The Universe's Mixer

Bruce cleared his throat.

He glanced around at the obviously empty hallway in the apartment complex. Socked feet padded softly toward the door to the apartment where his new friend Liv dwelled. In his hand he held a small, glass jar filled with a mixture of ghost pepper and a sweet jelly. He had told her about it during their initial conversation and Bruce could recall exactly how the process went. However he hadn't needed to make it at all, he had opened his pantry door and there it had been. And she deserved it more than he did. He doubted he would have wanted anything with that kind of a kick, that was liable to set off the other guy. No. Not a good idea.

Instead of knocking when he reached her door, Bruce paused. He looked down at the carpet in front of her door. Kneeling, Bruce set the glass jar down. He hoped it was a good enough present for her and their prospected potential friendship.

He rose and stepped back from the door. Knock? She probably wasn't home. Could he hear meowing behind her door? She couldn't have friends, but she could have cats? Would cats contract a disease like that? He didn't know. It didn't matter.

Turning, Bruce walked away much quicker than he had come. He didn't leave a note of any kind with the jar, no semblance of who had left it beyond the snippet of conversation and the hope that she would remember.

Reaching his apartment, Bruce didn't look back down the hallway. Instead he pushed the door open, crossed the threshold and shut the door behind himself. Gently, his back pressed against the inside of his door and he breathed out. He felt tired. He needed sleep.

And now he could sleep, for a couple of hours at least. He never had slept very long unless he had been working relentlessly for days and nights. That didn't happen too often lately.

It had taken far too long for this, but finally, finally, tonight was the night. Steve had agonized over what to bring, which wine, which tea, but he had finally settled on a pink sparkling moscato and a bit of Earl Grey bergamot for dessert. He'd also gone through several outfits before settling into a dark grey suit with a crisp white shirt, sans tie.

Facing the Red Skull hadn't been so nerve-wracking as a dinner date.

He'd kept asking Bucky's opinion. On the wine, on his clothes, on whether or not he was expected to bring flowers for Peggy. On one hand, he was already bringing wine and tea. On the other, wasn't that what you did for a date? Bring flowers? What kind of flowers? Roses seemed too formal, carnations too casual, lillies too somber. Fine, fine. Wine and tea. Wine and tea were perfectly acceptable.

Man, he hoped he wasn't screwing up already. He'd already missed their first date by seventy years. This one had to go right.

As he knocked at Peggy's door, he realized he had forgotten to ask if Ariel and Bucky liked dancing. This was a dinner date - why was he worried about dancing?

Yeah. Facing the Red Skull had been much easier.