Another day, another mission. You're tired, sore, and ready to just take a nap. You make your way into your bedroom and close the door behind you. Immediately you face plant in to your bed. That's when you remember that your clothes are covered in dirt, blood, and who knows what else. Dragging yourself away from the comfort of your blankets, you stand up and begin to change out of your clothes so you can take a shower. Much to your dismay, you find a gaping hole in the thigh of your pants.

"Welcome to the pile," you sighed. In the corner of your room sits a chair that holds a mound of tattered and torn clothes from your missions. You always meant to mend them, but you never really got around to it (and you're not the most competent with sewing). Thus, the clothing sat on the chair, waiting to one day be fixed.

You peeled the rest of your clothes off and hopped in the shower, making it as brief as possible so you could take your nap quicker. After what seemed like forever, your head hit the pillow and you drifted off.

- - - - -

Your eyes slowly opened, and the first thing you saw was your alarm clock on your nightstand. After doing the math, you realized that only about forty-five minutes had gone by. Since you felt rested, it only made sense to get up and continue with your day. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, then you saw what was in the corner: the daunting pile.

"It has to get done someday...," you sighed, dragging yourself to the chair, but you stopped two feet away when realization hit you. "Where are my pants?"

You dug around in the pile, but then you noticed something peculiar. Every single hole on every piece of clothing had been sewn up. You stared at them in confusion, wondering when, and by whom they were mended. You walked out of your bedroom in search of the secret helper, but you didn't quite expect what you found. Sitting at the dining table with a needle, thread and your pants in hand, was Steven Grant Rogers himself.

"You!" you yelled, pointing your finger at him. Steve's head shot up, realizing he had been caught. "You're the one that's been fixing all my clothes?"

"Uh, yeah," he admitted with a small smile.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?" you wondered.

"Well you were never going to get around to it," he grinned. "I didn't tell you because I knew that you would insist upon doing it yourself, and let's be honest, that would just make the problem worse."

"That's true," you giggled. "Where did you learn to sew?"

"Well, I grew up in a time when everything was a mess, and my mom didn't always have time to do everything for me, so I learned how to sew myself," he reminisced.

"Thank you for doing this Steve, really," you smiled.

"You're welcome, Y/N," he replied. "Would you like me to teach you?"

"I'd like that."

- - - - -

A/N

This probably isn't my best story so far, but I've been in a rut as far as inspiration goes XD