#14500 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anika-ann · 7 months ago

Text

Back and Forth - part 6.2

Part 6 - Back-Up 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 14500 (cough-)

Chapter summary: In which it's your turn to look back at the events at the Hydra base and have a revelation or two. And some of these involve a certain Captain.

Series masterlist

Warnings: blood, mentions of canon-typical violence and injuries and possible death, unhealthy relationship with pain, mentions of chronic illness, issues with self-worth as a courtesy of a completely shitty parenting, language, feels and fluff ✨ Please, let me know any time if you think I missed any!

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: hello, loves, thank you for your patience and enjoy nearly 15k worth of words. Ehm. If you want to break it into two parts, I recommend you to do so at the change in POV (but know that it's in like 2/3 of this part 🥲) Enjoy ✨

The swirl of delicate fabric around your ankles came with a soft swooshing sound, a faint glimmer catching your eye as the light reflected off the sparkles peppering your dress. Warm hand between your shoulder blades holding you securely to a firm body, the other cradling your hand gently. Gaze trailing from the bowtie over the faintest hint of stubble and plush lips curled in a barely-there warm smile, bright eyes soft with affection that still sent butterflies flipping their wings like mad in your stomach. The subtle caress of his thumb over the silver of skin revealed by the tiny opening of the dress on your back causing you to shudder, heat pooling in your abdomen.

He noticed the effect his minute touch had on you. He must have, the loveable bastard, because his smile earned the familiar innocently wicked edge, his pupils dilating just a fraction, his thigh slipping between yours further with the next step, firm muscle feeling like a teasing taste of heaven against your centre.

“Steve-“

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips at your ear, brushing down the sensitive skin of the column of your throat, the masculine scent of him enveloping your senses, your head tipping back to make space for his demanding lips. The graze of his teeth had you whimper, hips rocking against him, a soft menacing ‘oh doll’ rolling off his tongue before all pretence of what used to be a dance was gone, hand slipping to your lower back, encouraging you to press into him further, his other hand releasing yours in favour of cradling your jaw and leading your parted lips to his hungry ones. “My beautiful doll… I’ve got you.”

You sighed as you could already almost taste his lips, a tingle burning on your own, instinctively chasing after the pleasure they could provide when you felt their warmth retreat.

You winced when the touch of his hands disappeared too, all but a brush of fingertips remaining, wet and sticky; flash of crimson on his skin, startled gaze, sharp orders followed by words of soft reassurance whispered between heavy breaths, intrusive acrid smell of copper and chemicals causing you to scrunch your nose. Blue and purple of your gown turning black, pristine white shirt torn and drowned in terrifying red; a flash of glowing symbols, an absurdly evil smile replacing Steve’s face in your vision. Gunshot. Body flying backwards. Gun going off twice more. The world tilting to side. Heavy, painless crash. Beeping. That goddamn fluorescent lamp.

A gasp.

You blinked your eyes open, acutely aware of the twitch of your fingers feeling uncertain and heavy.

A dimly-lit room with a few bright points.

A flicker of grey and rust-like red on your right, flash of white on your left. A lab coat.

You drew in another sharp breath, startled, pulse hammering in your temples in fright; Doctor Barret. You were still-

“Well good afternoon, Spectre. You with us for a while this time?” a familiar voice asked, causing you to snap your head from the white coat worn by a doctor who was most definitely not Doctor Barret when you actually looked at him. Even as the menacing glint in Hydra’s doctor eye still flickered in your mind, your brain registered you got a glimpse the pleasant neutral face of a man you vaguely recognized as one belonging to the AI medical team, before you turned your eye to the right.

There, you were met with a subtle smirk on the face of a redhead; Natasha Romanoff, the world’s deadliest spy, a title she was perhaps sharing with Agent May.

Uncomfortably vivid flashes of memories flooded your brain as you were coming to, your heart racing; but upon seeing Natasha, you felt your body relax into the bed. Because you were in a bed – and you were most definitely not in a Hydra facility, but at the Tower’s med bay.

They had come to the rescue. Daisy had come. And probably many other too; you recalled voices, shouting, hissing, whimpering, a glow behind your closed eyelids-

You shot up on your bed, biting back the dull but very intense tug of pain in your thighs as you sat up with a startle. The glow.

“The artifact! Natasha, they can’t touch it, we don’t know-“

A gentle hand landed on your arm; you didn’t realize how close she was standing until she touched you, your heart, having jumped in fright at the mere idea of someone else getting tangled in the mess Kree artifacts tended to stir, pounding wildly at what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture.

Was that even safe, touching you? What if she got involved by merely doing that? What if the power somehow transferred---

--alright, that didn’t make any sense, because the brainless sadistic Hydra jerks had touched you as well, probably with no consequence, but-

“Relax. Breathe. The artifact is taken care off, locked up as of now,” Natasha stated calmly, her eyes roaming your face with what you were pretty certain was concern, even as she retreated her hand. “Doc, could you-“

The doctor – you were quite sure his name was Doctor Cuesta – excused himself in an instant, promising to check on you later and left without protest. Such was the power of Natasha Romanoff’s words; no questioning an order or even a request, just following it.

Some might find it odd, but to you, such behaviour was nothing new – you’d expect nothing less.

The baffling part of the scene would be the presence of Natasha by your bedside. That itself made for a peculiar but warm feeling in your gut, the only plausible reason for that being that she had come to check up on you; but it was another thing entirely to allow yourself to realize that the probability of you waking up the one moment she was here before she’d move on to tend to other things was almost absurdly low.

Which meant she wasn’t only checking up on you, but actually was spending some time here. And that was a hard thing to swallow, even as it tasted a little sweet.

The rational part of you was very firm in its reasoning that perhaps she and other Avengers took turns in your room just in case a new side effect of the power switch appeared and needed to be tackled, and now it was simply Natasha’s time.

The reckless part of you, the sentimental fraction of that part of you, shyly suggested that she was simply here because she cared. It wasn’t entirely unheard of that she was capable of feeling, naturally. Ater all, she had let a few people peek behind the hard shell of the Black Widow, Bucky Barnes making the top of the list.

It was just rather strange that you were included in that group of people at all.

And yet.

It still wasn’t the strangest thing about the whole scene.

As relief flooded your veins, the most acute fear having been soothed for the moment since you were no longer in Hydra’s clutches, you noticed that the already surreal scene – with all your senses in overdrive and dulled at once, probably due to whatever meds they were pumping into you through the i.v., which you had only just noticed – was a full fever dream. Because as the doctor left, your gaze caught on another person in the room. One that had had to been there the whole time, silent, only an echo of his harsher breaths having been reaching your ears, too quiet for you to notice before. And his cerulean eyes were firmly set on you, a tired minute smile on his lips.

The one person whom your very next words would have concerned, because your thoughts were consumed by him as well.

He was wearing a sling on his right arm and shoulder, a butterfly band-aid over what was probably a cut over his brow, a dark shiner on his cheek. Dressed in a simple grey hoodie and black sweats, he seemed as hulk-like as usual, even if worn to a bone and slightly hunched in his chair; but intent as he rose to his feet, stepping closer to your bed.

Now his presence was truly puzzling, even as it shouldn’t be, you supposed. Despite that, however, confusion was a feeling firmly pushed out by a very different sentiment, a whole sea of it.

Your shoulders sagged as you felt tension you hadn’t been aware of melt off your body; because he was okay. Well, as okay as one could be after what you had been through.

Steve was okay.

You were alive. Both of you.

And you were home.

Safe.

Despite the raging storm of sensations and emotions that seeing him stirred, it was relief that crashed into you with enough force to turn your eyes uncomfortably glassy.

It was over. It really was over.

There must have been so much mess to sort through; you had no idea where you stood with the powers exchange, had even less of an idea about where you stood with Steve, Captain Rogers, The Mighty Captain, the jerk, the kindest soul – but the horror was over.

Hydra would not shoot you in the head; Hydra would not cut you open and dig around in your body with glee, discovery that required experimentation. Not today.

And Steve was okay.

“Hey,” you whispered, the single word slipping off your lips unwittingly, causing his smile to widen, his eyes lighting up with life – and with a speckle of concern. Because of course he had noticed your tears welling up a bit.

The flash of a memory of his eyes, truly glowing with something, affection and desire, had your cheeks burn and your stomach flip in as much excitement as shame; that had been just a dream. A very, very nice dream that you could surely blame on medication just in case you had been making any embarrassing noises.

However, if you had, Steve didn’t mention it. Instead, he greeted you with a ‘hey’ in return, with a gentle sound of your name.

The feeling in your belly stirred by that had nothing to do with shame this time; the corners of your lips turned upwards without conscious effort. You felt fresh wave of heat rise to your cheeks; it was no doll or sweetheart, but it wasn’t Spectre either, nor Agent.

Wherever you stood with him now, it wasn’t at a distance; and it wasn’t on a battlefield where you’d face each other either.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you from what probably looked like embarrassing gazing, Natasha’s lips curling up further in concerningly knowing amusement.

“As I was saying. No need to worry about the artifact now. Between the glowing, live feed, Steve telling us and Johnson being able to recover the draft of the message you were trying to send from the auction, we knew enough to keep our hands off,” she explained. “And if that wouldn’t have done it, Johnson had a few colourful curses for us when she saw the symbols, mostly about all things Kree, so that was quite a dead giveaway.”

For all the new information, the corners of your lips twitched at the last piece of it. Of course. You could imagine that after everything that happened especially to Daisy, she would have had a plethora of swearwords at her disposal for such situations.

It wasn’t like your last shared Kree escapade had been kind to you either; you might have not been mind-controlled by an ancient Inhuman named Hive to turn against your team like she had been, but you had sort of been the person who turned out to be the SHIELD agent from a vision of the future Daisy had once been offered; stuck on a quinjet aimlessly flowing through space right before the craft exploded. The memory of body-wrenching invasion, Hive’s clutches having been slowly seeping into your spectre even as you had been snapping back from the quinjet so your spectre wouldn’t end scattered all over the Milky Way, still made you shudder and had made for recurring nightmares.

For a single alien race, Kree sure had messed with your life enough for ten lifetimes already.

Chasing away the dark memories, you latched onto another piece of information; Steve had told them about the artifact. That meant he had been conscious when they had picked him up, or at least hadn’t been unconscious for long. Certainly not longer than you. Which meant that even though he looked a little worse for wear – he was beautiful still, it truly was unfair, you’d bet you looked like an utter mess, while he looked like a warrior demi-god who needed a little nap – he truly was mostly fine.

You couldn’t but wonder if the serum was the reason for that.

“Fair enough,” you hummed absently before your gaze turned back to Steve, drawn to him like a magnet.

He was still smiling a bit, the concern evident on his face; it reminded you of the way he had watched you back in the cell and despite the cold fear that had gripped you several times back there, all you felt now was warmth; because the flash of dreadful memory of blood and pain digging into your mind came with a soft memory of his tender touch. Unfairly, beautifully tender touch of his hands that had not been strictly limited to treating your wounds.

You cleared your throat, attempting to snap your mind back to the present and much more business-like reality. “So… the artifact is safe, locked away. Does that mean we’re back to normal? We’ve got our abilities back?”

You should probably be able to tell on your own; but with no doubt generous dose of medication in your system, evaluating the intensity of stimuli to your senses was… rather difficult.

Steve’s smile grew an even more tired note when Natasha shot him a meaningful look at your question and he shook his head, causing your lips to part in surprise.

“Not yet,” he said simply, returning Natasha’s glare before he fully turned his attention to you, moving to the left side of your bed. It felt like you had an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other; and despite their looks, Steve’s hair always resembling a halo and Natasha’s being distinctly devilish red, you weren’t sure who was which. Why weren’t you back to normal? Why- “First, we’re not sure how exactly the artifact works and we’re not risking anything before Agent Campbell goes through the archives and Jiaying’s notes. Secondly… frankly, we think we should stay like this a little longer. We agreed you could definitely benefit from more time with accelerated healing. What do you say?”

You opened your mouth and then closed it again, no sound coming out. Your gaze flickered back to Natasha – it seemed she had quite a lot to say about that, but she didn’t make a sound. At least not here, not in front of you.

Guilt instantly bit into your stomach.

The longer you benefited from the effects of the serum, free of pain, the longer Steve suffered, caught in completely unnecessary pain. The latter was simply unacceptable and the former… well. That was always a dangerous thing for you to trifle with. Painless days – even as you were not completely pain-free now – were a thing of dreams you’d easily grow used to. You never had tried heavy drugs for the fear of having your performance messed up, but ever since you had gained your powers and discovered what they entailed, you imagined painless days as a mixture of heroin and morphine; euphoria and relief.

You’d soon start craving that cocktail once you wouldn’t be able to get your hands on it. The sudden absence would cause absolute havoc in your life.

But even if you accepted that; it wasn’t fair at all. It wasn’t fair at all that Steve should suffer consequences of your abilities and its faults. You understood the concerns about unpredictability of using the artifact, but besides that, it shouldn’t even be a subject to discussion.

So you couldn’t say you didn’t understand Natasha’s meaningful look at Steve or her stance; except perhaps you didn’t. Because when you dared to meet her gaze, fully expecting reproach, she was smiling instead, perhaps a little exasperatedly; and while you had misjudged her behaviour before, she appeared genuine in her concern. She might not like seeing her friend in pain in the slightest, but she heard the argument loud and clear. And perhaps, whether one could call you something akin to friendly colleagues or not, she didn’t revel in seeing you in pain either.

Yet, Steve saying they had agreed, whoever the ‘we’ was supposed entail, felt like a farce.

You might be on pain medication, the world slightly hazier than normal, but it was abundantly clear that Stevewas the one who had decided and accepted no counter-arguments. He could get like that sometimes. The infamous ‘everyone’s input counts, don’t be afraid to say your piece, we are a team’ of his flew out of the window if he felt strongly about something.

And he apparently felt very strongly about this.

You gulped as you gathered courage to look at him again, a not-so-quiet voice whispering sleazily about how pathetic you were and about that being the reason why he wanted to wait with the exchange. About how he had seen you at such a low point he could never believe you were good enough for any mission ever again, deciding that you were weak and needed all the support you could get to even survive, to even-

-but the emotions playing on his face, even as you couldn’t decipher them all, didn’t speak of contempt or pity. His smile remained nothing but soft, without a single hint of perceived or believed superiority of his own being. And without as much as a hint of him minding being in pain and taking longer to heal, not when it helped someone else, not when-

God, how that lit up fire in you, how that drove you up the wall. That stupid perfect ultimate good guy with a hero complex, his absurdly big heart larger than his already impressive body, so irritatingly kind, wrapped in a flag of self-sacrifice for good of others--- god, how you despised him for being that good. How you admired him for the very same reasons.

“But you-“

“I have one fully patched-up gunshot wound, mostly just a scratch, a few cuts and bruises, and a transfusion and some quality painkillers in my system,” Steve listed evenly, clearly having expecting your protest.

Those don’t work on the chest however, you reminded yourself, your gaze probably conveying the message even as you hadn’t said it, because Steve’s eyebrow arched slightly. “I’ll sleep it off. And I will heal the rest once I have my abilities back… we think. So truly. Your body needs the serum a lot more than mine.”

The lump that had started growing in your throat under Steve’s watchful gaze expanded further, suffocating and warming at once.

His choice of words felt like everything but accidental: your body. Not ‘you’.

Because that bastard, that infuriatingly observant sweet bastard, even without his serum momentarily but with about a hundred of injuries big and small, remembered and understood that feeling like less, being called less especiallyby someone like him andhim in particular, even if not intentionally, set off your attitude. He knew that now; because you had put almost all your cards on the table back in the Hydra facility. The fact it hadn’t been all cards clearly meant nothing; because when Steve had chosen the words, when he had seen, you might have been under at least two covers and in a hospital gown, but you’d be damned if you didn’t feel completely naked and exposed.

And the absolutely scariest part was… that it wasn’t as scary as you’d have expected it to be.

Not in front of him. Not when he had seen you at the bottom of the pit already. If anything, this was progress; after all, you were fully conscious and he wasn’t tearing your thigh-highs to shreds for the sole reason of treating two bullet wounds. But still. He was watching you with such a knowing gaze and yet, you weren’t bolting and it had nothing to do with your momentary inability to do about a single step. The tidal wave of emotions washing over you at that realization was… baffling and disconcerting to say at least. And rather difficult to process.

And his eyes… that gaze, so damn inquiring, caring and soft. It made your skin prickle and your fingers tingle and not all of it was entirely unpleasant.

“And before you ask, I admit I don’t like it, seeing either of you in pain, but I second that,” Natasha said, snapping you from your thoughts even as her voice was quiet, no doubt sensing this was a lot. And perhaps she was feeling a bit like an intruder. An intruder to what exactly? You would not dare to give it a name or ponder about it too much; it would only bring you a headache. Worse, a heartache. “You need to heal and we have no clue about the risks yet. So. I’m going to call Agent Campbell to check on his progress… Excuse me. And in the meantime, rest. Both of you. Feel better.”

She sweetened her last words with a smile and another meaningful look at Steve, whatever that was about; your best guess was that she was calling him out on not resting properly and being here in your room instead. Then, she cleared the space, the door sliding close behind her quietly.

Why was Steve here in your room instead of resting?

The question was silly really – you already had your answer. You would have known even before he had admitted to you back in the cell just how profoundly responsible he felt for his team and their wellbeing. He felt responsible for his subordinates and equals alike. He cared; though depriving himself of accelerating healing for your benefit seemed like an overkill.

And it certainly felt like a lot more than should be done for you.

You already had the best medical team in the country if not in the world at your disposal, one that could accommodate you and your Inhuman mutation, more than well-equipped to deal with the fact that it now somehow combined with the effects of Steve’s serum. It was already a lot more privilege than an average agent should have. Using the accelerating healing felt like an unfair profit and you wanted to protest despite being grateful and despite the valid argument Steve made.

But one single look at Steve told you arguing was useless. One look at the faint flame of determination in his eye and you heard the echo of his words from the cell clear as day.

You’re a person first, an asset to the team next.

You deserve to rest, you deserve having your needs met, you deserve to be treated like a damn human being.

You deserve better than that. And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.

The lump in your throat grew another three times bigger, the burn of tears in your eyes intensified; but you spilled none, swallowing heavily instead. There was a faint buzzing in your temples, but you tried to ignore that. Because this was important. If you weren’t about to try and argue Steve out of doing something stupid as you usually did and should, because you’d have about as much success as trying to move a mountain, you might as well express your gratitude at least.

“Thank you for checking up on me,” you rasped, clearing your throat; your tongue felt a little heavy too, especially when he smiled and you did not want to think about why. “For agreeing… for deciding about the… postponing the switch. I’m sorry, I don’t—it’s hard to form words, I-...”

It’s hard to say ‘thank you’ when you look at me like there’s no reason for that gratitude.

When you look like it’s all as easy and matter-of-course courtesy as holding a door open for a woman.

When you look at me, now, without an imminent threat to our lives, and the things we talked about still hang in the air, exposing so many things that I never wanted to see the light of the day.

When you’re doing me an enormous favour and you look like it’s not just because of believing it’s the right thing to do, but maybe, just a little, because it’s for me.

“Of course. And don’t worry, they did mention they have a bit of trouble to balance our dosages of medication, unsure about the serum effects or the lack of it,” he said, so casually kindly again.

“Right,” was all you managed to muster.

Medication miscalculation was most definitely not the only reason why you had trouble speaking; if Steve realized that and he was giving you an out, you couldn’t tell, but didn’t want to investigate. You were simply grateful for not having to explain what might have been written all over your face despite trying your damnest to look mostly neutral and probably failing epically.

The silence that settled tasted a little awkward; as you tried, in the subtlest way possible, to assess Steve’s body language, mulling over his words again, you felt a fresh stab of guilt. He was hunched over a little – and he had mentioned that the med team had issues managing his pain too. They didn’t know how to deal with his natural pain, because his metabolism changed too; as if it wasn’t enough there was nothing they could do for the extra pain in his chest.

And you could easily rid of that, probably of both.

He'd deserve that. More than anyone you had ever met.

What kind of a person were you to deny him that? You shouldn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t ant to argue with him, not when whatever progress you had made in your relationship was so fragile, but… you couldn’t let him do that.

“Steve, about that switching, I don’t think it’s the best idea to wa-“

“I do,” he said firmly, straightening his posture a bit. Whether that was to establish dominance – as if he wasn’t already standing while you were semi-lying – or to cover up for the fact his chest was no doubt hurting like son of a bitch still, you weren’t sure. But he did; and when he spoke again, you had to admit it was probably the latter. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

God, that stubborn son of a-

You bit down the curse, mildly, very mildly mollified by the warm smile – with the subtlesthint of mischief – he charmed up as he tilted his head, waiting.

So you sighed instead.

He gave you time as you allowed yourself to feel your body, the muscles of your legs stiff and relaxed at once, a significantly duller ache than you’d expect, exhaustion seeping deep in your bones despite having barely just woken up. As you kept assessing, pondering about the right balance of honesty and propriety, Steve’s eyes flickered to a nearby chair standing barely a few feet from him, then back to you with an unspoken but clear question.

Despite your better judgement, you nodded, belly warm at the idea of him staying a little longer when you were indeed not in imminent danger and he was still being amicable with you.

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to know how you felt; he considered you a one of the people he felt truly responsible for.

He cared.

You shouldn’t be so content, shouldn’t give in, certainly shouldn’t be feeling like you were slowly melting on the inside. Your heart shouldn’t be fluttering. But you had already established your judgement was impaired at best, didn’t you?

And again, despite your better judgement, you also told Steve the truth. There was simply something in his eyes as he watched you with concern but a small smile, clearly content you had granted him his wish to sit down and stay a little longer instead of screaming your disagreement to his face, that just made you actually want to tell the truth. To be on honest terms.

“I’m… a little less than fine, I guess,” you admitted reluctantly, only to see his smile slip, gaze instantly drawn to the nurse button by your bed. But a nurse would not help you with this; not with feeling rather lost in all the sensations and emotions and feeling like you were losing your last defences to the all-kinds-of-gorgeous man by your bedside. “But I… I would have been dead without you.”

Steve shook his head in dismissal.

The sudden urge – to make him seethat dismissing all he had done as if it was some kind of a common courtesy was utter nonsense –flared up in your chest with intensity, shooting straight into your veins even before he spoke up.

“You removed the bullets yourself-“

“And you took care of me. You--- you protected me. With everything you had and caught a bullet for that, because I needed-“

“I needed to do at least something,” he interrupted you in turn, your mouth falling shut at the urgency of his tone, the atmosphere suddenly heavier and thicker than just a moment ago with something you couldn’t quite grasp except for feeling the gravity and passion behind Steve’s words. “The fact that I, at least partly, got us into that situation was just one of many reasons why. And you, you warned us that that might happen, and yet when it came, you didn’t throw it in my face, not really, but instead fought tooth and nail, suffering the consequences of a mistake that was not your own and tried you damnest to help even when you were fighting for your life. Healing a little faster than usual is the least you deserve and me having done what I did and enabling that healing now is the least I can do.”

You swallowed heavily, not daring to move otherwise, not ready to make a sound; too stunned. His words were heavy with guilt, bright with sincerity and laced with the echo of those in the cell again.

You deserve better than that. And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.

And you understood. You understood that the guilt he had revealed might have been a strong motivator of his, but not the only one. He wanted to do that for you. Because he cared.

The thought was dizzying still, but with that, you supposed you could live. You could live, even though with heavy conscience, with him choosing to wait if it eased his conscience. It wasn’t written anywhere that the switch couldn’t happen right tomorrow – just not right now. Whenever that might occur, however, the delay was still an enormous sacrifice; one worthy of Captain America. One worthy of Steve Rogers.

It would enrage you to no end that he was willing to do that, if it only didn’t make your heart flutter.

You licked your lips, mouth having gone dry as you found yourself under his burning gaze the whole time you pondered your answer.

“I--- thank you, Steve. And not just for that. I am still grateful for what you did for me back there too… and how.”

And you meant that too.

Because you did remember with painful and startling quality. Remembered how tender and careful his hands had been, how soothing his voice had sounded, how sincere his words had been. You hadn’t really deserved such softness; and certainly, when looking back, hadn’t expected it either – used to a cold shoulder, drills and words that couldn’t be farther from the endearments Steve’s lips spilled – even as you had known Steve was simply a unique kind of man.

You’d always be grateful for all of it, even as his actions had been a double-edged sword.

Thank you for what you did and how; even if it ruined me forever. Even if it crushed most if not all the walls I had built so meticulously so I wouldn’t jump into the void of allowing myself to feel anything but caution, irritation and insanely bothersome admiration when it came to you.

The memory of his soft touch would haunt you forever; it had already haunted your dream, after all, the endearments whispered by his lips in a context and situation imagined, but fed by a real memory.

At your words, Steve smiled a bit, concern and determination replaced by sheer warmth that felt like a fluffy blanket caressing your skin, inviting you to sink into its softness.

“Anytime, doll.”

The conviction in the single word strummed your heartstrings gently; the endearment, falling from his lips so effortlessly again, tugged at them violently and made you shiver.

Your chuckle sounded foreign and nervous, the heat blooming in your chest a little heavy.

“Is that going to be a thing now?”

Steve sat up straighter in an instant, only reminding you of how close he had leaned forward to you before; he appeared a little flushed, a tinge of pink in his cheeks, expression one of a boy caught with a hand in the cookie jar. It took away five years of his handsome face and it was beautiful.

It was such an awfully sweet picture that the nerves melted away, giving into the gentle fire instead.

“Oh. Sorry, I-“

“No, I-… I like it…” you admitted unwittingly, slowly, feeling your cheeks burn with heat and your lungs with panic, because what were you doing? What were you thinking, not only feeling it, but confessing to that, no matter how true it was. You couldn’t--- you shouldn’t- “I think,” you added quickly.

You fooled no one.

But oh, that brilliant smile Steve’s lips split into and his fingertips brushing over your hand laxly laid on the bed, before his hand gently enveloped yours, made that admission damn well worth it. Even if your chest felt paper-thin, with your pounding heart threatening to burst right through.

God, you were glad you only had the oximeter on your other hand and were not attached to the kind of ECG that was hooked to a beeping monitor. You’d die of embarrassment if Steve could actually hear the somersaults your heart was doing; you were set on the course of committing ritualistic suicide by allowing yourself to feel that way already, there was no need to add to it, really, no need to let him hear-

And yet you couldn’t imagine you truly would care if he heard. Not when his warm hand carefully squeezed yours, a flicker of apprehension in his gaze when he did so, almost as if he was – arguably rightfully – worried it would make you pull your hand back.

But you did no such thing; like a fool. Like a fool in lo- no. That was so not a wise direction for your thoughts.

“Yeah,” Steve hummed, his shoulders sagging a bit when you not only hadn’t yanked your hand free, but instinctively – yes, certainly, it was pure reflex, not a conscious decision at all, right? – briefly squeezed back. “Me too.”

There was something setting off all alarm bells inside you at the direction you were both steering towards; but there was also something chasing tears of relief and affection into your eyes.

Because what you were experiencing, what you were seeing, was precious on so many levels.

Sweet. Vulnerable. Less than confident.

Stubborn. In pain not entirely hidden. Slipping. Soft.

New layers of Steve uncovered, revealed voluntarily for you to see. You had willed yourself to be a little more honest and accept, however reluctantly, his kindness; and in return, he took your words to heart too, letting you see more of him than what he was used to showing.

He had admitted back in the cell that what the agents could of him, a drastically uncomplete image with virtues having painted all of it, was what he believed was necessary. Ironically, you had never found yourself admiring him more – steering faster towards the very dangerous territory of liking him and allowing yourself to feel it and giving into it – than right now.

You were not blind to the opportunity; you were not blind to the fact it cost him something too, because letting go of masks and tearing down walls was a painful and often impossible process. You appreciated it; and he deserved know that.

“And, I-“

His smile grew a little curious, intent, so genuinely interested in whatever you wanted to say that you couldn’t bear his gaze anymore, your eyes focusing on his hand on yours instead; it only stirred emotion in you further, because the sight was all kinds of peculiar. Not only because of the simple insane fact that he was holding your hand – Jesus, you needed to get a grip and not on his hand, no matter how nice that would have felt – but because of his scraped knuckles and two tiny cuts. An image unparalleled; you had never seen that. Either you weren’t shown, obviously, or the small injuries hadn’t stuck for long enough, the serum coursing his veins working its miracles and healing.

And he wanted you to have that kind of miraculous luxury for now, giving it up for your benefit. For you. It might be unfathomable, but that made it no less touching, the feeling blooming in your chest no less consuming.

That large warm pawn of his might have as well be pulling directly at your heartstrings with every second he spent in your company, with every step forward you felt he was taking.

“I… it might be just painkillers talking, but I like you better like this. I mean-- better than the perfect Captain America. Not hurt, obviously,” you said, mentally cursing your choice of words.

And cursing the confession itself. The moment you said it out loud, you realized it revealed too much. You didn’t dare to look up for the very reason; but it felt like Steve’s smile widened, your mind supplying you with an image of his eyes crinkling for some reason.

The barely-there twitch of his hand felt self-deprecating, looking back at his own behaviour critically; that made you feel a touch braver. And a bit more confident that he truly wondered what was on your mind and wanted to hear and see what you thought and who you were; bad humour included.

It only felt right to show it.

“I also liked it when you told me to tell you what to do for a change.”

You were rewarded for speaking up; with a gorgeous sound of his chuckle sending tingles down your veins, a sight of his absurdly handsome face lighting up and him leaning a bit closer, brighter, but with serious note to his cerulean eyes, the faintest hint of hesitance as his laugh faded out, only his smile remaining

“Well. I’ll deny it and will never speak of it again if you just say the word, but I just… I just like you.”

Lightning.

It struck you like a lightning, electrifying, burning and icy cold all at once. Paralysing.

If holding his hand had seemed like a risk, now he figuratively took your other hand too and led you straight into the minefield. And you might have trusted him to do that, but reached for even more humour anyway, because the feeling coiling inside you expanded with the first breath you dared to take and then further with every other and you had no clue how to contain it.

He liked you.

“Such flattery.”

It did not come out as snarky as intended; in fact, it came out just as touched as you felt, the echo of his words resonating in your very bones, the marrow crumbling and rebuilding anew. You suspected your expression revealed a little too much of how profoundly that single statement seemed to change what might be a little piece of you, but changed you fundamentally. Your voice came out a touch too vulnerable – but you supposed that was only fair. He had been vulnerable first. Right?

So why did it feel like so much? Too much.

You half-expected Steve to take it back, if not for anything, than for the very magnitude of such statement; but he kept watching you, painfully gentle and unable to take it anymore, your gaze slid lower to his chest.

The flash of a terrifying image – a ghastly memory – had you wince, the bubble Steve had seemed to create bursting, reality crashing in.

“How’s… how bad is the chest pain?”

Steve didn’t call you out on the change of topic; but his smile earned a tense edge, the briefest flash of a grimace telling you the pain was, unsurprisingly and unfortunately, barely bearable. As it tended to be when a person got shot.

But he didn’t say a word about that pain, stubborn; and perhaps he was purposely letting you get a taste your own medicine, showing you another piece of the only almost-perfect puzzle he was – a tiny bit vindictive, proving a point when given the chance. You supposed you couldn’t exactly argue that you didn’t deserve that behaviour.

Or maybe he simply didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to disturb the nice warm moment by digging into a very painful spot. Literally.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said simply.

And yet, there was an undertone to his voice, one that had your breath catch and took you all too long to figure out, only knocking the remnants of air from your lungs when you did realize what his patient gaze spoke of as well.

This was not only his answer to you.

This was his answer to anyone who asked.

And you wanted to be mad at him, for being a hypocrite, for hiding pain, no doubt telling people he was fine, as he had told you too-

-but the motivation behind that action was not as simple and straightforward as him putting on the face he always believed was necessary. Because it was so much more complicated than. Because it was about you too.

That was what he was telling you.

You did not believe that it would last. There was no universe in which Steve Rogers would make a discovery of such nature and kept it for himself, or would keep it but let it slide without any consequence, good or bad; but for now, he did. He hadn’t revealed your secret to anyone.

Your choked ‘thank you’, when you finally gathered enough air and wits to speak, was barely audible.

And that infuriatingly good bastard just smiled, a little conspiratory, as if he had a secret you now knew, even if it was the other way around.

“I should let you rest,” he said lowly, brushing over your gratitude – because of course he did. “Rest well. Feel better.”

Despite his words, he did not move an inch away from you; he didn’t let go either, the only movement being a painfully soft sweep of his thumb over the back of your hand, over your wrist.

The minuscule, seemingly instinctual caress made something warm hum in your chest, loud.

So unlike two weeks ago with the parting words after your fight – god, did it feel like a lifetime ago, and maybe it was, the experience of the past hours changing you, leaving you alive but reborn – you allowed yourself to respond in kind, consciously letting sincerity slip into your voice.

“You too.”

Steve smiled wide, eyes crinkling – and this time, you did see it, the image much prettier and vivid than your mind had conjured before. The feeling in your chest hummed even louder and fluttered its wings, an echo of a sweet melody and his words in your head.

I just like you.

He had exposed his heart, shared a good thing with you. That was another thing you should reciprocate, for it might be a dangerous truth, but one Steve would deserve to hear. Yet, you found yourself unable to do it.

You were no hero – not like him. There was not enough courage left to say those words – but that didn’t mean you weren’t willing to put in an effort, to hint at least. Because one thing needed to be made crystal clear; that reckless, beautiful thing, blossoming around your heart, pulling at the seams of your ribcage.

“And I… think I will want you to speak of… that again. Later?” you suggested quietly, half-expecting him to burst out with a laughter, a ‘ha gotcha!’ coming at last,; half-hoping he would do no such thing.

Sure, men being interested in your person might not be a foreign concept to you, be it your status, skills or abilities, but neither were the bets and conquests of the one with higher status and skills than their own – which for sure would not be Steve’s case. It couldn’t be. He would never.

Yet, you felt apprehension creep up your spine as you confessed; one quickly dissolved in his velvety voice.

“I’d like that too.”

You squeezed his hand back at that, vainly shushing the overly giddy sensation awoken. You really, really needed to get a grip on yourself. But you didn’t take your indirect confession back – which meant your judgement was most definitely impaired. And funnily enough, you didn’t mind one bit.

For a long moment, neither of you said a word; neither of you commented on the minute physical affection you showed, this time entirely consciously. Steve didn’t tease you about it, didn’t turn it against you in any way, nor exploited it, his smile only turning a tad warmer, without pressure.

It occurred to you it was no wonder you had been unable to say ‘I like you’ back to him; it would have been a lie. ‘Liking’ him just might be too weak of a word at the moment.

“Good,” you whispered simply, earning another caress on your hand, this time surer, firmer, but no less gentle.

Then, one last squeeze of a hand and Steve was rising to his feet at last. The way you missed the warmth of his touch instantly was downright criminal; you just weren’t sure whether it was you or him who should get arrested.

“See you soon, doll.”

Him. He was the one who should be locked up and with a warning.

Over the power of his words, a very faint sound of the door sliding open reached your ears but not your brain – so you responded in kind again.

“See you soon, stranger.”

He grinned – that criminal grinned – as if he could remember you calling him that back at the charity auction, and made his way to the door where he turned back to you just to spare you one more smile. As a consequence, he nearly collided with one Daisy Johnson before he disappeared from your sight completely.

But not before you witnessed Daisy’s appreciative onceover, a firm dutiful ‘Captain Rogers’ on her lips. Once the door slid shut, her gaze found yours, mutely, but very exaggeratingly mouthing a ‘wow’.

And you kinda wished she would have stayed in the mute mode when she actually spoke.

“Well, lucky you, doll.”

“Shut up.”

Despite your harsh words, you were smiling, feeling heat rising in your cheeks – and realizing there was a dull ache in them too. Given the fact you hadn’t been punched there, as far as you knew, it meant that your cheeks hurt from smiling too long. And you couldn’t seem to make it stop, trying, but failing as your lips instantly curled up again.

Daisy’s unoffended chuckle sounded like it was coming from an enormous distance.

What was wrong with you? What were you, a teenager? A kid?So Steve had said he liked you and held you hand for a bit, gee, yeah, a big deal. Except it was. And definitely not just because you couldn’t have stood each other – or acted like it – barely two weeks ago, which was just another thing that should make you freak out and in a way it did, because this was insane and dangerous, but--- god. The way he just casually swept his thumb over the back of your hand was doing visceral things to you; and your brain might have been screaming at you because of that, but heaven help you, you still liked it.

It was a good thing that Daisy, the closest thing you had to a friend, was here now, to bring your feet back to Earth.

Except she was about to do no such thing, naturally – damn her pure hopeful heart and dirty mouth.

“You know, I know I once said I’d like to get my hands on Thor,” she hummed, grinning, spying the chair by your bed and plopped down into it without bothering asking permission, “but I’m not picky about my Avengers… like, at all.”

You couldn’t help it; you snorted, even as an irrational growl of mine seemed to echo in your skull.

“Yeah, right, tell that to Lincoln.”

“What? I can appreciate a handsome beefcake of a man still, I have eyes!”

“Yeah, for Lincoln Campbell, your boyfriend,” you reminded her with amusement, even as she most definitely needed no reminder; the two were sickeningly, beautifully in love.

Only when she raised her eyebrow, you noticed the butterfly band aid on her forehead – it truly spoke of how out of it you were to notice it only now despite the injury literally staring into your face.

You sat up straighter, frowning. “Hey, what happened? How are you doing?”

Daisy’s right eyebrow joined the left one, her hand subtly pointing towards her – and then you.

“Me? I’m fine. You, however, have two gunshot wounds, Ms. Avenger. What the hell?”

Your smile slipped at the addressing making a return, instinct taking over. “I’m not… that, not really.”

Daisy tilted her head, her face speaking volumes.

Here was a thing about Daisy Johnson; even long before she was an agent, from what you heard, she could show very clearly when she was done with someone’s bullshit. And she was clearly expressing that she thought you were sprawling nonsense now.

You spoke quickly before she could, forcing your smile back as you remembered: “I met a girl recently, she was a fan of yours.”

“Oh? Cool! Tell me all about that,” Daisy took the bait easily, grinning with a mischief that should have clued you on something, but didn’t. “When was that? Was that during the Avengers’ Day, Ms. Avenger?”

You shot her an unimpressed glare; but the corners of your lips twitched up involuntarily at her shenanigans. Damn her. This woman. She was on a roll.

“And then, you’d better tell me all the juicy and mundane details you can about the blond beefcake… that calls you doll, apparently? You know, Coulson’s either gonna fistfight you for him or dry his tears of pride and joy for like a week.”

There was absolutely no containing the snort of laughter this time. Your cheeks burned; your belly tingled, warmth and nausea at once – but you snorted again, because that was a visual that should not be so plausible. Bless Phil Coulson and his heart. You admired him greatly, but the imagery Daisy painted should have felt much more absurd.

“You’re awful,” you accused her, giggling, not blind to her pride at her joke.

“Please, you love me.”

God help you, you did indeed. The insistent tug on the corners of your lips gave it away, as did the incredibly soothing bright feeling in your chest. Your giggles turned into a gentle smile, the gratitude you felt hopefully seeping into every word.

Because you were grateful to her – for a lot of things. You didn’t think you could put it into words; you didn’t think you truly wanted to put it into words. You just hoped that she understood. She always had.

“Thank you for checking up on me, Daisy. And for coming to the rescue in the first place,” you said, the sudden hoarseness of your voice and the burn in your eyes taking you by surprise – and with shame.

But she just smiled; because of course she did. She was a lot more than a kickass hero with a sense of humour. Most of all, she was a kind precious soul fighting the odds no one would have guessed she had to face.

She leaned closer, her expression speaking of sincerity you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to.

“Hey. Always. But please, do not test that again. You scared me… scared us. If it weren’t for another three fires that needed to be put out around the world, you’d have the full cavalry here, and I don’t mean just May,” she informed you, not giving you time to process the bombshell she just dropped and caused absolute havoc in your head. Surely, she was exaggerating- “Next gala, just get drunk and do something embarrassing, yeah? Nothing life-threatening.”

You just smiled weakly, latching onto the mischief appearing in her face again, the air feeling considerably lighter in your lungs at that.

“Now. What’s the word? Who was the girl? And… how’s the guy?”

She wiggled her eyebrows – actually wiggled her eyebrows – and you opened your mouth mutely, barely containing your smile at the sheer force of her enthusiasm. It had nothing to do that the memory of Steve’s hand on yours made you melt into the pillow again. Nothing.

Get a grip-

“He’s… it’s—complicated,” you stammered, having to admit that it was actually be the most accurate word ever to describe whatever you and Steve were. Were trying to be. Could be in some utopia land. Whatever.

Daisy grinned in return. “Riiiight, so right up your alley then, eh?”

Mentally, you scoffed. Figures, you supposed. And still – you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

I just like you.

Steve Rogers was most definitely entirely out of your league – a war hero who had literally fought the original Nazis, a hero of today, a demi-god in a barely human form, the gentlest man with a heart of gold and mind sharp like a knife that he only used to protect others – but as far as types of men went, he was certainly up there for you. You knew you shouldn’t reach so high, because you weren’t able to, but damn him, he made you want to try, even as the fall would hurt like son of a bitch.

“Yeah... I suppose it is.”

“Well, just so you know, there was not a single complicated thing about the way that guy was looking at ya’,” Daisy drawled confidently, crossing hr arms on her chest, watching you expectantly.

Your heart fluttered and started racing, stomach doing a funny flip-flop.

Get a grip, get a grip, he’s just--- he’s just a guy, just a guy, and you shouldn’t get your hopes up so much, you---

You pushed the burning giddy feeling away, catching yourself before you could grin and giggle and scream like a lunatic, and cleared your throat.

Daisy’s face told you that you fooled no one – or at least not her. Oh for god’s sake-

“Ehm… thanks. Duly noted. Now, about Daisy…”

“Oooh I like this girl already. Spill!”

And so you did, eternally grateful your Daisy didn’t push further. At least for now.

And if the ache in your cheeks persisted, maybe, just maybe, you only welcomed it with a wider smile.

As Steve walked down the hall, he felt the tips of his ears burning, even as what had happened between you to in your hospital room was hardly scandalous.

What was rather scandalous was the look Agent Johnson gave him when he nearly collided with her in the doorway. That woman conveyed a plethora of emotion in a single gaze; respect, curiosity, a wordless threat not to hurt her friend and somewhat platonic objectification, the reason for the flush to his skin.

True, the last part was significantly aided by his interaction with you – entirely pleasant, sweet, warm even, your hand in his certainly had been, and you had said you would like to talk about that. ‘That’ being Steve liking you. And while his choice of words was a little too simple, it clearly didn’t affect the result – and the warmth remained both on his face and in his chest.

Unfortunately, the droplets of sweat he could feel in his hairline and the rest of the flush to his face had much more to do with pain. Brutal, unrelenting pain which didn’t react to medication unlike the one coming from his actual injuries.

Now that he felt but a slight dull ache in his shoulder and arm and face, and he didn’t have other sensations to focus on, no little smiles, surprising honesty, no touch, no ‘I like you better like this’, the pain in his ribcage was nothing short of stabbing. He slouched a bit, allowing himself a few moments of reprieve since there were no witnesses momentarily; but as the ache didn’t subdue, Steve seriously questioned his decision to not bring it up not only with you, but no one at all.

The Avengers didn’t know about the issue yet – he had requested to postpone anyone watching the rest of the records from the Hydra facility until he’d review it, not even having to make up the worry he expressed about revealing too personal information or his concern about the action of showing the video to others appearing like dangling the less-than-completely-stellar moments you had shared in front of the team. While Steve held nothing but admiration for you and your strength in those moments and he was sure anyone would feel the same, he’d rather if you decided about what you wanted the team to see; the majority of what had happened at the two cells brought no useful intel anyway. However, the issue of your abilities, now that was something that needed to be shared with at least a few other people, but should be done so completely on your terms.

Which was also the reason why Steve hadn’t been interrogating and hurting the bastards who had tortured you – and it had been torture, inflicting not only pain, but fear, all for the goal of breaking you and him alike – leaving that to Natasha and Bucky instead. The Hydra operatives who were still able to speak – Steve admittedly found a little too much gratification in the fact not all of them could – might try to get a rise out of him. Or directly ask about how his chest was doing and thus steering attention to questions Steve did not want to answer since you didn’t either.

That was why he had opted for siting in your room, watching Natasha’s and Bucky’s impeccable and incredibly satisfactory work on his tablet, alternating with watching over the steadily drawn lines on your heart monitor and your calm breaths; an acceptable compromise of keeping your secret safer, keeping an eye on you, technically resting as he the doctor had ordered, and witnessing the men who revelled in hurting others metaphorically weave the rope to hang themselves on as either of Steve’s closest friends got them worked up.

Admittedly, Steve had nodded off at some point between all this, probably due to the amount of pain medication he was on and exhaustion from the pain that never left, but that wasn’t the point.

And sure – Steve didn’t plan on sitting on the information about your lingering pain forever, chest almost bursting at the seams with the need to discuss it with someone already and put a plan in motion so you’d suffer less in the future, preferably not at all, but he needed to be careful about it. Strategic. Take his time.

And process it fully himself first.

Because that was a hard, bitter pill to swallow and Steve wasn’t sure he ever would. Not the part about him not having known. Not the part about him having assumed. Not the part about feeling the extent of it on his own body. And most definitely not the part that this was how your powers worked and always had. His blood was boiling at not having known, but anger was not the only emotion stirred.

The mere idea you had suffered a pain like this, multiple times without a single soul knowing – or a single person who could have decided you wouldn’t be going on mission or even to training in such state – was horrifying and almost as paralyzing as the pain itself. And it wasn’t that Steve didn’t understand the need to push one’s self, swallow pain in order to function, to help, or didn’t admire those who could do it. He himself had bit through a fair amount of pain, more than he’d care for. But he had suffered through it only when it was absolutely necessary and lives were at stake, and you’d just--

…alright, perhaps that was a lie and he was a damn hypocrite, but that was different. You must have been suffering constantly and that was wrong and simply inacceptable.

Steve’s brain was in a slight haze, both physical and mental exhaustion catching up with him as did the suddenly lacking effects of the serum he had got used to, but he tried to strain his memory anyway. How many missions had you handled with pain not unlike the one he was feeling now? Without a single complaint, because you apparently believed complaining was notwithin your rights, because you were an agent, and pain was a part of life? Occupational hazard, easier on you than on other agents, because it was ‘only’ pain? How many of your missions had you taken on after having got hurt in your spectral form? A quarter of them? A third? He’d have to go through the records. He was going to read on every single one of them, remind you of all of them and make sure you’d never do that again. Because goddamnit you mattered.

He really thought you had believed him back at the base, but he was not so certain you’d stay in that headspace after you’d heal; he might be a hypocrite, but he was beginning to see similarities he was not appreciative of and he was more than aware that that was what he would have probably done too. But that was a problem for the future you and him and whoever would get involved.

Athe door to the communal kitchen came into focus, Steve sighed, trying to concentrate on the insistent twitch in the corners of his lips instead; because besides the persistent agony and burning, there a sweet warmth that lingered in his chest as well. A distraction, a soft painkiller that didn’t do much, but was still doing plenty.

He grasped at that straw, gripping hard as he reached the door, back straightening. He could handle the pain like this too; it wasn’t completely unbearable. It only hurt when he moved.

Or breathed.

And keeping your secret for now, keeping it safe, mattered. Because no matter whether he agreed or not, you hadconsidered your circumstance as one not allowing you to share how your abilities worked; not with him or any other Avenger, or even Coulson, since Steve hadn’t got any information of that kind when they had recruited you. Your heartbreaking ‘thank you’ back in the room had spoken volumes, nails of an invisible hand digging into Steve’s heart.

For that, hiding his momentary pain and not saying anything was worth it. For the trust you had showed him when you had confessed, it was worth it, because he couldn’t afford to break that. Not only it would feel like an utter betrayal even to him, let alone you, but because they’d lose you. Already having been so reluctant to fully lean into being an Avenger in any other but professional – and bleeding – capacity, caring but keeping your distance, you’d cut them off completely. Or left the team; even as in the past few minutes, Steve had not got the impression of you planning on that.

Hopefully.

Right before he entered, Steve took a deep agonizing breath. It reminded him of his asthma, only with the pain dialled up to eleven, the kind of hurting he was no longer used to fighting, not when not running on more adrenalin than blood. He granted himself the luxury of not straitening to his full height – he was about to meet friends, after all. He did not have to hide everything.

He could afford showing just a bit more, blaming it on bruised ribs he hadn’t want to admit to – if anything, that would make his charade more believable.

He allowed for the smile tugging on his lips to spread fully.

You had said yes. You hadn’t exactly said you liked him too, he wasn’t blind to that fact, but it was implied for certain that you did – and he’d take it, because he wasn’t blind to the enormous progress you had gone through compared to what you two had been two weeks ago when the major fight had occurred.

I’d like to talk about that…. Later?

Steve could wait. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to sort through, some pleasant, some less so.

Three faces with various levels of amusement and concern welcomed him as he walked in, Bucky, Natasha and Sam sitting at the table, taking a break in between digging into the sick minds of Hydra operatives.

They all watched him expectantly, no doubt having spied the smile on his face – but it was Bucky who spoke, the one teasingly prolonged word only causing Steve’s smile to widen.

“Soooo…?”

“Not a word.”

“Oh I think a lot of words probably happened, punk. Communication, huh? The wonders of simply talking...” Bucky continued, earning an unimpressed glare as Steve moved to the still fresh pot of coffee. He had a mission report to write, then another report as two AI high-ranking operatives had been hurt, he had the videos to review, a therapy session planned… he needed the caffeine.

Especially since he was to deal with his friends first; the snicker that escaped Sam and the smirk settling on Natasha’s face spoke volumes.

Clearly, Steve was friends with children. And as children he should treat them.

“I hate you all,” he uttered, his grin somehow only widening.

“Oooooh, careful! Careful, you guys,” Sam teased, extending his hand in front of Bucky and Natasha as if to protect them from Steve. “He might have caught more than her powers. He’s cranky now.”

A bit of indignation lit up in Steve’s chest at that mocking remark – you weren’t that cranky. In fact, you could be quite doting on others when you weren’t isolating yourself. Which, now that he looked back, might have been for a large part caused by the fact that when you were alone, it was your reprieve from pretending you were not in pain. For another, he was staring to understand that you felt like you didn’t belong – and so your exits could have seemed harsher than intended.

He wasn’t sure which was worse; but either way, making fun of you for it was incredibly unfair.

But before he could rise to our defence, Bucky was pushing Sam’s hand away with a shit-eating grin.

“Nah, he could always be cranky, especially when he knew others had been right the whole time. He’s just finally embraced the fact they are two peas in the pod with our resident lady Spectre. Didn’t you?”

“Har-har, jerk,” Steve commented, unimpressed.

But yes, that was true. The fact he had refused to admit that your similarities were one of the reasons why you occasionally clashed so hard was certainly among the list of his recent revelations, of which most sucked, but he was still glad for having made them.

Something must have shown in his face, or perhaps his voice had earned a bitterer note as his thoughts had, because Sam’s features lost a fair share of humour, sincerity shining through instead, as he made more space for him at the table, letting him sit among them.

“No, Steve, seriously… we’re glad to have you back. Both of you… cranky or smiling.”

Steve’s lips automatically mimicked the latter, especially when Sam very carefully reached out to briefly squeeze his unharmed shoulder.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“And happy to see you two idiots are making progress…” Bucky added, hiding his ever-present grin behind his cup as he sipped his coffee.

“…even if it took an alien artifact, a kidnapping, three gunshot wounds and walking a mile in each other’s’ shoes,” Natasha finished, causing Steve to sigh, the creeping unease they had called crankiness growing as she listed it all.

Natasha certainly had a point, because it had taken a lot indeed – and they didn’t even know half of it… or at least about one gunshot wound. And as much as Steve shared their sentiment, grateful – delighted, in fact – that your relationship with him was beginning not only to settle, but might actually grow into something more than pleasant collegiality or friendship, he couldn’t help feeling that the price for that was a little too high.

“Sure, laugh it up.”

“Oh, we will,” Sam agreed instantly, showing his pearly whites in a wide grin, the very moment Natasha’s quiet hum told Steve that he was never going to live that down and Bucky blurted out “Absolutely, we will, yeah.”

Yeah, I don’t think I will, Steve thought darkly, biting his tongue and resolving to drown the words in the hot drink instead, gaze lowering to the counter as not to reveal his musings, hoping to come across as flustered if not embarrassed a bit.

But he should have known better.

Between two deadly spies and a man who knew a human soul and trauma well-enough to volunteer at a VA, and with all of those being his close friends, there was no hiding.

He could feel the humour melt away from the room completely as concern filled the space instead.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, setting his cup down; and at that, Steve almost laughed, but sighed instead, reluctantly looking up.

A whole lot is wrong.

“Besides the obvious, he means,” Sam added quickly.

What was Steve supposed to say to that? He knew about the one thing he couldn’t reveal, but the rest… that he hated what had happened, that to a large point, he did hate learning all the things about you and revealing his own fears and insecurities, some of them healed and soothed, loving it all the same? That he wasn’t sure that if given the chance to come back and undo all the pain, not only the one you were put through in the past days, but all of it, there was a part of him, significant one, that would not have taken that chance, because it let you right here and may lead to something beautiful? How selfish was that? For the paragon of virtue you considered him, he sure felt like the opposite. And the fact you likely still thought you weren’t enough, hadn’t been enough, didn’t—

He cherished all he learned about you, but there was a part of him that simply wanted to scream and now he couldn’t. And he had no idea at all what he was going to tell not only to his friends, but to his therapist; because not telling anyone as he had promised himself and indirectly to you for now, surely included her as well.

So much for a fearless reckless leader, eh?

“It’s not… it is just that a lot has happened, that’s all,” Steve said at least, carefully choosing his words. It was the farthest thing from a lie. It just wasn’t a complete truth; and it wasn’t enough. His friends could tell; he could feel all of their gazes burning through his skull, even as they remained silent, waiting patiently. There was no doubt telling them would make his breathing easier, shared burden and shared indignation lifting some of the weight from his chest; but he bit his cheek, gripping the weight tighter, because he couldn’t. Not yet. “I just-“

“I swear to god, punk, if you’re gonna say again that it was your fault…”

Steve huffed a humourless chuckle, regretting it instantly as his ribcage protested with a sharp stab of pain. Okay, fuck, how did you even-

“It’s not that. Not only. I just… I wish that sudden understanding of each other’s perspective came in a different circumstance than getting hurt and nearly getting killed, that’s all.”

He forced a tight smile, rewarded with Sam’s compassionate gaze.

“That’s pretty understandable. Just like wishing we somehow did better despite having done our best and doing everything right,” Sam said, one corner of his lips rising as he knew he hit the one nail sticking out directly on the head, self-deprecating leading Steve’s brows to rise briefly – as did his satisfaction for getting them off his back without being insincere and revealing too much.

However, as soon as he glanced at Bucky and Natasha, he realized he hadn’t fooled them. Not all of them.

Natasha in particular was watching him like a hawk, not even trying to be subtle about it.

Seconds ticked by. Bucky cocked his head to side, suspicious, but resigning.

Natsha’s eyes, on the other hand, lit up with recognition.

With recognition that was not supposed to be there.

The flash of hurt burned hotter than his invisible bullet wound; and it ignited the same rage Steve had felt when you had confessed to him; the same rage that consumed him upon hearing your whisper of ‘not where I come from’; the same rage that whited his vision out back in the cell when he heard you scream in agony and he could do nothing.

Natasha knew.

Whether you had told her – and dammit did that made him feel inadequate and downright useless as the Captain that was supposed to protect his team, because you were supposed to trust him with that – or whether she had figured it out, his blood might have as well burst in flames at the mere fact she had kept it to herself.

How could have she just let you suffer, standing by watching him assign you to mission after mission when you were supposed to rest and heal, when-

The wave of nausea swinging his stomach and the new suffocating pressure in his ribcage made him doubt whether he wanted to yell or throw up; but either way, he was going to have a very strict and possibly very loud conversation with Natasha.

Right fucking now.

And she knew that – Steve could tell, because she still held his gaze, unrelenting, not appearing intimidated a fraction by the anger that must have shown on his face. Clearly, for some sick reason, she didn’t regret her actions – or the lack of it – one bit. Of course she didn’t.

But she should.

Steve didn’t look away from her face when he spoke into the suddenly chilling silence.

“Guys… can we have a minute?”

Steve asked, but he didn’t.

It wasn’t even a request.

His voice slipped into the mode of a Captain, one that despite valuing his comrades’ opinions, permitted no protests; he gave an order and they almost automatically followed, because they trusted him.

Now, Steve could feel their startled and baffled eyes flickering between Natasha and him, trying to decipher what on Earth had caused the sudden shift in atmosphere. Steve noticed from the corner of his eye that Bucky looked at Natasha questioningly, but she simply nodded minutely, causing Steve’s jaw to tense further. If Bucky knew as well-

When Steve’s gaze snapped to him, however, he appeared reigned but no less confused than before.

Good. Had Natasha told Bucky but had kept it secret from him, both of them, Steve would throw fucking hands – they would be balled in fists.

“…sure?” Sam hummed uncertainly, grabbing his coffee and walking away alongside Bucky, gaze flickering between the trio with an almost laughably puzzled expression.

Except laughing was the last thing on Steve’s mind, and the pain in his chest had nothing and everything to do with that.

Before he could as much as gather his thoughts and figure out where to even start with giving Natasha a piece of his mind, she propped her hip on the counter leisurely, lowly but very firmly requesting a privacy protocol from FRIDAY with her authorisation code. Only then, she looked at Steve, compassionate but no less apologetic.

“You got hurt when you managed to project, didn’t you?” she stated rather than asked and Steve could scoff. Because of course she knew. She knew everything.

“Yeah. Shot in the chest. Snapped back right away. Imagine my surprise,” he said, by some miracle keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact despite the explosive cocktail of emotions threatened to burst any second.

“I’m sorry.”

“And you should be,” Steve said, all too aware it was not the sorry he wanted to hear and his anger only spiked further. She was sorry he had got hurt. She was sorry he had not been prepared for the pain lingering. Sorry about him learning about it this way. But she was not at all regretting standing idly why you had suffered. And to think she called herself your friend. “What were you thinking? How could you-“

“It was not my secret to tell-”

“The hell it wasn’t!” Steve exploded at last, rising to his feet so fast he nearly knocked over the chair he had been sitting on. And Natasha, goddamn her, watched him steadily, not even flinching. How the hell was she so calm?! So indifferent? Did she not give a single damn- “Natasha, she’s in enormous amount of pain on daily basis! How the hell could you not share that?!”

Natasha only arched her eyebrow, a wordless comeback: so you are admitting to being in ‘an enormous amount of pain’ despite having told the doctor your pain was at 2 after the meds you had got?

Steve just scowled, heart thundering in his ribcage as his blood felt so hot it might actually start evaporating. What the-

“I’m pretty sure it’s not daily, but even if it was, it still wouldn’t be my secret to tell,” she said evenly, crossing her arms on her chest. “How did you feel back in the day when you still had chronic health issues? When they took one look at you, they knewsomething wasn’t quite right, and so they immediately started underestimating you?”

Steve just gritted his teeth, glaring. What the hell did that have got to do with that?

“And I’m sorry, what is it that you’re doing now?” she asked, a tinge of sarcasm to her voice. “I don’t hear you telling the team-“

Steve felt his hands curl into fists, the arm in his sling protesting against the move – but honestly, the flame of spite burned it away, taking over any sign of pain at the moment.

Was she serious?!

“The team isn’t assigning her to missions! They don’t need to know everything, they aren’t the ones unknowingly sending her to the field injured and it pain-“

“Oh, so it’s not the fact I didn’t tell you, it’s that you’re feeling guilty-“

“She could get herself killed, Natasha!” Steve snapped, fist hitting the table, droplets of coffee staining the surface just like the breathiness stained his voice, the nausea hitting him anew, his head spinning. “Did you think of that?! I can’t protect her—I can’t protect this team if I don’t have all the information! The pain doesn’t seem to affect functionality, but what do I know? I’m safe, not being hunted for sport. It might affect her range one of those days and it can get her hurt and killed! A second of hesitation, a second of not being at absolute best and she can catch a knife, a bullet, be kicked down the stairs or off a damn cliff, too weakened to hold on a railing and fall to her damn death, she can be taken and tortured-"

He didn’t register the burn in his chest intensifying until it was too late; images flickering in his mind, the blood staining his shirt and his hands dripping with it and yours, the stupid thigh-highs that would have driven him mad except they were soaked with your blood, your voice feeble, your shaking slippery hands suddenly appearing around a metal bar, cold wind slapping his face, biting into his skin, hand reaching out just a second too late, your screams, Bucky’s scream, like a hive in his skull-

Small warm hands on his shoulders, one barely laid there, the other squeezing hard, a harsh inhale through his burning windpipe.

“Steve. Look at me.”

Steve obliged, blinking the images away even as they persisted stubbornly, Natasha’s face, now softer, filling his vision, his chest rising and falling a little too fast, a stab of pain with every breath, dark spots dancing around Natasha’s concerned features.

Great.

Just great.

Fuck.

“Sorry.”

She just smiled, shaking her head and slowly letting go, stepping back to the counter and leaning on it, propping up on both palms. Steve’s face burned with embarrassment and too much oxygen, but he could not let that distract him from his point. And apparently, neither could Natasha.

“I hear you, Steve. I do. But you know me better than to think that I haven’t consider that,” she reminded him softly, and as much as Steve hated it, he had to admit that it was the truth. She did care about you too. She wouldn’t willingly gamble with your life.

God his chest and his throat was on fire.

“But she’s an adult, Steve. She’s an agent, a damn near perfect one. She knows best what she can and cannot handle. Whatever she’s facing… she’s working through it the best way she can at any given moment and she is at her best. We might not approve of her methods, but as long as it doesn’t affect her performance during missions, not approving and trying to convince her to change her ways is all we can do, especially if we don’t want to lose her – professionally or otherwise.”

Steve gulped, pointedly choosing to ignore the last bit as he considered Natasha’s words, however reluctantly. “We sure as well do not approve-“

“Shocking,” Natasha uttered dryly, one corner of her lips rising in a smirk despite her sincerity, as she kept advocating for her decisions as much as yours, now that Steve thought about it, remaining. “But it’s still her choice. Her body – her choice. Her methods. Careful, Steve, or you might end up sounding patronizing and controlling.”

Now against that, Steve had to protest.

“Hey, I don’t—”

Natasha only arched her eyebrows, lifting one hand to demonstrate a tiny space between her thumb and forefinger.

Steve’s shoulders sagged as he ran his hand down his face, the pain in his cheek at the action, and the insistent pain in his chest reminding him mockingly he was being a bit of a hypocrite and not being controlling and patronizing was exactly what he had been trying to do until he found out that Natasha… knew.

He sighed, glancing at her again, met with her smile, surprisingly inviting, considering he was practically yelling just a moment ago. It was a smile that felt familiar; laced with affection for her dumbass overbearing friend. Because she was his friend – and yours too. Perhaps better than he had thought.

“Did… did she tell you?”

“Does it matter?”

He remained silent, knowing she’d understand without him saying a single word.

It does to me.

And he wanted to know. Needed it. Even if the answer being yes was just going to hurt him more – not because you trusting Natasha with this wasn’t a good thing, but because that would mean you had trusted Natasha and not him. Which would be completely understandable, given your track record with him until recently, but it still stung like son of a bitch, because goddamnit he should have known.

“She didn’t. I’m not that special,” Natasha stated, her smile turning a tad sad and ironic. “Her methods are pretty universal, keeping it secret from the whole team. No exceptions.”

It might have been rather mean of him – and he did not like how isolated you truly were and had been – but that actually made him feel a little better.

Especially since after today, it seemed that might change.

“Well, hopefully those methods will change,” Steve hinted, feeing tension melting off his body, lips once again spreading into a smile, even if a little shy one, warmth blossoming again where the rage had been turning his insides into a wasteland.

Natasha smirked a bit, mischief and amusement glimmering in her irises. “Got the Cap speech, did she?”

“…something like that, yeah.”

At that, she smiled wider; way too knowing to Steve’s liking. And yet, he felt his cheeks ache with how wide he was smiling now, a ghost of your touch caressing his hand.

“I see. Well. A piece of advice?” Natasha offered, not waiting for a confirmation of Steve actually wanting it. “Do try to remember she is a big girl – ties her own shoes, does her taxes and all that, okay? Do not screw it up by acting like you need to sweep in and save her from everything including herself. Please. You both deserve a win.”

At that, Steve sighed, but genuinely tried to etch her words into his brain, because he had been told before – and had to admit it was not an incorrect assessment – he could get rather overbearing, even as his intentions were good.

So yes, he’d try. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that as fragile as the bond you had begun to build was, you were everything but. He fully agreed with Natasha’s point; he had even told you so. You were meeting his perhaps too high standard a little too well. That was one of the reasons why you captivated him. He just needed to remember that when he’d feel like locking you in the tower and never sending you to another mission again in order to keep you safe.

Not that you wouldn’t be able to escape, be in in physical or spectral form, because you were simple that capable.

“Duly noted,” he grumbled.

Natasha grinned, lightly tapping his shoulder.

“Good boy. Now, this had better be the only cup of coffee you get,” she pointed at the half-drunk cup, her voice allowing protests. “You need to rest for god’s sake. You’ve got shot. Twice, apparently. Jesus, Steve. Talk about hypocrisy.”

“Alright, alright. Quit being bossy. I’m still the Captain, you know.”

“Oh boooo. Trembling in my shoes, Captain,” she retorted cheekily.

Steve mirrored her smirk, knowing she wasn’t actually undermining his authority. Only calling him out… which was rather fair. And he needed that sort of people in his life, he had enough self-awareness to know that.

And he’d listen to her too. Once he’d complete all the tasks he had planned, especially the report; because while there were things he wished to remember, there was still the majority of the mission that he’d rather put it behind him forever.

But since his watch just vibrated with a high-priority message from an operative of the highest-level, he had to add meeting them to the list.

The fact that operative was Coulson – the current director of SHIELD and your former boss – was both rather soothing, and worrisome.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

HA. Not me having to pokerface hard when some of you told me that Daisy would be the number one shipper or that Coulson would weep and I already had a line about it three full chapters ahead (so like five chapters ahead) 🤭

Thank you for reading! Feedback, as always, is appreciated, and keep me inspired when I'm in the pit of despair, thinking I will never finish another chapter (which is shocking right, when I write them 15k long... well). May your days be sweet to you as Steve was to Spectre 💗

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america #agent reader #inhuman reader #avenger reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #back and forth #anika ann

86 notes · View notes