh."
"Yeah." There was another awkward silence, and Steve wanted to kick himself. "You know how I said I'm not very good at the phone thing?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not really good at the talking to pretty da--ladies thing, either."
"That's okay. I'm used to the broody, silent type, and I think we already established that I could talk enough for both of us, and I would, too, except this ice cream is really great." She took another mouthful of ice cream and licked the spoon clean. Her tongue was very pink as it wrapped around the spoon and Steve was transfixed for a moment, his fingers itching for his pastels and other parts of him showing less respectable interest. He was startled out of it when she said, "Do you want any?"
He cleared his throat, feeling himself flush at being caught staring. "No, thank you." And then what she'd said penetrated. "I don't think I'm broody. I don't mean to be, anyway."
"No?"
"No. I was thinking about drawing you. And I like hearing you talk."
"You'll probably be sorry you said that ten minutes from now."
He laughed softly. "I doubt it. You said you'd been in Europe recently?"
"Yeah. Rome, mostly, with some side trips to other places. Have you been?"
"Not lately. And I didn't get to see much while I was there." He took a sip of his coffee. "I always wanted to go to the Louvre, though. And the Uffizi."
"And you said you wanted to draw me. So you're an artist."
He shrugged diffidently, never confident enough in his skills to claim that title for himself. "I wouldn't say that, but I studied art for two years. Did a little work as an illustrator before I--" He stopped. SHIELD hadn't really been enthused about his identity becoming public, and though he didn't deny it if someone recognized him from the footage after the Battle of New York, he also hadn't gone out of his way to tell anyone. It changed the way they acted; it always had, and it was one of the few drawbacks he'd experienced since Dr. Erskine had turned his whole life upside down.
"Before you joined the army?"
"What makes you say that?" He didn't mean to sound defensive, but he couldn't help it.
She shrugged a shoulder and took another sip of her water. "One of my exes was an army guy. You remind me of him a little."
"Oh." Steve breathed out slowly; he was glad it wasn't because she'd recognized him, but on the other hand, it might not be a good thing to remind her of an old boyfriend. (He wondered if that made him a hypocrite, because while Buffy was nothing like Peggy, there were similarities he couldn't help but be attracted to.) "I hope not in a bad way."
"No." Buffy shook her head and waved her spoon at him. "Just that whole clean-cut, square-jawed hero thing."
"You're the one who's been doing all the heroics since we met."
She grinned sharply and rattled the ice in her glass with her straw. "Does that bother you?"
"No," he answered without hesitation. "I like it. The woman I--I was in love with, she was one of the most courageous people I've ever known." Losing Peggy, and the life he'd hoped for with her after the war, still ached, but he'd begun to live in the future, begun to hope that it held something good for him, even if it wasn't what he'd ever expected. He thought a little more about Buffy's question, the edge in her voice when she asked it. "Did it bother him?"
"More than either of us liked, yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago. Water under the bridge and all that."
"Yeah." He nodded, annoyed with himself for bringing the conversation to a screeching halt again. "Anyway, tell me about Rome. That's one place I never managed to get to."
She accepted the change in subject gracefully. She didn't know much about art, but she was a sharp observer of people, and she also had some funny stories about vampires that were probably not as amusing to live through as they were to hear. He hadn't been lying when he said he enjoyed listening to her--she was witty and smart and he just wanted to bask in her attention for as long as she'd let him.
When the check came, she insisted on paying. "You got it last time," she said. "It's only fair."
There wasn't much he could say to that. He knew he couldn't offer to walk her back to her hotel, so he hailed her a cab, but not before she put her number into his phone. "If you don't like to talk, we can text. Either way works for me."
"Okay," he said. "I will."
The walk back to the tower went quickly because he was wrapped up in trying to compose a text that didn't sound awkward or boring. When that didn't work, he sent one that said, Thank you for the gyro. I really enjoyed our conversation. After he sent it, he spent the next forty-five minutes wishing he could take it back, right up until his phone buzzed with a reply that said, Me, too.
He wrote back, Have a good night and received a smiley face in response. It might not have been the most scintillating conversation he'd ever had, but at least it was a start.
He spent the rest of the night trying to capture the quirk of Buffy's mouth, the slope and angles of her nose, and the blue-green spark of her eyes before he fell asleep, fingers still faintly smudged with color.
*
On Sunday night, Steve didn't intend to run through lower Manhattan again, but when he found himself on the Brooklyn Bridge, he didn't turn around, either. He made a loop down to the Seaport and was on his way back towards Broadway when he passed a couple of men hassling a young lady.
He held the door to the bar open for her and then turned back and glared at the men, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't know where you went to school, fellas, but you should have learned by now that when a lady says no, she means no." He waited for a moment, giving them a chance to apologize or run, but secretly he hoped they wanted a fight, because his usual sparring partners were out of the country and he had a lot of pent-up frustration that needed venting. As if in answer to his wish, one of them took a swing at him. He ducked it easily and shook his head in mock sadness. "I guess it's up to me to teach you a lesson."
They didn't have much finesse as fighters, but they didn't need it. They were stronger than he expected, strong enough to give him a fight, and they just didn't stay down. He had his suspicions even before one of them growled and showed fangs, and he looked around for something he could use as a stake even as he swept the legs out from under the other one.
"Having fun?" Buffy stood under a streetlight a few feet away, her hands clasped behind her. He really hoped she had a stake.
Steve grinned and threw another punch. "Yeah, it's been swell, but I'd like to end it now. Can you help with that?"
"I think I can." She tossed him a stake, which smacked into his palm like it belonged there. He turned in the same motion and used it on the first vampire.
It was harder than he expected to find the heart and force the stake in while both he and his target were moving, and he took another punch from the second vampire while he was pulling the stake back from the first, not sure if it would explode into dust if he didn't. He had to exchange another round of punches with the second vampire before he could get close enough to drive the stake home, and the dust stuck to his sweaty skin when he was finished. He made a disgusted noise and wiped it off on his T-shirt. When he smoothed his shirt back down and looked up, Buffy was giving him a frank appraisal that made him flush.
And then her expression turned from impressed to annoyed, and she nodded her chin at the SHIELD logo on his sleeve. "You work for SHIELD?"
"Yes." He blinked. "Do you work for SHIELD?"
"I consult on a certain type of problem." She gestured towards the scattering of dust on the street.
He nodded; after all, he'd wondered from the moment they met. "Do you have backup?"
"We split up, but they're supposed to meet me on the corner of Fulton and Broadway. We should get back to them. Who knows what kind of trouble they'll get into without supervision? It's vamps' night out around here lately and they're still newbies."
Steve followed her up Fulton Street and pretended he wasn't blushing when she looked back over her shoulder and said, "Enjoying the view?"
He made a strangled noise and kept his eyes on her ponytail, which bounced cheerfully as she walked.
The four women standing outside St. Paul's were all wearing civilian clothes, but they stood like trained agents and Steve could tell they were armed.
"I don't think anyone's climbing out of those graves tonight since they're, like, from the Revolution, but good job," Buffy said.
Steve couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.
The agents all turned and then straightened when they saw Steve. "Captain Rogers," said one of them.
"Agent Quinones," he said, nodding in greeting. It took him a second to dig up the others' names, but he managed. "Liu, Fallon, Dolinski."
"Captain," Dolinski said. He shifted uncomfortably at the tinge of awe in her tone.
"Why don't you come uptown, Captain, and someone can explain to me why you were following us," Buffy said. The edge in her voice made him want to wince but he didn't.
"I wasn't following you," he answered. "I was just out for a run."
"I thought you lived in Brooklyn."
"I do."
"But you were just in the neighborhood." Her skepticism was palpable. "For the third time."
Steve sighed. "You don't believe me."
"I really don't. But that's okay. I'm sure we'll get it all straightened out back at the SHIELD office. We can do trust falls and braid each other's hair, and you can tell me why SHIELD has assigned me a secret babysitter."
"I'm not a babysitter. SHIELD has nothing to do with this." If they'd been alone, he would have said he was interested in her, not what she was doing for SHIELD. (He would have tried, anyway.) But they weren't alone, and while Steve knew the agents vaguely from various briefings, he didn't want to air personal business in front of them.
"Uh huh." She tapped the passenger side door of an SUV parked on Broadway, right underneath the No Parking Any Time sign. It looked like it had simply come to a stop and been left there rather than intentionally parked. It took up enough space for at least two cars. "This is us."
Fallon hopped into the driver's seat.
"I wanted to drive," Buffy said with a small pout. "I drove on the way over."
"You're a terrible driver," Quinones said.
Buffy shrugged. She didn't seem offended. "That means I fit right in here."
"I call shotgun," Liu said.
The agents all looked at each other and then at Steve, and it was his turn to shrug in resignation. "I guess you're gonna make me sit in the middle."
Fallon muttered something Steve didn't catch, but it made Buffy laugh and say, "You could let me drive."
Fallon looked like she was considering it for a moment before she shook her head. "I'll probably kick myself later, but no."
"That's what I thought." Buffy's grin was wide and bright. "I'll sit on Steve's lap."
"I don't think that's safe," he protested.
"It'll be fine. I'm pretty sturdy and Fallon is a great driver." She gave him a little shove and it rocked him back on his heels, reminding him that she was stronger than she looked. It was probably wrong to be excited by that, but he was. "Get in the car."
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am."
He climbed into the backseat and slid into the center when Quinones pushed Dolinski in behind him before circling around to the driver's side and settling in next to him. Buffy crawled into his lap and buckled his seatbelt for him. He felt his face heat when her fingers brushed across his belly and it didn't subside when she took his hands and wrapped them around her waist. She wriggled a little to get comfortable and Steve bit his lip to hold back the profanity he wouldn't use in mixed company, despite being told repeatedly that it was acceptable nowadays.
"All right," Buffy said, "let's go."
The women were having a conversation about something that might have been related to the vampires, but Steve spent the ride praying Buffy couldn't feel his reaction to her. She smelled nice, like baby powder and sweat, and for all that she could throw a punch that could probably knock him down, she felt light and delicate in his arms. Her shirt rode up when they hit a bump and his thumb brushed the warm skin of her belly. They both froze for a moment, and Steve felt a small surge of satisfaction that she seemed as affected by their proximity as he was, even if she hid it better.
They all piled out of the SUV (neatly parked between the lines in SHIELD's underground garage), but Fallon waited for Steve to swipe his badge at the elevator instead of doing it herself. He waved to Gaspar, the guard on duty at the moment, and the elevator doors slid open silently. The button for the thirty-second floor was already lit.
Maria Hill greeted them when the doors opened again. "Captain, I wasn't aware you were involved in this operation."
"I'm not," he said. "I ran into Buffy on William Street a few days ago. I thought she was a civilian being mugged."
"But I'm not, and I wasn't," Buffy interjected. "But he was totally going to do the hero thing if I was." She smiled up at him, the kind of smile that made him a little nervous. "Which is kind of sweet, actually, if totally unnecessary. And then he bought me dinner."
"It seemed like the right thing to do," he said, surreptitiously wiping sweaty palms on his thighs.
"And then we ran into each other again on Thursday night," Buffy said. "I admit, it seemed a little odd, but he's cute and he knows where all the twenty-four hour diners are, so I didn't question it. Until I ran into him again tonight."
Hill hummed skeptically and turned to Steve. "And what were you doing down by the Seaport at this hour, Captain?"
"I was on my evening run, ma'am."
"I see." She led them into a conference room and let them all file in before she closed the door and took a seat at the head of the table. "I thought we discussed your extracurricular activities and agreed that you would refrain from--"
"Helping out people who need it?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and meeting her gaze.
Hill huffed and pursed her lips. Steve knew that she and Tony didn't get along, but Clint and Natasha respected her, and she'd always struck Steve as a consummate professional with a sharp bullshit detector and a good sense of humor. Of course, he wasn't usually the one who got the sharp edge of her tongue when things went weird, as they so often did these days.
"You interrupted a training mission," Hill said. "Ms. Summers is only going to be with us for a short while, and your intervention tonight took away valuable training time for other agents. I know you understand how vital it is that they be trained to face a variety of threats, especially since neither you nor Ms. Summers will be around to intervene every time those threats occur."
"Yes, ma'am." He looked down at his hands for a moment and attempted to appear suitably chastened; it was a skill he'd perfected on the nuns at the orphanage and it even seemed to work on Hill most of the time. "Though I think my team also needs to be informed about these threats and trained in how to deal with them." He thought Clint and Natasha might already know, but could only imagine how Tony would take it. He wondered if there were vampires in Asgard.
"And when Agent Coulson returns, you can ask him about that, but he's not here now, and this is my operation. I'd prefer not to have to deal with your fans in addition to the," her lips twisted, like she'd sucked a lemon, "vampires."
"And also demons and zombies and things that go bump in the night," Buffy said cheerfully, as if she knew how much the existence of the supernatural annoyed Hill. "Though luckily it's only been vampires so far this time around. We split up into teams tonight and everybody got their slayage on. Brenda could use a little work on her one-liners, but they all did fine." She jerked her thumb in Steve's direction. "Even the captain here took out two."
He smiled at her, letting his admiration show. "Only because you showed me how."
"You, out," Hill said to him, jerking her thumb at the door. "You can flirt on your own time. Agents, your reports should be on my desk before you leave tonight. Ms. Summers, we'll speak again tomorrow." She stood, and they all stood with her.
Steve said, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am." He looked at Buffy. "There's a gym downstairs, if you want to take a swing at me."
Buffy studied him for a long moment, long enough that he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Then she said, "Sounds good to me."
"Try not to do any permanent damage," Hill said to her, brushing past them and herding the other agents out of the room. "He's kind of a national treasure."
Buffy's gaze cut to Hill and then back to Steve, and he could see the moment the penny dropped. "Oh my God. You're Captain America?"
He shrugged and gave her a little half-grin. "My friends call me Steve."
"Well, Steve, let's get on with the ass-kicking. I'll try not to hurt you too much."
"I appreciate that," he said wryly, holding the door open for her.
*
Sparring with Buffy was amazing. Steve trained regularly with Natasha, and while Natasha could beat him sometimes with her speed and agility and an almost preternatural ability to anticipate his punches (she was still trying to break him of some of his more obvious tells), he always held back, just a little bit--not enough for her to notice, because that would make her angry and her anger was fearsome, but enough that he wouldn't accidentally hurt her when they were working out. With Thor, he was able to fight full throttle, but Thor wasn't around as much, and so he'd gotten used to having to calibrate how much force he could use, and sometimes it made him a hair slower than he could be.
So it was a pleasure to realize, after the first exchange of punches, that Buffy could more than hold her own, that her small fist could snap his head back, and that while he was recovering from that, she could sweep his legs out from under him and cartwheel over his supine form, ready to jump away from his counterattack.
He didn't know how long they fought; she kept up a steady stream of chatter that he paid little attention to, recognizing it as an attempt to distract him. He was distracted enough by the scent of her hair, the soft give her of her skin over hard muscle when he was able to get his hands on her.
The fight ended with Buffy sprawled on his chest, both of them breathing heavily.
He smiled up at her. "That was bracing."
"Most guys can't keep up."
"I bet." He laughed softly and reached up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear and then, when she didn't move away, he ran his thumb over the arch of her cheek. He still wanted to draw her, wanted to capture her every angle and side, but he wanted to learn the curves and contours of her by feel first.
"I'm glad you can." She licked her lips, and he found himself mesmerized by the pink bow of her mouth for a moment.
He cupped her cheek and, when she didn't pull away, drew her down into a kiss, sighing gratefully into her mouth when she opened to him. He kissed her gently, reverently, slowly, and thoroughly, learning what made her gasp and moan low in her throat. The sound made his groin tighten, and heat blossom under his skin. He skimmed his hands down her back, feeling the delicate jut of her shoulder blades, the fragile bones of her spine, the firm swell of her behind. He didn't want to presume, but he also didn't want to stop touching her, not for a long time, not as long as she'd let him.
Buffy's cheeks were flushed when she eased back, and her smile was somehow both pleased and wicked. "Come on," she teased, bringing his hand up to cup her breast and arching into the touch when he palmed it. "You don't have to go easy on me. I'm not gonna break." Her voice was throaty, breathless.
"Yeah?" he asked, rolling them over without warning and settling between her parted thighs.
Steve couldn't stop his hips from jerking against her, and the tops of his ears and back of his neck burned in chagrin. But she just laughed and rubbed up against him, the heat of her warming him even through their clothes and the friction lighting fires in his veins.
"Yeah." She tipped her face up and he kissed her again, deep and wet, the touch of her tongue against his sending jolts of pleasure through him. She hummed with approval when he kissed his way down her throat and pushed aside her loose tank top and the lacy edge of her bra so he could lick at the curve of her breast. He could taste the salt of her sweat and a hint of coconut lotion.
She slipped her hands up under his shirt to skate her nails down his back and while he was distracted, she managed to roll them so she was on top again. He gasped and let out a low moan, not used to being manhandled and enjoying the experience.
She sat up, straddling his hips, and rucked his shirt up so she could run her hands over his chest. He tore the shirt off over his head and tossed it aside, then curled his fingers over her hips and held on, waiting to see what she'd do next. She leaned in and kissed him, her hands skimming over his ribs and chest, and then she thumbed his peaked nipples. He shivered and sucked in a shaky breath at the touch.
Her smiled widened. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
Steve grinned up at her, happy to go along for the ride.
end
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