Living for Now

The next morning started off as it usually did. Bridget's phone alarm buzzed and rang in her ear from the nightstand beside her, the brunette slowly coming to from her dreamless slumber and taking the small device into her hand. After turning off the alarm, she lay there for a few more minutes, allowing herself to take her time while gathering her bearings for the day.

For a moment she had forgotten that she was only less than a few feet away from being at Steve's bedroom door, and when it hit her, she grimaced and rolled onto her back, staring at her ceiling in a contemplative silence. What was she going to do now? How would she be able to continue living as she normally did with him here?

Anyone wouldn't think this to be a big deal, they probably wouldn't even bother thinking about it at all, but Bridget wasn't just anyone, and she couldn't think of anything else right now. It was irritating to see how much his simple presence was making her feel unease in her own home.

Her body moved on its own as it rolled her out of bed and took her to her dresser, her hands securing some jogging clothes and slipping them on in seconds, throwing her pajamas to the floor without much care for where they landed. Once her shoe laces were tied, she grabbed her wallet and keys and was walking down the hall and out of the condo, heading for Central Park that was only a few blocks away. She hoped that an early morning jog would be able to clear her mind.

Steven hadn't gotten much sleep, and as he heard Bridget leaving the flat, he sighed and turned onto his side. She had really changed, and it hurt Steve to see how drastic it was.

He sat up in bed and looked around the room he was given. It was decorated similarly to his old living situation back at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s – though not to that extent, but there were also some new gadgets that he wasn't sure how to operate scattered across the room, which he guessed were to help quicken the transition to his new, technologically advanced environment.

For example, on the nightstand beside him lay what he had found out to be called an iPad. It was an odd device to him at first, though once he realized how to turn it on and found a small part of the device called the App Store, he couldn't put it down. He played a game called Angry Birds for a majority of the night, being astounded by the touchscreen and the fact that he was being suckered in to such a simple minded game where the birds made the most hideous sounds as they were launched across the screen.

After putting down the game, he fooled around with the electronic a while longer, continuously being fascinated by the iPad and the applications he could download from the store. When he finally tore himself away from the device, his mind was racing with activity, and he was unable to sleep until an hour or two later, only to be woken up now by Bridget's leaving.

His hands picked up the tablet and cautiously turned it back on, checking the time. Why is she leaving so early? He questioned, noticing that it was barely going to turn six in the morning.

Picking himself up from the bed, he walked over to the dresser in nothing but his boxers, tossing a plain white tee and some denim pants on soon enough. Quietly leaving his room, he made his way into the kitchen, flipping on the lights and illuminating the area.

His large form walked towards the fridge, his stomach beginning to grumble with hunger as he began to snoop through what Bridget had. It was scarily bare as he noticed she didn't have much at all to offer. He even wondered if she ate out most of the time because there wasn't anything she could make a real meal out of.

He took out what he could find appropriate for breakfast, the last of the eggs she had, a nearly empty pack of hot dogs, along with a small bag of shredded cheese, and began to make himself an omelette. Noticing he had some stuff left over, he made Bridget one for when she came home. He hoped that this would start her day off right and that she might start to like him again, even if it was only as a friend.

As Steve began to clean up the mess he had made while cooking, he smiled as he remembered how he and Bridget would clean up back in the day. They worked together like a well oiled machine. She'd place the dishes into the sink, he'd pick up and take out the trash, and then they'd both stand side by side before the sink with Bridget washing and Steven drying. He shook his head and wondered why they couldn't go back to that, to how things used to be.

Right as he finished tidying up, the front door opened and closed, Bridget walking back into the condo. His heart was racing inside his chest as his eyes darted across her entire figure. Steve saw her wearing some slim fit clothes – some black leggings with a camisole and a light jacket over that, and gulped audibly at the way the fabric hugged her body so smoothly. Her face was slightly flushed with color, a few beads of sweat resting upon her brow, and her hair at the front was somewhat matted together at the front due to her perspiration.

When she noticed him staring at her, he greeted her. “G-g-good...” he stammered out nervously, realizing that he was making a fool out of himself. Quickly clearing his throat and taking a soft, deep breath, he tried to regain his lost composure. “Morning.” He finished, his cheeks slightly filling with color.

Bridget nodded slowly, amused by how unnerved he was, before muttering back, “Good morning, Rogers.”

Steve's eyes flashed from her to the kitchen and he smiled. “I, uh... made some breakfast. I hope you don't mind me using your stuff.” He began, to which she shook her head in disagreement, and he then brought over two plates that held the golden, fluffy food. “I made you an omelette, too. Would you care to eat?”

Bridget's eyes darted from his slightly eager expression to the two plates he had in his hands. Half of her wanted to sit down immediately and enjoy a good breakfast with him, just like they had done when they were still a newlywed couple, but the other part of her protested angrily, continuously yelling at her to just ignore him and his kind gesture altogether. However, Bridget couldn't do that to him. She wouldn't.

She knew that Steve was never good help in the kitchen. She could clearly remember how he had tried to make her celebratory flapjacks on their first real day living together in their old home – he had ended up with flour all over the floor, egg yolks splattered across the counters, and with baking soda all in his golden locks. It was nothing they couldn't clean up in a jiffy, but it was truly something only Steven Rogers could pull off. For him to have made her something to eat on his own, she knew that she would have to eat it, even if she kept telling herself not to partake.

“Sure,” she replied softly. “I'm going to take a shower first, though. I'll be out in a bit.” Walking over to the table, she pulled out the New York Times from behind her back and placed it upon the circular piece of furniture. “I bought the paper in case you wanted to read it. Don't wait up for me to get out of the shower. Just eat before your food gets cold.”

Not waiting for his reply or even a nod of the head, Bridget walked into the bathroom and disappeared from sight. Steve placed down the plates of food softly and returned to the kitchen to get some utensils, placing those alongside the plates along with some cups. He found a carton of orange juice and poured some into each cup cautiously, and put it away when that was finished.

Sitting down on a chair, Steve could hear the shower head being turned on and water flowing from down the hall. He wondered when she'd get out, because even though she told him to dig in and eat, he wasn't planning on doing so. He would wait until she joined him, no matter how long it took for her to do so. After the first ten minutes passed with him staring around the room and twiddling his thumbs, he decided to read the paper she had provided, opening it up and beginning to read its contents.

As Bridget scrubbed her body down with soap and lathered her hair with shampoo and conditioner, her thoughts remained on Steve. She hoped that he wouldn't wait for her to leave the bathroom, even though she had a pretty good feeling that he would. Normally her showers were only ten to fifteen minute affairs because of Bridget not liking for her hands to prune too much, but today, she was planning on staying in for a while with hopes of Steve getting tired of waiting for her.

After forty-five minutes of standing in the pouring water and rising steam, she twisted the knob and the water ceased its downpour. Standing there for a few minutes to let the water trickle down from her drenched locks to the soles of her feet, she soon wrapped her torso up in a towel, wringing out her hair so the last few droplets would fall off.

Steve, who had finally heard the water shut off, put his paper down slightly to see if she would leave the bathroom. When she finally did, he could feel the blood rush to his head as his face flushed a deep crimson, his breath hitching in his throat as he watched Bridget step out into the hallway with only a small, white towel wrapped tightly around her body, the piece of fabric ending right above her upper thigh.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Steve's tomato-like resemblance, and when she turned to look at him, his hands immediately brought up the paper to cover it up. She snickered silently to herself, laughing at how he was acting before walking into her bedroom to get dressed. Steve slowly put the paper back down once he heard her enter her room and sighed, trying to get himself to calm down. Seeing her like that made him want to take her then and there, to wrap his arms around her and kiss her fiercely, make her remember the way they loved, the way he still felt about her. Though, he knew that if he did that, she'd become upset with him, and he'd never be able to repair the damage that had been done.

Not even a minute later, the brunette stepped out of her room fully clothed, walking up to the table and picking up the plates. “I thought I told you to eat, Rogers.” Walking into the kitchen, she opened up the microwave to put his plate in.

“I wanted to wait for you.” Steve simply replied.

“There's no need to. Chivalry's dead.”

“Even if that is the case, I still wanted to.”

Bridget shrugged her shoulders and when the microwave began to beep, announcing the food was ready, she took it out and Steve was amazed to see the food letting out steam. “What is that?” He questioned, pointing to the contraption that she was filling up with her own food now.

“This? It's a microwave. It heats food up.” She brought his plate of food back to the table and set it before him. “They were sold commercially in 1947, so it's only normal that you wouldn't know about them.” She took out her cell phone that was placed in her back pocket and put it upon the table so she wouldn't be sitting on it uncomfortably later. “Of course, they didn't start off looking like this. When they were first created, they were five-and-a-half feet tall, about seven-hundred-and-fifty pounds, and cost five thousand dollars.”

Steve whistled. “I take it you never bought one for the house?”

Bridget headed back into the kitchen as he brought up their old home. “No, there wasn't a need to. I was just a single—” Bridget bit her tongue as she was about to spill the beans about her being a single mother. She didn't want to tell him that he had once had a daughter in the world. It'd only create a mess for her to explain. “—woman living on her own salary. I could cook for myself and even if I did want one, there was no one to move it in.”

The microwave whined as the food was cooked and Bridget took that out as well, using her fingertips to carry it over to the table because of the warm plate.

“Be careful,” Steve advised, watching her carefully.

“I got it,” she muttered back, sighing when she placed it upon the round table and sat down on the chair opposite of him. “Thanks for cooking.”

Steve felt a grin creep upon his features and he nodded his head in return. “You're welcome.”

As the two of them began to eat their food, an awkward silence enveloped them, neither one knowing what to do except continue eating. Bridget was surprised to find that Steve had cooked the food rather well, the eggs were burnt in a few places, but other than that it was nice.

“So you can drive a motorcycle now,” Steve pointed out. “When did you learn?”

“The late eighties.” Bridget shortly answered. She didn't like the fact that he was trying to learn more about what she had been doing for the past few decades.

“Do you usually drive bikes?”

“I drive cars when I need to, but I find bikes are better for traffic.”

“But it's also more dangerous,”

“Of course it is, but the exposure's what makes it exhilarating.”

Seeing that she was responding to his questions, Steve decided to ask more personal questions, hoping that she'd respond just as well to them. “Is Gracie still.. alive?”

“Gracie passed away a few years ago in her sleep.”

“I'm sorry to hear it,”

“Don't be. She's in a better place.”

“Did you attend the funeral?”

“I stood in the back and visit her grave sometimes.”

“Where's she buried?”

“A few plots away from our parents.”

“Her boyfriend, Tom, came back didn't he?” Steve's eyes held a hopeful gleam within them, almost as if he was wishing that Gracie hadn't also felt the loneliness Bridget had surely felt when Steve was declared as dead.

“Yeah, and they had three children – two boys and one girl. They didn't wait long before getting married when he got back.”

“Did...” taking in a deep breath, Steve somehow managed to get the next few words out. “Did you ever remarry or find someone else?”

Bridget, who was about to take a bite of her food, stopped halfway and slowly put down the fork, not wanting to look up at Steve. She could feel his blue eyes upon her, gauging her reaction.

The doorbell rang and she let out a silent sigh of relief, thankful that she had an excuse to leave the table. Rising up from her seat, she walked away and down the small hall towards the door.

As she was off taking her time away from the table, Steve sighed and realized that he had just messed up. What did he expect? There was no way that she'd be able to just answer that question without some type of difficulty.

A small sound escaped from Bridget's phone that lay in the middle of the table and he curiously looked at it to see what was happening to it. The screen lit up and an alert popped onto it.



The screen died down and as Steve heard her footsteps coming back, he leaned back to make it appear that he had been waiting patiently. In her grasp was a small, brown box, which she opened up soon enough with the help of a pocket knife.

Taking out the smaller box inside, she placed it upon the table before Steve. “This is your new phone. I'm sure you've discovered the iPad in your room, right? Well, this is similar to that.”

Steve began to take out the contents of the box and scrutinized the smaller device in his hand. It certainly looked similar to the large tablet in his room, the only real difference was that he could now make telephone calls from it.

While Steve was fascinated with his new toy, Bridget was glad she was able to dodge the bullet of Steve's question. She didn't want him to know that she hadn't remarried or done anything romantic with another man. She didn't want him to get the idea that she was waiting for him, because she hadn't been. Or at least that was what she always convinced herself to believe.

She was just unable to give away her heart because Steve had had it the whole time. She couldn't give away something she didn't have – especially if that something was love.

Bridget's next realization gutted her. She had, and would only, ever love one man.

And, of course, it was the one she wanted to hate.