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Her hair was pink and her head shaved on one side, but that was far from the most extraordinary thing about her. It was the way she smiled, devilish and sure, and the sparkle in her eyes, lit with sheer amusement, that made Steve want to find a pencil and piece of paper in order to draw her.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t a possibility, considering she and two of her friends were currently trying to kick his ass. Steve took some issue with that.
Just a tad, mind you.
He always knew that shopping was a horrid experience, meant only to be tolerated when the dryer had finished eating the bulk of his socks. But honestly getting jumped at a mall by a trio of femmes fatales really served to turn a fella off to the whole experience. Next time, he made a mental note, he’d just try Amazon.
“You’re a spry one,” she announced, her voice tinged with an almost forgotten Texas drawl, as Steve flipped, then swung low, kicking her feet out from under her. Steve felt blood rush to a certain part of his anatomy in response to that accent - wow, new kink, where did you come from? - and reevaluated his previous assessment of shopping malls. Perhaps getting jumped by attractive women in malls wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, per se. In fact, there had to be at least half a dozen pornos that started off just this way. Steve would ask Sam about that later. Not that he really wanted to know, or that he even cared… much. But watching Sam fidget and groan and become uncomfortable with explaining the more untoward parts of 21st century pop-culture was one of Steve’s few pleasures in life.
“Yeah, well, you know, I take spin class,” Steve replied dryly, dodging a round-house. “I usually try to pencil it in between a light lunch and being assaulted.”
Pink Hair stopped attacking him at that. She threw back her head and laughed, her eyes coming to rest on him with keener interest.
“Handsome AND a sense of humor, be still my ever beating heart,” she drawled, grinning. “Not my fault you interrupted our robbery.”
Her two friends were circling him, but not attacking. They were waiting, Steve supposed, for Pink Hair to give them the signal to intervene. He’d already deciphered that these women were highly trained in combat, and they were also all wearing spandex -- which hey, not an issue, they owned the look. But all signs pointed to a professional criminal circuit of some sort. Uniforms and combat usually meant either superheroes or supervillains and, well, superheroes were in short supply these days. That and they don’t usually rob sporting good stores -- that incident with March Madness, Clint, and sangrias notwithstanding. So supervillains it was.
Which figured. Malls, man.
See, Steve had been trying to be a good fugitive: keeping a low profile, eating his vegetables and pointedly not knocking anyone into buildings. He’d be sure to explain that point to Natasha later, but as he had been jumped, quite literally, he didn’t actually think this one was on him. Accords or no Accords, if villains just fell on you, how could one ignore it?
After all, he’d been minding his own business entering a mall... Catching sight of suspicious women casing a joint... Deliberately moving to follow them... Deciphering their plan after a little (okay, after about a half hour of) reconnaissance... Then purposely moving to intervene when they attempted to break into the store, all the while giving a rousing speech on how breaking a lock and disarming an alarm was actually kind of rude (partially in French, because that was how he rolled). So. Yeah. Not his fault. What was he supposed to do, allow a robbery?! That was just crazy talk, right there.
And then Pink Hair had to go and flirt with him, and Steve… didn’t quite know how to handle that. He felt a blush burn his cheeks and was instantly grateful that he’d allowed a beard to grow in an attempt to disguise himself, hoping it covered the bulk of the evidence.
Almost eighty years since receiving the serum -- two of that spent at war and seventy of it spent on ice -- and hearing women call him handsome was still a bit of a novelty. Hell, women noticing him at all was a bit of a novelty. His head might actually explode, and not the small one, as was proper. The big one.
“Well, you know, I try… as for the robbery, that one kinda is your fault, you know, not to cast aspersions,” he replied, after a beat. He’d meant for it to sound cool and dashing, like Clark Gable. But, of course, what really came out was awkward and a bit too high pitched, as if Steve were just now approaching puberty.
Well, there went Pink Hair’s interest.
Shopping malls really did suck.
Miraculously, she laughed again. Green eyes dancing, her smile was absolutely beautiful. Steve really, really wanted to draw it.
“Oh, you are a cute one, I almost hate to kick your ass,” she breathed out, winking at him.
“You’re not so bad, yourself,” he said, “and I’d like to see you try.”
Steve moved back into a fighting stance, a smile spreading across his face, almost despite himself. The fighting resumed.
Later, after his ass had been thoroughly kicked (not his fault, one of the friends had had some kind of air borne toxin that made him feel high as a kite… good stuff, really… but that was cheating ), he’d found the piece of paper in his pocket.
Rachel , it said in lavish script. And under the name, a phone number.
Steve didn’t usually make a habit out of dating criminals... albeit usually because he didn’t make a habit out of dating, period. But considering he, himself, was now a criminal under the Accords, why not?
It could be a trap to capture him and turn him into the authorities for some kind of reward, true. But that just made the prospect that much more... exciting.