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1943 JUNE 15 - STARK EXPO
The crowd is thinning after Howard Stark’s flashy fly car demonstration. Bright neon lights flashy from every structure cast onto civilians, soldiers, hopeful recruits shuffling through the promised land of the future. Stationed within the expo, without fail the United States Armed Service recruitment center.
Steve emerges with his approval slip folded carefully in his pocket, trying to carry himself taller than his frame allows. His shoulders are square, chin lifted, but there’s still that hesitant shuffle to his step. He knows that he doesn’t look the part of a soldier yet.
Leaning casually against one of the pillars, sporting a white polka dot dress in a 40s fashion. Eyes twinkling with amusement as she spots Steve, the earnest little guy with too-big eyes and too-thin frame. She pushes herself off, and stops him in his tracks.
“Well, well. Look at you. The new toy soldier fresh off the shelf.”
Steve blinks, caught off guard. A beautiful woman, too beautiful, is talking to him? He thinks. Usually, women ignored him. She looked at him patiently, a pretty smile stretching her lips.
“Uh..I–no, I mean–yes. Just got approved” Steve rambled out, flustered.
“Approved? Hm. Guess they’ll hand out uniforms to anyone these days” she teased, her eyes shamelessly looking him up and down. Steve swallows, ears burning red. He’s been teased like this before, but never by someone who looks at him like she actually sees him.
Steve steadies himself, replying with dignity, “Someone has to fight, and I want to do right by it. I want to serve properly, not just show up for the uniform”
For a moment, she studies him, and her playful grin softens, just a little. Amused at his earnestness, she doesn’t expect him to be so direct, so honest. “Careful, soldier. That kind of talk makes you sound like a hero”
Steve holds her gaze, straightens his shoulders, keeping his voice firm. “Guess we’ll see”
She steps closer, just enough that she catches the faint scent of her perfume. She laughs softly, the sound both playful and conspiratorial, like they’ve shared a private joke.
“Guess we will. So show me around, toy soldier. Let’s see what all the fuss is about” She dare him, eyes gleaming with amusement leaving him stunned. Girls don’t usually look his way. They don’t talk to him, and they definitely don’t ask him for company. His first instinct is to look around, to see if she’s talking to someone else. But she isn’t. She is looking right at him.
His hand in his pocket fumbles with his enlistment paper, eyes darting towards the crowd. Trying to seek out her friends put her up to this joke. He feels that familiar tug of insecurity, that voice in the back of his head whispering she can’t mean you. Not you.
“You don’t have to…I mean, you’ve probably got better company waiting. Wouldn’t want to keep you from…all this” Steve gestures weakly around him, at the bright bustling Expo.
He starts to step back, read to vanish into the crow like he always does, but she catches the shift instantly. She steps in, leaning in just enough to keep his attention. “Hold on, soldier. I asked you”
He stares at her, stunned. She quickly throws in, “So…where’s home, hm? You’ve got that New York look about you?”
Steve blinks. Nobody ever bothers to keep conversation with him, especially a pretty dame like herself. He shifts his weight on his feet, feeling caught in her scheme. “Brooklyn. Born and raised”
A smile stretched her lips, eyes sparking with mischief, “Brooklyn, huh? Never been. Why don’t you take me there?”
For a second, he’s sure he misheard. His chest tightens. Why would she want to go anywhere with him? He opens his mouth to protest, to tell her it’s not worth it, that he’s not worth it. His jaw tightening as if to argue, he asks her almost incredulously, “...Why would you wanna go there?”
Warmly, she catches his eyes with disarming certainty. “Because you’re from there. And because I’m not from around here. So, you’re the guide. That’s how this work”
Steve swallows hard. His instinct is to protest, but something in her tone looks like it’s already decided, makes it impossible. For the first time all night, a smile creeps onto his lips, shy but genuine. He nodded slowly, “Alright them. Brooklyn it is”
She smiles almost happily, gloating. She takes his arm, surprising him with her sudden closeness. Steve silently nods to himself, gathering himself with more confidence. He is walking through the expo with a very gorgeous dame, sure that she’s got a couple of three inches on him but nevertheless nobody would ever believe this is happening to him.
Steve guides her through the streets of Brooklyn, walking on wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. The Expo lights are far behind them. Steve has walked her into his neighborhood; narrow streets, laundry lines strung between buildings, the faint hum of sound spilling out of a corner bar. It’s quieter here, real. He stops in front of a small diner, orange lettering paint on their windows. “Best malteds in the borough, right down the block from my place” He nods towards it, with shy pride.
She quirks her brows, teasing, “Malteds? You trying to spoil me, soldier?”
Steve chuckles, a low nervous sound. He pushes the door open for her, gentlemanly, and she steps inside. The bell jingles overhead as they slide into a booth. The dinner is nearly empty at this hour, everybody in New York is currently attending the newly open expo. A tired waitress takes their order, and within minutes, a single tall glass arrives with two tracks tucked into the glass. Steve nearly knocks it over, fumbling to grab one straw, nervously avoiding eye contact as he takes a sip.
“Well..uh-what do you think?” Steve mutters, trying not to look too flustered as she slurps down the drink.
“Wow. You win, this is without a doubt, the best malted in brooklyn” She gleamed, sipping through her straw, eyes lighting up in delight.
There’s a moment of silence. She leans back, observing the little details of the old dinner; the cracked linoleum, the soft hum of the radio sharing current war details. Then, casually, as though it’s nothing, she drops it.
“You know…I’ve never been inside an apartment before” Steve almost chokes on his milkshake, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at her in disbelief.
“Never–what? You’re serious?”
She smiles coyly, knowing exactly how it sounds. “Mhm. Not once”
Steve shakes his head, a frown knitting between his brows. In his world, apartments are the backbone of city life. For her to never set foot in one–sounds unreal. The only explanation his mind can muster is…
“Must be nice. Being looked after like that. Kept out of the…rougher parts of the world” Steve spoke softly, almost to himself.
Her grin faltered for a fraction of a second. She doesn’t correct him. She tries one more time, hopefully it will land. “Why don't you let me take a look at your apartment?”
Steve coughs awkwardly, adjusts his jacket. “Well…you can, uh…see my apartment, if you want. Though…I suppose…your folks wouldn’t like that”
She tilts her head, clearly amused. Teasing, brushing the idea off with a wave of her hand. “Folk? I don’t got any. And if I did…I’m sure they’d forgive me for having a little fun”
Steve blinks, momentarily thrown. “I’m sorry for your loss. I figured–”
She interrupts gently, leaning closer, “Relax, toy soldier. I’m not bothered. I just want to see how you live. Curiosity, that’s all”
Steve exhales, slowly relaxing, and walks her down the block to his building. She follows him up the narrow staircase, every step filled with filling him with nerves and anticipation. He opens the door to his apartment, and she steps inside, looking around with curious, almost predatory interest. His place is a dim, cramped walk-up. The wallpaper is peeling. The furniture is mismatched and secondhand. The mattress tucked to a corner on the floor. Steve watches her nervously, suddenly hyperaware of how poor he is.
She glanced around, half-smiling. “So this is it? Your castle in Brooklyn?”
Steve, rubbing the back of his neck, replies sheepishly. “Something like that”
Without waiting, she drifts to the kitchenette, opening cabinets. Steve stiffens but doesn’t stop her. Empty shelves. She tugs open the fridge door: a few sad items inside, a tin of raw liver wrapped in butcher paper.
She raises a brow, making a face. “...Raw liver? Are you on some kind of secret diet?"
He avoids her gaze, stiff with a quiet beat. “Doctor’s orders. Anemia”
She doesn’t press, but her expression softens just a touch. Then, she spots a pack of cigarettes on the counter, picks them up, studying them curiously. Trying to lighten the mood, she lightly heartened scolds, “And these? You don’t look like the type to smoke”
Steve lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “They’re…medicine. For asthma”
She snorts, placing them back down. “Medicine. Right. Remind me never to let you play doctor”
For a beat, they just stand there–her with a mischievous glint, almost daring him. Him caught between mortified and charmed. Then her expression changes. Softer. She watched him with sudden seriousness, stepping closer. “Thank you…for tonight. For showing me your Brooklyn”
Steve’s breath catches. The sincerity in her voice nearly undoes him. He fumbles, awkward, trying to meet her gaze without shaking. He spoke quietly and earnest, “You don’t…have to thank me”
She smiles–not her teasing grin, but something smaller, warmer, almost disarming. For Steve, it feels impossible. A woman like her, in his crummy apartment, thanking him—”when do you ship out for your assignment?” She interrupts his train of thought, her tone shifting to something sharp and intense.
Hesitantly, a little startled, Steve replies “Reporting to duty. Tomorrow. Early morning”
Her expression changes. Those playful eyes darken, her lips curl into something slower, heavier. She steps closer, just close enough that he feels her breath, close enough that his heartbeat stuffers. He doesn’t move, either.
Her voice low with intent, “Have you ever been with a woman, Steve?”
He freezes, flush creeping up his neck. He stammers, looking away like a boy caught in something improper. “I-I’m waiting for the right one”
Her lips brush against his cheek as she leans in, teasing daring. Her whispers curl into ear like silk, she soft blows into his ear. “I can be the right one…if you want me to”
Steve goes rigid. He’s flushed scarlet, his hands twitching at his side like he doesn’t know whether to reach for her or back away. He looks at her–wide-eyed, hesitant–and she smiles, not teasing this time but intently, searching his gaze.
“...Do you want me to be the one, Steve?” His throat works around words that don’t come. He’s trembling, caught between shame and desire. He doesn't say yes, but he doesn’t say no–and that’s enough. She takes his hand, guiding him gently, purposefully towards the thin mattress against the wall. Pulling him down to sit beside her. His ears flushing red, frozen in place. He swallows hard, still trembling, unsure how to move forward. She notes the way his shoulder tense, the way he’s trying not to look at her–and her expression softens just a bit.
Gently, she spoke, “We don’t have to go all the way, if you’re…saving yourself for the right one”
His eyes flick to hers, startled. She smiles faintly, brushing her fingers across his wrist.
“You can touch me, Steve. That’s all. Nothing more than you want.” His breath stutters, shoulders slump with a tiny release of tension. He nods once, shaky like a man about to step off a ledge.
The mattress springs under their weight as she moves in closer. The dim light of the single lamp catches the sharp planes of her face, her confidence wrapping around the room like smoke. For a moment, Steve forgets how small and frail his body is compared to everyone else. She looks at him like he’s already something more, “Don’t be nervous. You don’t have to impress me.”
Steve swallows hard, his lips parted, his eyes darting everywhere but at her. She guides his hand to rest against her waist, her warmth makes his palm tremble. He jerks it back at first, then she covers his hand with hers, holding it there.
“See? You’re allowed.”
Steve exhales, shaky. His eyes finally lock with hers, vulnerable, wide, searching. She leans in, brushing her lips against his cheek first, then the corner of his mouth. His breath hitches, and before he can think himself out of it, he closes the gap. The kiss is clumsy, desperate, all heart with no practice. She steadies him, her mouth moving with quiet precision–teaching him the rhythm, slowing him down.
Their kisses deepen. Her hands frame his face, his jaw trembling under her fingertips. He holds her like she might vanish if he doesn’t. She whispers between kisses–little reassurances, coaxing him along. Breathless against his lips, “Good… you’re doing good, Steve. You can touch me.”
His hand slides tentatively to her shoulder, then down her arm, pausing, hesitating–but she nods, encouraging, pressing his palm against her breast. The way she looks at him makes his chest ache. No one has ever looked at him like this–not pitying him, not seeing him as weak. Just… seeing him.
“Tell me if I’m doing this right” Steve breathed out, holding her gaze. His fingers spread over her breast feeling her nipple growing hard through the soft fabric of her dress, bring down his thumb to flick over her nipple
“Yes…just don’t stop” Her words draw a shaky breath from him, his body easing up. The closeness is dizzying; their foreheads touch, their nose brush. His lips find hers again, deeper now, bolder, but still sweet in its awkwardness. She guides him gently, her hands weaving into his hair, tilting his head so their mouths fit together perfectly. It’s still new to him, but he learns fast. Every soft sigh she makes gives him courage; every kiss deepens until he’s clutching at her like he can’t let go.
The mattress creaks beneath them as they shift closer. Her warmth surrounds him, her confidence steadying his nervous hands. The room feels smaller, the air charged, every heartbeat thunderous. Every touch is deliberate, gentle, but full of intent: she wants him to remember this, even if it’s only in fragments. For Steve, this is overwhelming, frightening, but it’s also the most alive he’s ever felt.
Around him, the air seems to thicken, subtle and unseen, like the room itself is holding him in a protective embrace. His muscles unclench without his consent, tension draining from shoulders he didn’t know were rigid. His heartbeat slows, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that feels impossibly steady.
Feeling unsure, Steve softly and breathless mumbles “…Is this real…? Was it real? This night?”
Her lips brush along his temple, along his jaw, lingering just long enough to send shivers down his spine. She doesn’t answer directly, letting her presence speak instead.
“Dreams feel real until you wake up”
The subtle, invisible pressure around him grows just enough to pull him fully into the moment. His body surrenders, the last of his hesitation fading. Sleep washes over him not in fear, not in weakness, but in the calm weight of her attention.
She watches him with quiet intensity, memorizing this version of him–before the serum, untested by the world, untouched by warmth, yet filled with the promise of what he will become. Her faint smile carries warmth, amusement, and something older, something familiar.
“Don’t forget me… even if it feels like a dream”
When she finally steps back, she is gone. The room is still, but he is left with the memory of warmth, the subtle pull of presence that is impossible to name, and the faint echo of a whisper he can’t place. His body remembers, even if his mind does not, leaving him in a suspended state between memory and dream.
Steve wakes to the faint morning light filtering through the small window of his apartment. For a moment, he feels…warm. Heart racing, a strange tightness in his chest. He blinks, trying to anchor himself. The memory presses against him: the warmth, the closeness, the guiding presence of someone he doesn’t recognize yet feels impossibly familiar. He shakes his head, trying to dismiss it.
Muttering to himself, softly “…Was that… real?”
He exhales, then frowns. Of course it wasn’t real. Dreams feel real until you wake up. And this… this was just a dream. He has never met her, never even seen this girl in his life.
“…Who was that…?”
He sits up straighter, gripping the edge of the mattress, trying to push the images away. There’s no point in pondering someone he doesn’t know. A girl who appeared in a dream, who seemed so alive and close… It means nothing. Dreams are just dreams.
Then he remembers the morning, the enlistment. His duty. The army. The purpose that’s been set before him. The thought brings a tight resolve to his chest.
“…Time to do what I’m meant to do.” He stands, slips on his jacket, and grabs the few things he has packed. The warmth of the dream still lingers faintly, teasing at the edges of his mind, but he sets it aside. He has a job to do. A duty to serve. Purpose waits, and dreams no matter how vivid–will have to wait.
With one last glance at the empty room, he steps out the door, carrying only the faintest trace of a memory he can’t quite name, already determined to leave it behind.