For the Love of America
For The Love of America
For The Love of America
A/N: Forgive me, I know nothing about baseball except for a few key terms learned from the few times I was forced to play in elementary school.
You alternated between bouncing on the balls of your feet and rolling back on your heels as you stood in line, waiting for your turn to present your ticket and gain entry into the stadium. You’d been waiting for this event for months!
A few months ago, you heard about a New York Yankees (1) game coming up in your home town, and you were absolutely dying to go. Shortly after the game started being advertised, you’d heard a contest on the radio offering a free ticket to the game if you could guess the song they were playing. You were the first to guess, thanks to your hobby of constantly listening to that radio station. You won the ticket and it was shipped directly to your apartment.
All that was left was to jump around your apartment like a bunny on steroids, waiting for time to pass until the day of the game.
So here you were, dressed in your blue, grey and white jersey which sported the number of your favorite player, accompanied by faded blue skinny jeans and black Converse All-Stars.
You finally came to the front of the line and fished through your jean pocket for your ticket – only for it to not be there. Fighting your panic, you dig through your other front pocket, then the back ones. Your panic grew as you looked around on the ground, wondering how your ticket could have escaped your pocket.
“Is this yours, ma’am?” a familiar voice called from behind you. Turning around you came face-to-face with none other than Steve Rogers. You took the ticket from his hand and flipped it over, finding your name scribbled across the back just where you had written it.
“Thank you,” you said softly, still in awe of the fact that you were talking to Captain America.
“No problem, ma’am,” he smiled.
“Captain America!” the ticket taker (2) gasped, resting a hand over her heart dramatically. She looked ready to faint.
He smiled again and nodded. “Pleasure to meet you.” He then turned to you. “Are you here alone, ma’am?”
Fighting back the urge to pass out because you’re standing there with Captain freaking America, you nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Could I accompany you, then?” he asked sincerely.
The only response you could manage was, “Why?”
“You look like an honest fan,” he answered. “And going to games by yourself can get lonely.”
“Sure,” you nodded slowly, in shock. You could see the rest of the line from the corner of your eye – every single female was glaring at you, whether or not they were with a date.
He smiled and turned to the ticket taker. “Here you go, ma’am,” he said, passing over his ticket. She nearly melted as her fingers brushed against his. He then extended an arm for you to loop your own arm through. You smiled and did so, following the Captain into the stadium to find your seats.
The afternoon continued with you smiling and laughing and Steve buying you popcorn and soda. He sat by you through the whole game, his own smile growing as your enthusiasm rose. Halfway through he took a chance and draped his arm across the back of your seat invitingly. With a blush staining your cheeks, you scooted closer to the Captain and rested your head on his shoulder.
When the game was over and the Yankees had won, you stood to leave when a hand gently grasped your wrist. You turned to see that the culprit was Steve, smiling innocently at you.
“Can I walk you home, ma’am?” he inquired.
You offered him a soft smile and nodded. “That’d be nice.”
Your apartment was only a few blocks away, and there was enough sun in the sky to result in a pleasant stroll home.
He stood and gathered his things, tossing his trash in the nearest bin as you left the stadium. As you began walking in the direction of your apartment, his hand brushed against yours as if asking permission to grasp it properly. Taking a leap of faith, you slid your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. You felt him relax slightly, relieved that you hadn’t pushed him away. He even squeezed your hand gently.
Upon arriving at your apartment complex, you led him up the stairs to your front door.
“This is me,” you said, turning to look up at him. “I had a great time.”
“As did I, ma’am,” he replied with a smile. “Do you think you’d like to go on a real date with me sometime?”
You smiled back. “I think I’d love to.”
He leaned closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek. He then took your intertwined hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand. “Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Pick me up at seven?” you giggled.
“I’ll be here,” he smiled. With that, he reluctantly released your hand and turned around, walking back down the stairs to the parking lot.
Your smile never faded as you entered your apartment and began preparing dinner.
(1) I figured most Marvel universes are based in New York, and that’s one of the few teams I know.
(2) Again, lack of knowledge. They’re called “ushers” at the movies but there’s already an “usher” in baseball so… I dunno.
A/N: Forgive me, I know nothing about baseball except for a few key terms learned from the few times I was forced to play in elementary school.
You alternated between bouncing on the balls of your feet and rolling back on your heels as you stood in line, waiting for your turn to present your ticket and gain entry into the stadium. You’d been waiting for this event for months!
A few months ago, you heard about a New York Yankees (1) game coming up in your home town, and you were absolutely dying to go. Shortly after the game started being advertised, you’d heard a contest on the radio offering a free ticket to the game if you could guess the song they were playing. You were the first to guess, thanks to your hobby of constantly listening to that radio station. You won the ticket and it was shipped directly to your apartment.
All that was left was to jump around your apartment like a bunny on steroids, waiting for time to pass until the day of the game.
So here you were, dressed in your blue, grey and white jersey which sported the number of your favorite player, accompanied by faded blue skinny jeans and black Converse All-Stars.
You finally came to the front of the line and fished through your jean pocket for your ticket – only for it to not be there. Fighting your panic, you dig through your other front pocket, then the back ones. Your panic grew as you looked around on the ground, wondering how your ticket could have escaped your pocket.
“Is this yours, ma’am?” a familiar voice called from behind you. Turning around you came face-to-face with none other than Steve Rogers. You took the ticket from his hand and flipped it over, finding your name scribbled across the back just where you had written it.
“Thank you,” you said softly, still in awe of the fact that you were talking to Captain America.
“No problem, ma’am,” he smiled.
“Captain America!” the ticket taker (2) gasped, resting a hand over her heart dramatically. She looked ready to faint.
He smiled again and nodded. “Pleasure to meet you.” He then turned to you. “Are you here alone, ma’am?”
Fighting back the urge to pass out because you’re standing there with Captain freaking America, you nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Could I accompany you, then?” he asked sincerely.
The only response you could manage was, “Why?”
“You look like an honest fan,” he answered. “And going to games by yourself can get lonely.”
“Sure,” you nodded slowly, in shock. You could see the rest of the line from the corner of your eye – every single female was glaring at you, whether or not they were with a date.
He smiled and turned to the ticket taker. “Here you go, ma’am,” he said, passing over his ticket. She nearly melted as her fingers brushed against his. He then extended an arm for you to loop your own arm through. You smiled and did so, following the Captain into the stadium to find your seats.
The afternoon continued with you smiling and laughing and Steve buying you popcorn and soda. He sat by you through the whole game, his own smile growing as your enthusiasm rose. Halfway through he took a chance and draped his arm across the back of your seat invitingly. With a blush staining your cheeks, you scooted closer to the Captain and rested your head on his shoulder.
When the game was over and the Yankees had won, you stood to leave when a hand gently grasped your wrist. You turned to see that the culprit was Steve, smiling innocently at you.
“Can I walk you home, ma’am?” he inquired.
You offered him a soft smile and nodded. “That’d be nice.”
Your apartment was only a few blocks away, and there was enough sun in the sky to result in a pleasant stroll home.
He stood and gathered his things, tossing his trash in the nearest bin as you left the stadium. As you began walking in the direction of your apartment, his hand brushed against yours as if asking permission to grasp it properly. Taking a leap of faith, you slid your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. You felt him relax slightly, relieved that you hadn’t pushed him away. He even squeezed your hand gently.
Upon arriving at your apartment complex, you led him up the stairs to your front door.
“This is me,” you said, turning to look up at him. “I had a great time.”
“As did I, ma’am,” he replied with a smile. “Do you think you’d like to go on a real date with me sometime?”
You smiled back. “I think I’d love to.”
He leaned closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek. He then took your intertwined hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing the back of your hand. “Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Pick me up at seven?” you giggled.
“I’ll be here,” he smiled. With that, he reluctantly released your hand and turned around, walking back down the stairs to the parking lot.
Your smile never faded as you entered your apartment and began preparing dinner.
(1) I figured most Marvel universes are based in New York, and that’s one of the few teams I know.
(2) Again, lack of knowledge. They’re called “ushers” at the movies but there’s already an “usher” in baseball so… I dunno.