The immediacy of the storm was over. Though the winds were still strong, they were no longer as destructive as they had been, and as the weather subsided, the operation to clean up the badly effected city, state, and coast began to swing into action. Teams that had been held back over the course of the worst of the disaster were mobilized, taking over from the weary first responders, who were in turn ushered into hospitals and hastily set up boarding houses to be treated for injuries and just plain exhaustion. In one of the many S.H.I.E.L.D. field hospitals, centered in a commandeered schoolhouse, this had already begun to take place the night before, and the first recipients of the much needed rest had been able to sleep through the night, if they were able. Not many of them knew, however, that just a few doors away, Captain America was one of those weary frontline saviors, settled warm and snug in a surprisingly comfortable bed alongside a doctor who was more to him than just a face in the crowd.
After close onto forty hours of wakefulness and a little over six hours' sleep, Dr Lucy Broderick stirred mildly as the wind began to die away, the absence of sound being what intruded into her consciousness. She groaned in protest, not wanting to wake up, and unconsciously pressed her face into the pillow under her head, drawing the comforting weight of a heavy arm close about herself. It took a moment to realise who that arm belonged to, remembering his injury, and her eyes flew open, her body twisting just enough to look back over her shoulder and gaze upon the man in the bed with her, love and concern warring for prominence in her dark eyes.
Given his accelerated metabolism, the morphine hadn't lasted long, just long enough to make him sleepy and take the edge off the pain long enough so that he could rest. And rest he did, after roughly ten days of working nearly non-stop with only a few, short, intermittent breaks for food and rest. Steve Rogers had fallen into blissful oblivion for what remained of the night, his body mending at an accelerated rate while he slept. When he awoke, he would already be well on his way to recovery, far faster than was possible for an ordinary human being. It would still be a few days before he felt in top condition and though he was not immortal or incapable of injury, he was truly a medical marvel. It wasn't the quiet that woke him, or the first dim rays of daylight - it was the presence of the woman beside him that stirred him from the relative oblivion of unconsciousness.
"Steve?" Her voice was rough with sleep still in the dimness that clouded the room - apparently one of them had turned off the light sometime in the night without waking the other or, possibly, remembering having moved at all. Lucy shifted very carefully onto her back, balanced somewhat precariously on the very edge of the bed in that position - single beds were not made for sharing with men the size of Steve Rogers, after all - and gently ran her hand over his left side, seeking out the heat of inflammation that had colored him the night before. It was gone, the swelling died away, and though she could still see a little pain in his stirring face when she judiciously laid pressure on the cracked ribs, she was frankly amazed at the speed of his healing. "Baby, are you awake?"
Resisting the urge to ask what year it was, he instead asked, "What time is it?", feeling like he'd been asleep for another seventy years. How much morphine had she given him anyway? He winced just faintly when she touched his side, which still ached, but not nearly the way it had the night before. He could breathe again without being in agony, his body taking care of itself without much outside intervention, like it always did. Eyelids fringed with long, dark lashes fluttered open, blinking as he turned his head to focus on the face of the woman he'd falled in love with. "I am now," he replied, with a faint, sleepy smile.
She smiled herself, the apology for inflicting pain written in her eyes as her hand reversed its course tenderly, rising to stroke his cheek. "Sorry. Here, I'll kiss it better." Snickering, still only half-awake herself, she folded herself almost double, clinging tightly onto the frame of the bed above his head, and laid a kiss over his ribs. "And I have no idea what the time is. Seems around dawn."
Blue eyes followed her as she moved to kiss what amounted to his boo-boo, and he held his breath, that brief caress stirring feelings he'd rather not have in the middle of a makeshift hospital room, reminding him that, whether he was enhanced or not, he still possessed the same desires as any other red-blood human male. "I don't think that's a good idea right now, Luce," he said, all too aware of the quiet of their surroundings and the medical personnel just outside their door.
Her brow rose, amused by how quickly this time he had leapt to that one track he had accused her of being on the night before. "A kiss doesn't have to be the start of anything," she told him through her smile, straightening to resume her precarious balance on the edge of the bed. "But you're right. I don't want to injure you anymore than you are already." The reluctance was there in her eyes and voice, but she was good at what she did; she'd deny herself and him until he was well enough, her mind still clinging to the recovery rates of so called normal human beings. "Did the morphine get you to sleep before the pain came back?"
Despite his shy reluctance, he felt almost disappointed at her quick agreement to his warning and he realized there was very little separating them but a thin layer of clothing. Still, there were more important matters at hand than that of physical desire, and now that he was back home, his deeply ingrained sense of morality caused him to feel he should make an honest woman of her before they surrendered to the temptations of the flesh, no matter what kind of boots she claimed to be wearing, f*ck me or otherwise. He did, however, reach over to tuck a dark tendril behind her ear, his fingers inadvertently brushing against her cheek. "Yeah, thanks, Doc," he replied with a faint smile. "Feel like I could eat a horse though."
"I'm sure we can find you something," she smiled, the tilt of her head drawing his fingers closer against her skin as she instinctively nestled closer. Her own hand skimmed over his side once again, skin on skin, and her reluctance to be a good doctor flared up. It was possible, after all ... Unaccountably, she blushed, her smile deepening in amusement at her own impatience, and she gave into the urge, leaning close to capture his lips with her own, soft and tender. Giving him the choice to make, this time.
Unaccustomed as he was to women kissing him, having only been kissed twice before meeting Lucy, he surrendered to her lips, his fingers sliding against her cheek and into her hair. The eyelids that had fluttered awake only a moment before fell closed again to savor her lips, like the sweetest candy. He made no move to either encourage or discourage her. Even if she had given him the choice of making the first move, he was leaving it up to her.