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anika-ann · 7 months ago

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Back and Forth - part 7

Part 7 - Step Forward

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 15000 (cough-)

Chapter summary: In which the heaviness of the past fall on you harder than before - but there might be someone more than willing to help you carry the weight.

Series masterlist

Warnings: deep-rooted issues with self-worth (result of shitty ‘parenting’), mentions of canon-typical violence and blood, unhealthy relationship with pain and one's self, 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 the 15k worth of words. I'm afraid I have no advice as where to take break from reading. But stay hydrated and keep the tissues close. Enjoy ✨

Yesterday was a good day, you decided.

Hours had blended together and so it was rather difficult to draw sharp lines between days, even as there was no blessing such as forgetting a single minute of time spent in captivity due to your momentarily enhanced memory; but you had drawn a sharp line.

The gala, the kidnapping, the captivity and the rescue, that all had happened the day before; it might have as well happened in another dimension entirely.

On the other hand, waking up to Natasha and Steve, being visited by Daisy, who was picked up by Mack and May along with their greetings, a brief hello from Coulson, these happened yesterday. Way too much sleep, numerous check-ups and attempts at balancing your meds, finding out about the impending investigation of your mother, a therapy session, report writing and way too much sleep –those happened yesterday, but weren’t important.

Because yesterday was a good day.

Yesterday, giddiness filled you any moment you remembered Steve’s words: I just like you.

His warm smile.

The gentle touch of his hand.

Yesterday, a smile attacked your lips whenever you recalled his large hands holding up your face, tucking loose strands behind your ear, even if that memory was associated with pain and sweat and blood.

You’re being very brave, doll. I’m sorry, sweetheart.

I just like you.

See you soon, doll.

Yesterday, you giggled. You damn well giggled when the echo of his soft voice whispered the endearments to you so sweetly.

Sure, Daisy had a hand in that – she was just as giddy as you, probably even more so, with her eyes shining, so excited and happy for you. Her enthusiasm, despite carrying an air of naivety, was nothing short of contagious. You deserved a win, she said, and you believed her, accepted it as a fact for more than just a moment; and basking in the genuine warmth of hers, you didn’t feel guilty for being greedy, for thinking you deserved such a good thing to happen to you.

You didn’t feel bad for wanting, you didn’t feel bad for being so arrogant as to think you had a chance at not only happiness, but excellence, no matter how out of reach it usually appeared.

Yesterday, you were excited, because Steve said he would see you soon and he might as well have been saying ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’.

Today was the ‘tomorrow’.

And the feeling of glee and the butterflies in your stomach was replaced by a gaping hole filled with a cold coil of doubt, dread and, eventually, panic, as the sense of reality crept in and dug its nails straight into the edge of that hole and climbed out through your still open wounds.

The whole concept of yesterday was utter nonsense, which you should have known right away.

You had been taught better than to believe something as unplausible as this to be possible.

You felt like the stupidest person on Earth for entertaining the thought of this chance at happiness even for a moment.

Steve Rogers had said he liked you. Right.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, drop-dead gorgeous, annoyingly kind, utterly brilliant, absurdly stubborn and righteous and as close as humanly possible to perfect, had said he liked you. In romantic sense, unless your perception of other people’s emotion was entirely off; which surely was the case at times, but you did not believe that it was now.

The thing was, you did not have a single doubt in your mind that Steve had spoken the truth. He was one of those people who told no lie unless their life depended on it and maybe not even then, and he seemed so genuine in his care and interest in your well-being and youthat you would not only giggle with giddiness, but might actually weep.

However, the sudden source of anxiety curling in your stomach might as well be a gut feeling – an instinct you had been relying on ever since you had started at the academy and been told to listen to it at all times, because it was the most reliable tool an agent could ever gain, only improving with every single bit of experience gained. And it was very true, that; this very gut feeling had saved your life and the lives of others a hundred times.

The gut feeling was never wrong; even if it sometimes went against everything your purely rational thoughts whispered you to believe.

Today, the two – rationality and your gut feeling – came to a rare agreement.

Steve Rogers might have said he liked you, but there was no world in this universe in which that would be enough for him not to break your heart eventually. He wouldn’t want to and perhaps he would break his own in the process, because there was no world in which he’d intentionally harm another human being beyond actual physical fight with an enemy agent – but he would still do it.

And the reason for that was simple: Steve Rogers was too good to be true and despite that fact and against all laws of nature, he was true.

A guy like that was one in a million, if not in a billion. He was the impossible combination of kind, caring, fierce and handsome and had shoulders wide-enough to carry the weight of the world; but not even his shoulders were wide enough to carry a relationship based on mere, albeit genuine, care. Because that was what this was; care and lingering sense of compassion and belonging. You two had been through an extreme situation where the essential part of him, driving him to protect others, had been pushed into an overdrive and naturally, he had given in, dotting on you with utmost care and all gentleness he possessed.

And from his position as your superior, he might have approved of how you two had handled the situation. He might be riding on the sweet feeling of victory, even as you two hadn’t truly been the ones to deliver it. He might have been happy with your performance as an agent, as a colleague, even as it had been less than stellar. And there was no denying that you two had found a momentary understanding for each other in a situation that had left no other option, and it had served you as the sweetest relief, a calm shore in the raging sea of pain, fear and despair.

All that was true. And all that was bound to be temporary.

You had cared for him a long time before that, harboured feelings you shouldn’t have long before that. For him, it was much less than that: a feeling of affection having stemmed from crisis, lingering. A feeling that was about to run out of fuel soon enough.

And even if by some cosmic error it hadn’t been, you’d disappoint him eventually; an inevitable failure or even a mere misstep.

And a guy like him, almost the perfection incarnated, who could do so much better than that? He would turn his back to you then. He would get bored. He would have had explored the flare of passion, should you care for that term, and he’d realize that the spark had evaporated a long time ago. You’d be back to yelling and grunting and growling whenever you’d appear in each other’s immediate vicinity. Or maybe there’d be less of that; he’d be perfectly civil, but indifferent, acting like you two had never happened. Or, despite being the paragon of virtue he was, he’d push you away; probably into such elite position in SHIELD which would include zero interaction with him, making it look like an honour to you, while it would only serve to cover up for the fact he was simply looking for a way to kick you off the team to avoid you. Or perhaps the worst possibility of all – he’d stay with you out of pity despite not being happy, because Steve Rogers would never intentionally harm another human being beyond actual physical fight with an enemy agent.

And either of these scenarios would crush you.

When your therapist, whom you had had an appointment due to protocol, pried this information out of you long after you had exhausted the events of the mission, she expressed her compassion, confirmed your fears were valid and understandable, because she loved to do that, and warned you that you could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. To prevent that, she suggested more frequent sessions to help you deal and an extension of the session you were to share with Steve, because of course she did, and more importantly, she recommended you to talk about your feelings to Steve himself.

You nearly leaped for the door and ran despite the bullet holes in your thighs still closing.

Because that, that was not going to happen.

You weren’t sure how to handle with your predicament, but you knew that doing what she had suggested was not going to be it. You were not going to expose yourself even further than you already had, you were not going to show anyone, let alone Steve Rogers, any more of the mess you were; God knew he had seen more than enough for a lifetime and you were humiliated for just as long.

No.Telling him about these fears and doubts was certainly not an option. You would have to work out how to deal with what had happened yesterday and the day before and the night before, but revealing your raging emotions was not going to be the way – not if you wished to stay an Avenger and wanted to avoid pity and being labelled as insane and weak.

Yesterday was a good day.

Today was not.

And then Captain America strolled into your room with a cute bouquet of pink tulips, because of course he would guess you had a beef with roses, and with a slightly nervous smile on his lips, his arm still in a sling, because he healed on normal rate now since you had become the involuntary thief of his enhanced healing and--- your heart leaped to your throat, something ugly digging its nails into your stomach.

You smiled at him tightly, touched and irritated, because he was being his perfect self again, asking about how you felt and whether you had had a good time with Daisy and he smiled warmly when he said Coulson had talked to him; allegedly, he had been slightly star-struck still, wishing Steve an easy and early recovery, but had also warned him to take better care of one of his best agents and people he knew or else.

And you sat there, propped up on the bed, fisting the sheets and swallowing hard against the lump in your throat, painfully aware that you were staring at him, pretending that you didn’t feel the flutters of your heart over the gaping hole in your chest growing in size with every passing second. You should be able to appear calm and indifferent and goddamnit get a grip on your emotions or at least your reactions, but you seemed to lose all control over your body.

Because it was too much to handle even as it shouldn’t have been.

Because you could have this.

You could have this man for a while, this demi-god who, with only one fully functioning arm and actual gaping pain in his chest of his own, placed the flowers on your nightstand, moving effortlessly around the room and looked like he could lean to your face and kiss your cheek or forehead or do something else equally sweet any second.

But you were all to aware; you could only have this in some fever dream.

This scene didn’t only appear wrong because you had stolen his healing ability; this was you stealing someone else’s life.

This wasn’t how your life went.

You strived for excellence, but never succeeded. You didn’t catch an eye of people like him; and when you had, by some miracle, they didn’t stay. And Steve made for such an absurd sight; his beauty alone was blinding, and that was with a ghost of a prominent purple shiner on his right cheek, a cut above his brow and him otherwise injured, dressed in simple comfortable clothes; he had exchanged his hoodie and sweats for a henley and jeans. He was so infinitely good and handsome in his hesitance when he reached for a chair to pull up to your bed, stilling for a moment, his eyes finding yours.

“Can I?” he asked softly, a gentle furrow to his eyebrows, effectively confusing you by asking instead of questioning your silence.

“Of course,” you replied automatically, realizing that you had been, in fact, responding to whatever he had said, even if with a strained voice and in short.

Yeah, I’m better, thanks, the serum works wonders. How are you feeling? Is it time to switch?

Yeah, it was good to see her again.

Really? That’s nice of him…even if kinda rude.

Steve sat down, hands resting in his lap, observant gaze roaming your face, flickering to your own hands, following your line of sight as your own travelled to the flowers again and then reluctantly back to him.

He even brought you flowers. Really pretty flowers, one of your favourites, and he somehow managed to pick the right size of a bouquet for not seeming overbearing nor careless. Who the heck did that?

You noticed, however, that the blue of his irises lost some of its spark since the moment he had entered – and you hated it.

But that was barely a surprise, wasn’t it? You were acting strange, perhaps came off as hostile even. You were the kind of person who’d only dim him light more the longer he’d stay. It was no surprise he noticed your peculiar behaviour, and perhaps even the negative effect you had on his usual greatness. Of course he had noticed; he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for, an unfortunate consequence of keeping people like Tony Stark, Bruce Banner or Natasha Romanoff for company.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said lowly, a sincere apology as he lightly beckoned with his chin to the vase of tulips – and you felt even worse than before for making him doubt his lovely gesture.

You gulped. “You didn’t.”

His creased eyebrows rose a fraction, along with one corner of his lips, an uncertain but telling smile, wordlessly calling your bluff.

It was a sweet image; your chest ached all the more for it, along with a flash of indignation and – as ashamed as you were for such an intense emotion – despair.

Just… why?

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to be so devastatingly handsome? Why did he have to be just so… perfect? You didn’t belong with perfect, you never could. You could have belonged with him in some alternate universe in which he was a handsome scumbag perhaps. Or an average-looking good guy. Or a handsome good guy, but at least dumb. Or even a handsome, smart and relatively-good guy, but completely unavailable; not looking at you like he wanted to tell you that you could tell him anything and he’d listen and he’d make everything right.

Your heart hammered in your ribcage almost painfully, pulse throbbing in your temples as your lips acted of their own volition.

“I’m just… I’m scared.”

Steve’s brows arched higher, but much to your surprise, he didn’t laugh; if anything, he pulled back a bit, as if he wanted to give you space.

That ass. He just had to be so scandalously considerate too, didn’t he?

Damn him. Damn him and his pretty eyes, wide with bewilderment, and that barely visible flash of hurt, which made you want to explain yourself even as admitting you were afraid in the first place was an insanity which you had not planned on participating in. What the hell was it with him and that anyway? You had never had a case of a loose tongue with anyone else, not even with him, not before that… stupid charity auction and all that followed it.

“…of me?”

Are you scared… of me?

“What—No!” you blurted out instantly, almost laughing at the absurdity of that idea. “No! Not at all, that’s-- I just-”

You physically bit your tongue, forcing your mouth shut with jaw so tight it ached, but it was for a good cause. Telling him was a terrible idea – you had concluded that already.

But then Steven Grant Rogers was a rare bird and he was also an incredibly annoying one; because once you had mentioned being afraid, you could almost see the metaphorical grip he had got on your words, unrelenting. He was not going to let an admission like that go. The unfairly soft but expectant look in his eyes told you so.

Oh damn you, Steven Grant.

Damn you, damn you, damn you.

Your thoughts were running hundred miles a minute and still, you had no idea what to say and how, not without sounding completely deranged.

“I just… you said you liked me.”

Even as you spoke the words, you wished you could somehow take them back and choose different ones; in a barely visible movement, Steve cocked his head to side, curious.

“Yes, I did,” he said, voice puzzled as much as his expression. “I do.”

You gulped, unsure how to respond to that, vainly searching in your mind once again.

There was no safe way out. Whatever you’d say, you’d only make it worse. If you hadn’t mentioned it at all, had you made literally anything up – though you doubted telling him you were afraid of the HYDRA doctor returning or another plausible thing would have made you look any less unstable – the words spoken yesterday might have been forgotten. But it was too late for that now; you couldn’t take it back. And you had no idea how to move forward.

And the flowers were so pretty.

Silence stretched for a few moments as you kept wondering, kept looking for the right words; but as it turned out, you didn’t have to.

A brief disappointment flashed on Steve’s face as he caught on – or caught on on enough – and then his expression returned to pleasant neutral.

It made you want to scream.

“I see. Well, I also said I’d never bring it up again if you just said the word,” he reminded you, voice absurdly, maddeningly soft.

It pissed you beyond belief; flames of undiluted rage and frustration licked up your fingers, gripping onto the already rumpled sheets.

Nothing but the tinniest hurt had showed in Steve’s expression and then it was gone. A mask, no matter how pleasant, was in its place, compassion almost, tender understanding even as he could understand nothing at all.

Fucking why? Why wasn’t he angry instead? Why wasn’t he letting you see it?

“I… meant that. I mean that,” he continued, the cerulean blue of his irises just a tinge sad, but kind. So irritatingly kind – because of course it was. He was a good guy, hell, he was the ultimate good guy, he couldn’t afford to look offended, or god forbid wounded. He had to keep face, because that who he was, people need someone strong to look up to, need a strong leader – he even told you that for god’s sake. No, nothing could touch him, because the troops needed someone to lean onto. Of course.

Then, naturally, there was another explanation.

An explanation that stung much worse than the idea that he simply wouldn’t let anyone see his true emotion: he had no hurt to hide whatsoever. You had been right about his past words being but a lingering flare of sentiment. And now, with you backing off, you actually offered him the out he needed, the out he perhaps wouldn’t have found the will to create himself in fear of hurting you. He had realized what you knew too – that his interest was a simple consequence of a stressful situation you had handled together.

But that was what you wanted, wasn’t it? You predicted it and you got it. Not a self-fulfilling prophecy – just a prophecy. Maybe the artifact had given you the gift of divine foresight as a bonus. You wished that it hadn’t; because for some stupid reason, having those silly hopes of having him – hopes you hadn’t suffocated soon enough – crushed, that really fucking hurt.

“I promise it doesn’t change anything. You won’t bear any consequences. I won’t treat you any worse for it,” Steve added, reassuringly – or at least he had probably meant for it to sound as such.

It had the opposite effect.

Treat you any worse?

Of course he wouldn’t. He would never. And you were such great friends to begin with, weren’t you?

The sardonic chuckle escaped you before you could stop it, causing Steve’s gaze to snap up from where your hands were gripping the sheets, confusion and slight offence – at last – lacing his expression. Your satisfaction at seeing that however, mixed with guilt for making it so.

“Sorry. I mean… I just--- that’s it, isn’t it? There’s not that much potential for it to get worse,”you spat that word, malice slipping into your voice even as you tried to swallow as soon as you tasted its bitterness on your tongue. He didn’t deserve that; this was your hurt and your problem. All he had done wrong was having a little unfortunate hand when choosing his words. And looking utterly perplexed now. “We don’t really know each other, never talked much. When we did, we argued, pretty much every time, so… you know. Not much potential. Going separate ways is probably for the best.”

A beat of silence. Second ticking by without as much as an exhale.

Yet, the air shifted ever so subtly, but dramatically.

That.

That was it.

Whatever you had mentioned did it and despite the punch to your stomach that seeing Steve’s face distorted with distress felt like, it also hummed of satisfaction. Anger. He was finally angry with you, like he was supposed to.

His jaw tensed, eyes hardening, as did his voice, even if it spoke of an insult you didn’t quite understand.

“I like to think that at least some of those fights stemmed from misunderstandings and lack of will to see each other’s perspective. Which, I believe, is something we started to work on yesterday, and the day before. I think we were communicating just fine during the auction too, and we handled what followed just as well, don’t you?” he argued, a hint of what was a distinctly Captain voice – one you knew all too well, because he had been using it when talking to you more often than with anyone else – taking over.

Your next words – and frankly, you were unsure what they would be – died on your lips.

Well.

It was safe to say you hadn’t expected this when seeing his indignation rise.

Obviously, you hadn’t planned on telling him any of this in the first place, but a part of you knew that had you imagined telling him this, in your mind he wouldn’t have… protested against you parting ways being for the better. He would have rather agreed in a hard collected voice, if for nothing else, than for keeping the stability of team.

But he did protest.

Of course he did.

After all, you two were in opposition more than often, weren’t you?

You swallowed against the large lump that had grown in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears. Steve’s frown was far from concerned now and you instantly kicked the fraction of your heart that whispered of missing his tenderness to shut the hell up.

Steve appeared as if he was hiding the fact that he was beyond angry and Captain-level disappointed in you.

That was supposed to be a victory of yours of sorts – proving your point.

Because you had known that was coming eventually, hadn’t you? It just came a lot sooner; you had sped it up by slipping and made for it to arrive right away. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Because now, it came before you could actually tangle with him enough to make it hurt more later, when he’d leave after having you truly believe that you could somehow, by some cosmic flaw, be worthy of him.

So why did you feel nauseous and weak and like you might start crying? You were a grown-ass woman and you were one of the top agents this country had, an agent who had, no matter how barely, made it to the Avengers Initiative. This shouldn’t affect you, especially since you had known it was coming.

But here you were, desperately trying to gather your scattered thoughts and rendered mute. And your boss, Captain Steven Grant Rogers, was waiting for your response, challenge written all over his expression.

You gulped, sticking your chin up to regain some resemblance of posture and scraps of dignity. You even managed to make your lips not tremble, perhaps even smile a polite and pleasantly neutral smile, as you set off to explain your perspective.

Because this was a rational discussion, an exchange of perspectives Steve had mentioned. This was what your purely rational thoughts and your field-experience gut feeling told you and you should stand by it. Right?

“I suppose. But… well, it’s been pretty intense, hasn’t it? It was… what happened was a forced bonding experience, emotions flew high. I just… know from experience that those tend to settle sooner or later, tend to revert… to its original state.”

It would be almost comical, the perplexion on your Captain’s – just Captain’s – face, if it wasn’t accompanied by his frown hardening, him straightening in the chair, shoulders squaring despite his injuries, his gaze turning piercing.

It would be comical if it only didn’t feel like a stab straight between your ribs, because you had seen expressions so much softer on his stupidly handsome face and they had even been directed at you. Before; and that was long, long gone.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded stiffly, shaking your wobbly mask of confidence.

“I- I mean-…“

He watched you as you found yourself at loss for words all of sudden; expectant, eyes practically drilling into your skull now as you scrambled for words.

“What did you mean by that?” he repeated, defensive.

He wasn’t shouting, didn’t even raise his voice; but the lump in your throat grew suffocating anyway, all alarm bells ringing in your head as that one single emotion of his had crystalized so clear in his expression. Disappointment.

You could not afford having the Captain, your direct superior, so thoroughly disappointed in you.

Fix that. You had to fix that right now, had to get your head down and keep it there, crawl if necessary, because you were toeing the line. The line of being dismissed. The line of getting fired.

And that was not an option.

“I mean… what I mean by that is that I understand people are influenced by intense emotions and… when the dust settles, they can… change their mind,” you explained clumsily, ashamed of how meek your voice had suddenly become – but you couldn’t help it. You had to show remorse. Not for earning pity, but to show willingness to learn from your apparent mistake; it would not save you, but it might salvage a faint image of your determination and skill.

You looked up from your lap carefully; and instantly snapped your gaze back. Steve’s frown disappeared as if you had snapped your fingers, sudden understanding written all over his face instead, clear as day.

But it brought you no relief.

“You think that I said I liked you only… out of some adrenalin-fuelled impulse? Is that it?”

A layer of ice ten inches thick covered his deceivingly calm voice and yet, this time you could hear the hurt in it; the bitter chuckle that followed his words cut into your stomach, screaming how absurd he thought that your idea of what his motivations were was.

Absurd. Stupid. He thought you were stup-

“No!” you blurted out, despite thinking, knowing, meaning, exactly that. “I mean… yes--- I-- don’t know, I just-“

Steve scoffed. Peripherally, you saw him shaking his head, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head again.

You had never felt so small, not in any of your previous fights – and that was saying something, an ice-cold shiver running down your spine, sweat beading on your burning skin.

Fix that.

“I’m so sorry, St— I’m sorry, Captain Rogers.”

He winced. He actually winced, you saw as much when your gaze flickered up to show the sincerity of your apology. The smile he gave you in return was tight, hard and unforgiving.

Not that you’d deserve forgiveness, would you?

“Well, so am I.”

He spoke the words just as he rose to his feet, his gaze betraying him and flickering to the vase with the gorgeous tulips he had set up. They now felt like an insult on their own.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated pathetically, feeling the tell-tale burn of tears in your eyes.

And god, were you pathetic. Steve had just shown a flicker of emotions he actually felt, just as you had asked him back at the HYDRA base; and now that he had, you wished he hadn’t. Because he was hurt by your assumptions, hell, perhaps by your rejection as well, at least to a point.

He was hurt and you were the one to blame it on.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You just didn’t want to get hurt either. You wanted to save you both from inevitable heartache that was to come. Was that really so wrong of you?

Steve took a deep breath, releasing it slowly; you remembered the terrible pain he had to suffer from his spectral injury and you felt like you might actually throw up. That was on you too. Because that was your messy powers to deal with, not his.

“I should go, let you rest. I do hope you’ll feel better soon,” Steve said, almost on autopilot, but once again, so annoyingly sincere in his well-wishes you wanted to yell at him and shake his shoulders. Why couldn’t he just really be angry with you? It was clear you had touched a nerve, you very obviously wounded him, but there he was, as close to stoic as possible, and generously wishing you well.

A part of you – one that you were deeply ashamed of – quite literally wanted to crawl from the bed to grip at whatever part of his body and beg him to snap at you again even as it was simultaneously the last thing you wanted him to do.

Tell me you hate me. Tell me you think I’m stupid, that I’m evil, a bitch. Show me you are fucking angry, show me you feel something, even if it’s hate, you wanted to shout or whisper or rasp. Anything.

But you had some remnants of dignity left and a position on the team to maintain. So you didn’t do any of that.

Instead, you reciprocated in a whisper: “You too. And I… I really am sorry.”

Steve’s smile, while still tight-lipped, turned softer despite his jaw strung so tight it might cut glass.

“Don’t be. I am glad we cleared it up. I made a promise and I will keep it,” he declared lowly before he sighed and turned to the door, adding in a barely audible voice: “I hope you can trust me to do that at least.”

It was always that last straw that broke camel’s back, wasn’t it?

His barely-there whisper, one you likely weren’t meant to hear, because normal human ears probably wouldn’t – and it broke the dam you had so feebly tried to keep together. The tears sprung from your eyes, a rush of shame, desperation and anger bubbling to the surface, making your voice creak as your cried out.

“Goddammit, Steve, I trust you with my LIFE!”

At the sound of your distress, his head snapped back at you – because of course it fucking did, the caring asshole of a Captain – looking over his shoulder. His carefully crafted facade crumbled a fraction at the sight of your tears, his words slow and quiet.

“But not that I know how I feel?” he asked lowly. “Don’t trust me enough to-”

“I don’t trust myself, okay?!” you cried out, spilling the one truth that no one, no one was supposed to know. He turned to you fully, two surprised blinks of the sea of blue you could drown in; but you were drowning in your own tears instead, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them in between your heavy hitchy breaths, someone seemingly having sucked all air from the room. “I don’t trust myself to--- to keep you interested, not to bore you—to disappoint you somehow within a goddamn month! Because I never can-- I can never keep it up! I don’t trust myself to-- They always leave, everyone does--- sooner or later, because I’m never enough for any-- fuck.”

You choked on the last word, hand slapping over your mouth, forcefully suffocating any other words that might spill out at any cost. You had to stop this very fucking second.

Because Steve stared at you, rendered speechless.

You could only withstand the intensity of his gaze for few moments, before you buried your face in your hands, embarrassment enveloping you like a straitjacket filled with itchy powder; a fabric that trapped you without a chance of escape, but with tears drenching your face, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to judgement. An acute sensation of needing to crawl out of your skin tied your hands and your tongue alike.

You bit your tongue to keep the sob bubbling in your throat inside, humiliated enough for a hundred lifetimes; and all the more when it struck you over and over that hiding your face was so incredibly childish – your companion, your superior, had already witnessed your hysteria and could still see you.

And boy had he seen more than enough.

God, what you had been thinking – you hadn’t been,that was the problem – springing all that on him, crying in front of him--- You needed to pull yourself together, you had to do that right this goddamn second, or he really was going to mark you as mentally unstable and kick you out of the team. And hey, Coulson was still nearby perhaps, they could just seat you on a plane and-

“It’s not fair to judge me based on your past experience, no matter how bad,” Steve whispered tightly, interrupting your train of thought, and the sob you had tried to stifle so hard clawed its way out pathetically, a lovechild of a sardonic laugh and a wail.

He was right. Of course he was right. But that wasn’t what you were doing. It wasn’t that, it wasn’t--- alright, it was that too, but mainly it was your gut feeling, it was what kept you alive-

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m scared. I know it’s not fair, but… what you said, I--- you like me? It’s--- it’s too unreal. It’s too fast. It’s-“ you were mumbling, probably incomprehensible, so you dropped your hands, daring to glance at him through your tears, glad you couldn’t quite decipher his expression. You chuckled bitterly – why were you still talking, what was it about this damn man that made you so unacceptably, unforgivingly and most of all brutally honest? He had already heard more than enough and yet you seemed unable to shut the hell up. “Come on, you gotta know that half of the reason why I always react to you the way I do is ‘cause you’re pretty much perfect-“

Did he just grind his teeth loud enough for you to hear-?

“-and I’m not. I know that in my goddamn bones. I always fuck up. I try my best, but my best is so damn far from perfect, case on fucking point- and I’m just scared even though I know I shouldn’t be scared of anything. I’m scared that as fast as we went from--- from yelling at each other and clashing to… to you bringing one of my favourite if not the most favourite flowers and all your damn sweetness and more respect than I deserve, your goddamn thoughtfulness-“

You gestured to the tulips and him, respectively, with both hands, because damn was he too large to encompass with a gesture of a single hand.

“And we’ll switch back to that--- that antagonism again, or dull indifference just as fast and-“ You gulped, catching your breath, staring at your comforter because you couldn’t admit that when facing him, not even with whatever magical truth serum his presence was, your voice falling quiet-

“-and it will devastate me.”

It will devastate me, because getting a taste of true happiness beyond the one born out of solid work and then losing it… it will kill me. It’s addictive – I know it is. Just like life without pain. And going back to normal will truly, irreparably devastate me.

Heavy silence settled over the room. Even without looking at Steve, you could feel the weight of his judgement and shock. With a wavering sigh, you hid your face in your hands again, squeezing your eyes shut, licking your lips; they seemed dry as sandpaper in contrast to your drenched cheeks.

“I’m truly sorry. About… that, springing all that on you and this—whatever pathetic shit it is,” you croaked, chuckling humourlessly, finding yourself actually too drained to feel as horrified as you should. Polite. You had to gather strength to be politeat least. “Could you--- could you please leave me alone? You should rest too. You’re more like a normal human now, you need time to hea-- that’s--- I’m sorry, that’s none of my business, I-- Captain.”

The lump in your throat had grown to such size there was no space for air to go in and out. Your throat working against it as you swallowed was the only movement of the statue you had become – hoping and praying your Captain to take the hint, pricking up your hearing to know the exact second the door would shut behind him so you could break further, alone.

A shaky inhale. A wavering exhale.

Silence.

A sigh.

Two steps; approaching, not retreating.

A scrape of the chair.

A gentle whisper of your name.

Your hands dropped, a feeble flicker of anger in your chest. You had literally just asked him to leave.

Yes, you had hurt him; yes, you had thrown a fit that would have probably had you hospitalized in a mental institution had you not had medication to blame it on, but did this have to the part where Steven Grant goddamn Rogers decided to be defiant? Couldn’t he have been considerate now, considerate enough to oblige you request to leave you in your laughable state of disintegration?

You attempted to shoot him an unimpressed glare, an uncompromising expression telling him to get the hell out.

It crumbled the second you saw him leaning forward on his healthy elbow propped on his thigh, soft, soft gaze roaming your damp blotchy face and no doubt red eyes. God, you had to look like a mess and he should not see you like this, no one should ever, ever see you like this—

Evading his painfully seeing gaze, you searched for the box of tissues; only to be handed it by him as if to accentuate your humiliation.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“

Steve repeated your name calmly, no doubt grimacing when you blew your nose loud and tried to clean your face a bit, probably failing. You inhaled shakily, then exhaled, in and out, licking your lips before you gathered enough courage to look up for at least for a moment.

Why the hell was he still here? Had he texted a mental hospital when you hadn’t been looking, making it his mission to guard you until they arrived? That would have been entirely legitimate thing to do, you were aware of that.

Once you met his eye, he held your gaze firmly, leaving no escape; you had no idea how he did that or how to free yourself. There was just something about this man, you swore-

“Let me clear one thing up. You are everything but pathetic,” Steve said slowly, emphasis on every syllable, practically spitting the last word.

“Really fucking debatable,” you muttered under your breath, wiping your nose again as if to unintentionally prove your point.

But thank god, at least you managed to stop more tears from spilling.

“No, it’s really fucking not,” Steve mimicked your words and it should feel insulting, but for some reason, it made your belly flutter a bit and your heart do a funny flipflop, because you were quite sure you had heard him drop but one F-bomb before despite the fact he had earned the right to curse incessantly with everything he had been through. “Captain’s orders. But now, I need you to clear one thing for me. Really clear it up this time, please.”

You felt bone tired all of sudden; which meant you felt like clearing up nothing. But he was your Captain. And he was, for some inexplicable reason, endlessly patient and even said ‘please’, so you’d answer anything, because there was nothing left to hide anymore. You had already revealed the darkest, ugliest parts of you, leaving you completely naked even as you sat here dressed in a hospital gown and under a thick comforter,.

You sighed, folding your hands in your lap, reciprocating his gaze in a lame attempt at bravery.

“And what’s that, CaptainRogers?”

To his credit, this time he barely moved at you addressing him in that manner; the intense sincere gaze on your tear-soaked face didn’t falter, his irises the most beautiful blue with a light speckle of green you had ever seen; a safe calm sea enveloping you sweetly and seeing right through you clearer and clearer the deeper you sank into it.

“Do you like me?”

All feigned bravery gone, you closed your eyes.

It figured he would ask that; it made sense. You didn’t remember every word of your outburst – well, you probably did, but didn’t wantto look back at it – but you assumed it was painfully clear from what you had word-vomited all over him that that might be the case. That you did very much liked him indeed.

There was no point in denying how you felt, was it? Steve was a smart man, brilliant even; even with the ambiguity of your behaviour, he had figured out the truth already. He was truly only asking for clarification; which was fair, because god knew that besides being hysterical, you had also been sending quite mixed signals.

His question was ridiculously worded, too, like one of a first grader to another, but you assumed that was what you deserved after having thrown a tantrum like a child indeed; and simplicity often carried the most power of all. A single word could break hearts or mend them; it could decide the fate of empires, have them burn to the ground or forge alliances to rebuild them.

A single word could mean the difference between life and death; a single word, and the course of a life could drastically change.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes when you whispered one word just like that, knowing it might change everything.

“…yes.”

A hitch of a breath.

A beat of silence.

A rustle of fabric and faint creak of a chair; he must have shifted in his position, but you refused to check.

“Well… as far as rapid changes go, that’s one for me. A really fast U-turn at that,” Steve said, contemplative – with the faintest hints of non-ill-intended teasing.

You opened your eyes slowly, fully aware of him not having said that he liked you back – but you did not think you’d deserve as much. Not to mention that he had already said so yesterday. Yesterday had been a good day.

Gulping, with your heart racing, you met his gaze again, moved by what you found; his gaze was warm and open and generously nonjudgemental. Hopeful even – and perhaps a little teary too.

Drowning in the sea of blue again, the words were slipping from your lips before you could think twice.

“Not to me.”

There’s nothing new to me about that.

I told myself I hate you. I often acted like I did, but I don’t. I like you. I’ve always liked you. I’ve always liked you and knew I could never compare. I admire you for all you are, I… like you for it. So much that it’s suffocating me.

As your admission brought a lovely smile to Steve’s lips, you were glad you didn’t share the rest of your thoughts.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that, since I feel the same,” he whispered tenderly, almost shyly, before his voice gained its firmness again – one of a leader, a fair one, a kind one. I just like you. “So… to sum up, despite what we believed we thought about each other, we discovered that we actually like each other. That… makes me very happy, but it doesn’t mean we have to-- it doesn’t mean we can’t take it slow.”

Your heart skipped a beat, painfully so, as if it got punched, and then broke into a mad race; your breath hitched, a single stunned word escaping you.

“What?”

The way your voice wavered was incredibly awkward, you were aware – but what?!

“If your concern is about things going too fast and burning out just as fast… then we can make sure to start by building a stronger foundation and take it slow. With no schedule or expectations,” Steve continued with patience you were sure you did not deserve, but with every word, you were only growing more and more confused.

You blinked, trying and failing to process his words. Words that made something very, very warm and fuzzy grow in your chest, your eyes beginning to burn with fresh tears.

It was safe to say that going too fast was not your only concern – but it was the one you admitted to and damn well meant it. And Steve, bless his heart, instantly rolled with the punch, taking it into consideration, because he--- he genuinely seemed to want to make this, whatever it was, work.

It was certainly true that if you walked into the relationship, so to speak, instead of rushing in like fools – if you got the feel of each other in immediate proximity, saw how you worked first, instead of jumping in head first only to find out that you didn’t work all that well – you might end up landing softer instead of meeting a brutal crash and burn. You knew you’d fall for Steve deeper either way, the occupational hazard of being in his vicinity with no intentionally built wall of forced contempt, but it would feel safer.

It was something you’d be much more willing to risk; there was absolutely no denying that and you had to bite your tongue as not to yell an immediate naïve yes.

Because it sounded like a whole lot of work. A lot more effort than Steve should have to put in, with women quite literally lining up to win over his heart, all of them offering him to share love a hundred times easier than this.

And yet, this infuriatingly gorgeous man was watching you patiently, appearing as if putting in that work didn’t bother him at all – and you wouldn’t be as crass as to question whether he realized his options, because you knew he was too intelligent not to. It felt like a conscious and entirely informed decision.

Which made no damn sense.

“You… wouldn’t mind that,” you stated more than asked, internally cringing at your choice of words.

“No. In fact, it might be a good idea, because I do see your point. We don’t know each other that well even as I feel I know quite enough, we didn’t interact outside of our job, so… let’s start there,” Steve suggested as if it was. Not. A. Big. Deal.

As if you weren’t negotiating term of a potential relationship but talked about where to go for lunch.

Except his intent and tender gaze told you he was all too aware of the gravity of his proposal – and that it mattered to him. And it sure as hell mattered to you. The fact he was still sitting there instead of shutting the door behind him as he would have stormed off mattered most of it all, telling you already that if there would be an eventual crash and burn, it certainly wouldn’t be on him. He had to know that too.

And yet he was still here, suggesting this.

That feeling in your chest was rapidly expanding and you had no idea how to stop it and whether you wanted to stop it in the first place.

“…as in, let’s try to become… friends, is what you’re saying.”

Steve shrugged lightly, one corner of his lips rising a tad higher; adorably so. “Sure, we can call it that. Or something else, or nothing at all. Just… let’s try get to know each other better.”

“Just like that?” you questioned, still stunned.

“Yes.”

“You-… you’d want that.”

“Yes.”

“But-” He tilted his head, almost looking as if he wanted to scold you for your continued protests which only undermined you, but he stopped himself last minute, giving you a gentle teasing smile instead, as to encourage you to talk about what you genuinely could not wrap your mind around. “I just—I mean… I disappointed you already. You’re rightfully angry – or were at least. I hurt you, just now.”

You felt like a child learning about adult matters for the first time and probably looked that too – but it was simply such an ungraspable concept you couldn’t seem to help it. Especially since Steve was everything but condescending about it and you would be worse than a half-wit not to use that opportunity.

“True. A little,” he admitted and while it stung to hear it, you couldn’t say you weren’t grateful for him not denying it and thus not making you feel like an idiot any more than necessary. “But like I said, I do see your point. I might not entirely agree, but you’re right in one thing for sure. You might trust me with your life – your words not mine, as much as I cherish them –, and I trust you with mine, but this… this requires a different kind of trust. So let’s try to build it and see how it turns out.”

Let’s try to build it and see how it turns out.

Just like that.

You were rendered entirely speechless.

Your lower lip was a second from wobbling and you bit your cheek in hopes to stop it, but there was no stopping the rapid acceleration of your heart; at this point, it galloped faster than in a middle of a taxing mission.

Because you might need to have Steve’s suggestions explained to you as if you were a child, but you had more wits than that. By offering to do this, Steve was putting his own feelings into jeopardy too; to offer this, he really had to have some feelings for you – for some insane reason – and he was risking them growing when entering this arrangement. He was risking he’d get burned too.

And to do that, he had to believe you were worth it.

And goddamn if that didn’t make you barely swallow your tears as it became harder and harder to breathe. It shouldn’t have stunned you, you supposed – not with the words he had spoken before, even if back in the cell, it would have been easy to dismiss the words as a soothing lie instead of the truth.

‘It was never my intention to make you feel like anything less than absolutely incredible. What I actually believe is that you are that and more,’ he had said.

He meant it. He truly did.

Now, he must have mistaken your silence for hesitance, because he carefully spoke up again.

“That is, of course, if that’s something you’d li-“

“Yes! …yes,” you repeated, softer this time. Still, your mind was racing as fast as your heart, in uncontrollable overdrive. “I’d really like that, but… but that doesn’t seem fair to you.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, features relaxing; he understood he had convinced you to try. He understood you agreed, but he was, as it seemed to be a constant in the past two days, interested in your perspective still.

“How so?”

“What if-” you started off, instantly earning a raised eyebrow. And you got his point, seeing no point in wallowing in what ifs – but he hadn’t heard what you had to say yet. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if we start… building that trust, be--- friends, and it turns out there’s nothing else waiting down the line? You’d waste your time and energy for nothing.”

Worse; you’d waste it on me.

It seemed Steve heard the unspoken too, judging by a small frown appearing on his face, not approving. But he was prepared – probably because it had taken you forever to put your thoughts into words.

“How is that a waste?” he questioned, not expecting an answer. “Do you consider getting to know me and becoming friends a waste of time then?”

You shot him an ugly, ugly look for hitting the nail on the head, because well, of course you didn’t – and he grinned boyishly, clearly having received your answer loud and clear.

You wished you were as brave and as strong as him – as big of a person. It felt like such a stark contrast, his behaviour and composition and yours. You had made a scene, you had insulted him and made him angry, you had hurt him.

And yet here he was, not only offering an alternative, genuine care and compassion and understanding, but himself too. He was willing to go slow for you. Build a friendship, build trust. For you. And it didn’t feel like the dynamics of the team was the thing he cared about the most. For some reason, it truly seemed to be about you. And him.

How could you measure up to that? a voice in the back of your head asked, a nasty bite to your conscience; but Steve was looking at you as if you already had. And you wanted to prove him right. For him and yourself.

You allowed yourself a brief reprieve before composing yourself, and let all your feelings wash over you, allowing yourself to feel them.

You granted yourself the dangerous luxury of fully entertaining the thought, of believing Steve didn’t give a damn about those women lining up, because he was genuinely interested in you, even if it meant putting in the work from the start. And that while the past two days have contributed to that, it seemed he had harboured certain feeling for longer.

And when you tried your damnest to apply that optics on his past actions, it was nothing short of mind-blowing how it could all actually make sense.

The fact he worried about your safety and well-being possibly being the reason why he had had trouble controlling his frustration around you, when you massively prioritized the mission objective to considering your own safety. He simply wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

The fact you had called him out on being a hypocrite only fuelling his anger, but the feelings he might have struggled with being the match to gasoline, contradiction of, on one hand agreeing, with you – he was barely someone not risking his life in name of protecting others – and on the other hand, utterly hating seeing you do the same. The feelings that got in the way, leading him to yell at you, even when you did what many of his friends did on daily basis and him seemingly appreciating it in them.

The way his eyes had lingered on you in the quinjet the night of the charity auction. The bold thought it might have not been strictly mission-related, might not have been memorising the dress which would have taken him a split second to do with his enhanced memory. Just maybe, maybe appreciating the sight of you, his compliment reaching beyond professional courtesy.

His behaviour the whole night perhaps being beyond what he considered being civil, being a gentleman, beyond trying to put out the dumpster fire the team dynamics became when you clashed with him. That it might, just might be him taking the opportunity to smoothen things out and make the most of the night in the sense of building a base for something not only much more amicable, but even something beautiful and fragile.

His soft, careful touch, a little tremble to his hands when he had taken care of you back in that base, nerves and fear and reassuring, affectionate and entirely unnecessary touches to comfort you rather than treat your wounds.

Entertaining all these thoughts was dizzying. It felt like walking on the ledge twenty stories high. And you were terrified of the fall.

It wasn't that the idea of a man being interested in you was a foreign concept; Steve would hardly be the first one. You weren't stupid enough to believe men never found your line of work or your appearance attractive; but entertaining the idea of Steve being that man to truly want you, even as it seemed more plausible by the minute... that did feel like you were balancing on your tiptoes on that ledge, just to tempt fate.

But what you had agreed to try, that felt like Steve standing on that ledge with you, just as prone to slipping and falling as you. He had given you power. You could easily push him off that ledge, throw it back to his face, try to turn that vulnerability he had shown against him, through HR if nothing else, twist it into some sort of unwanted advances, even as it was the farthest things from what he was doing or what you wanted to do.

And as he stood all the way up there with you, he was holding your hand. He was there and you knew he would strap you into a parachute himself to keep you safe even if he didn’t have one himself in case you were to fall; he'd dive right after you to save you without wearing any protective gear himself, just to take the brunt of impact, because that was who he was, on the battlefield or outside of it, because that was the standard he held himself against. This was how he lived and already died once.

You two were talking about building trust; but the truth was that deep down, maybe you knew you could put that trust in him already, and it wasn’t just about keeping you safe during missions.

You were kidding yourself when you spoke of nothing waiting down the line; whether you liked it or not, you were already falling for him, already had, because there was no other way with this gorgeous bastard.

“Well… I’d like that very much then,” you choked out at last, Steve’s smile shining all the brighter for that. “But I really am sorry I hurt you.”

He made a noncommittal sound. “I’ve had worse.”

Like getting shot in the chest?

Being leaned forward to you like that had to hurt like hell – but you hadn’t realized it until now. He was very good at hiding his pain, but you supposed that didn’t really surprise you.

He had been good at hiding a lot of things, apparently.

“Still sorry.”

“And I appreciate it.”

His smile remained genuine and warm as he said so, even as comfortable silence settled after that. It reminded you of the way he had introduced you during the function – and damn if that didn’t feel like it had happened at least a week ago – full of pride and faith. Like he believed without an ounce of doubt that you were able to do anything you’d put your mind to. And it helped you remind yourself that there had been rare times when you had believed that to.

The sudden urge to repay him, to reciprocate the kindness he was more than worthy of, to be as good as he was – the best possible version of yourself at least – had you blurting out the words before you could think twice.

“Is there anything I can do to make up for it?” you asked, instantly wincing at the overenthusiastic tone, the stupidity of the question and its – genuinely unintended – sexual subtext. “Sorry, that was a stupid question, I don’t know what I was-”

“Actually, there is,” he interjected, your eyebrows arching in surprise, heart skipping a startled beat. ��You could finally join us for a board game night for once. Sam is in, Pepper and Tony too, Natasha should be back from her recon mission later. I’m sure Wanda will join in too and Bucky never misses an opportunity to show off.”

Oh.

Even as the last remark had the corners of your mouth twitch, you worried your teeth over your lower lip.

A board game night sounded… overwhelming, to say at least. But also rather fun. There had been maybe one or two nights together like that since you had joined the team, events you hadn’t participated in; but the laughter could be heard all over the Tower to your rooms. It had always made you question whether you shouldn’t try to join, feeling out of place in your room as much as you feared you would have felt out of place with them.

Perhaps joining this little event would be a nice, safe first step into the ‘friendship’ you and Steve had agreed on entering; with other Avengers around, you would still be spending time together, but there there would be less pressure to interact only with exclusively.

“No pressure. Honest,” Steve added quickly, clearly noticing your hesitation. “Just a night in with friends – if you want.”

Because that is what they are to you too – your friends, you heard unspoken.

And maybe it was the serum coursing your veins still, maybe it was the hint of uncertainly in Steve’s voice as he suggested it, the quiet hope – the olive branch extended even if you didn’t quite deserve it. Affection wrapped in a simple offer of spending time together. He believed you were worthy of it; whether this view of his would last or not, you’d take the chance. Because he deserved it.

And perhaps so did you.

Steve watched you, expectant but careful, truly trying his best to show there was no obligation. Too good; too kind.

It felt like you needed to remind him that despite what he had witnessed a few moments ago, you were not entirely made of glass. That beyond being an utter mess, you could hold your own at times too.

“I don’t know, Steve…”

He breathed in, a quick flash of disappointment in his expression, one he was just as quick to hide. Your gaze fell to the covers as you bit back a smirk. You almost, almost felt bad when he rushed to assure you.

“That’s perfectly fine. I understand. You-“

“I just don’t see how kicking your ass in a board game could make up for anything, you know?” you interrupted him quietly, peeking up at him from under your eyelashes, just in time to see his jaw fall slack a fraction, his back falling back to the chair with a barely-there astonished chuckle.

Laughter danced in his irises now, one corner of his lips lifting in a smirk.

“Oh, is that how it is, huh?”

“Yup,” you popped the p, a grin shyly tugging at the corners of your lips when you saw his amusement. Amusement you brought there.

“That’s quite the confidence, Agent Spectre. You don’t even know what games we play.”

You shrugged, the smile tugging insistently on your lips now; you caught yourself leaning forward, closer to him – and for some reason, an unexpected surge of confidence told you it was okay. More than okay.

“True. Then again, I never really played any, so I’ll be lost anyway. But… I’m a fast learner when I want to be.”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, be it at your words or your posture; something that made your stomach somersault a bit, pleasantly so.

“I bet you are, doll. I know you are.”

You had not been prepared for the shot of heat flooding your veins, but you certainly didn’t find it unwelcomed. If anything, you drank from with vigour it like from a glass of a fine sweet wine, going into your head just as fast, your gaze involuntarily flickering to Steve’s lips, the sight of them making your stomach do a funny flip-flop.

“Oh? And what else do you know?”

“A thing or two. Like that I’d rather have you on my team.”

You could melt at him saying that, both painfully sincere and playful. That was an awfully sweet sentiment, wasn’t it? You swallowed the brief hysteria that tried to overtake over your brain at the idea of him talking about your place in the Avengers instead of simply joining him in a team-up in a boardgame, sinking into his gaze instead, growing more intense by the second, feeding your confidence further.

“Is that right? Don’t want to play against me? Am I that intimidating to our mighty Captain?” you teased him lightly in a low voice.

And once again, you found yourself entirely unprepared for his reaction. Thoroughly unprepared.

God, his eyes darkened so prettily, pupils dilating a fraction, gaze flickering down to your lips and lingering for a moment, body leaning forward, the predator and the prey caught in a trap at once.

Challenging. Teasing. The mighty Captain. He liked that.He had asked you multiple times not to call him that; now with what he had confessed to before, it dawned to you that maybe, just maybe, there had been more to that request than he had felt mocked. You saved that important observation for later use.

“Maybe you are,” he whispered, his voice earning a huskier quality that spoke of that not quite being the case – and spoke of an entirely different emotion. “Or maybe I just know what I want.”

Fresh surge of burning heat spread all over you, your stomach making another mad flip. Your heart reached its speed limit, every beat painful with its ferocity, but oh so thrilling.

You were in a process of quite literally melting from inside out, searing hot sensation in your belly, when Steve suddenly winced and backed away into his chair, his intrigued expression rapidly shifting into an apologetic one.

“I’m sorry, that was--- I wasn’t—I meant that when I said there was no pressure, of any kind. I said we should—and you agreed and I’m more than fine with it, I just got carried--- which isn’t an excuse-“

You rushed to lean in further, ignoring the stab of pain in your legs as you did so and placed your hand over the fist curled on his thigh, effectively shutting him up as the warmth in your chest bloomed. You couldn’t seem to stop your smile from turning softer and wider, as Steve had stumbled over his words, so mindful of not coming off as forceful. Considerate. Kind. Sweet. But goddamn also so insanely attractive, his words having whispered of passion humming under that composed gentle exterior, passion you’d like to explore thoroughly… and repeatedly.

What did it matter your cheeks burned at initiating the touch when in reality you wanted to do much more? Preferably to smack your mouth on his to shut him up for real and show how you felt about his flirting and consideration alike, how the look in his eyes had almost literally set you on fire? How you had to remind yourself that going slow was a reasonable idea you appreciated, because that flicker of something in his expression had nearly made you want to forget all about reason?

He deserved to know; but you searched for gentler words, less rushed. Because building that firmer foundation he had talked about was worth it.

“Steve. It’s fine. You did not exactly hear me protest, did you? …thought so. If anything, I’m… flattered. And I’m not entirely made of glass,” you added self-deprecatingly, earning a quiet but decisive ‘I’m well-aware.’ “Now, if you want me on your team… I’ve got your six. Like I know you’ve got mine. Plus… someone has to protect our fearless leader, right?”

Your words echoing the ones back from the Hydra base had not been an accident; and Steve recognized them even in a vastly different context. He had to, because his tensed shoulders sagged a bit, torso leaning closer again; his fist relaxed too, turning palm up, opening for your hand to slip into his. The firm yet careful squeeze to your hand was only the warmer as it was joined by his smile.

“Well. I can’t say I have ever felt safer then.”

The flutter of your heart at the sincerity of his words was unexpected, but all the sweeter. Because once again, he seemed to mean it; and you had never realized not only how true these words were for you too, but also how insanely the idea of Steven Grant Rogers, the kindest and strongest human you had met, feeling safe with you, would take your breath away.

“Good. Me too,” you agreed softly. In the back of your mind, a familiar tune hummed tenderly, your heart fluttering again at the sheer warmth in Steve’s gaze. “I think we’ll make a good team, stranger.”

His thumb swept over the back of your hand as if there was nothing more natural in this world. And perhaps there wasn’t.

“Yeah. I think we will.”

The evening found you in the common room indeed, the space already buzzing with low chatter and clinking of glasses and mugs, nondescript radio music playing in the background.

Scattered around the living room adjoined to the communal kitchen, Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Sam, Bucky and Wanda were distributing drinks and plates with various snacks, mock-fighting for what they believed to be the best spot on the couch or this armchair or that one, or simply talking, giving the room an air of a venue of a nuclear family gathering rather than one of the couple of colleagues. As you and Steve walked in together – well, he walked, you rolled in on an electric wheelchair for the time being – it gave you a brief pause, an unpleasant feeling of being an intruder crawling up your spine, an instinct to turn on your wheels and roll away tugging at your mind even though you had once or twice reluctantly joined a very similar family back at the main SHIELD base.

Back then, you’d have Skye to nudge you in, even going to such lengths as loudly announcing your presence in various ways so it would be more embarrassing for you to flee; a sneaky, evil way of making you stay she’d pull every single time she believed you had had even the faintest desire to be there and socialize with other people than her.

Now, you had Steve by your side; and he didn’t push, not even when you caught Wanda’s encouraging smile, her lips curling up just a bit when she spotted you; just as warmly as when she had brought you a few essentials and outfits from your rooms at the Tower. Apparently, the system only permitted another Avenger to enter your quarters upon your request unless you were present at your door – which was a regulation you’d complain about since you had needed to get your things and you had been on a strict bedrest for at least a few more hours, which had forced you to bother an Avenger. You had a creeping suspicion it was a regulation Tony had made on spot when you had been bedridden, to make you socialize – it wouldn’t be the first time now, would it – but there was nothing you could have done about that. Wanda had been kind enough to answer your awkward plea, entering your mind as respectfully and briefly to find out what you wanted as she did with your private space.

You reluctantly reciprocated her smile, hearing Steve shift behind you; yet, he didn’t rush you to take the final step.

He had picked you up in your hospital room just as one of the nurses was helping you settle in the wheelchair, a concerned scowl on his face as if he was scolding you for not waiting for him to help you instead; and while you tried not to let it show, you did have to admit that even without the serum coursing his veins, he would have probably been able to help you avoid putting so much weight on your legs better. That was, had he not still had his arm in a sling which he conveniently seemed to forget. You were willing to forgive his hypocrisy this time only because it truly hadhurt and because his scowl gave way to a smile after your simple “shall we?”

“Of course. It’s good to see you out of the bed,” he had said, his eyes lighting up a bit indeed as his gaze roamed your body. “Anything I can help with?”

‘Clear the way if I decided to run – roll away – at the last moment,’ you wanted to retort, swallowing the remark and shaking your head instead with a silent “thanks”, deciding to focus on little joys offered instead – like Steve’s soft smile or the way the blue of his henley brought out the cerulean of his eyes or the faintest traces of smile lines framing them.

“Then into the lion’s den we go.”

Back then, you could hear the hints of humour in his voice; but as you took a deep breath before finally taking the figurative last step, your ribcage tight, it felt like you were entering exactly that.

“Heeey, look what the Cap dragged in!” Bucky greeted you loudly, causing you to jump at the noise and mainly at all heads snapping to you and Steve.

Starting just stellar, you thought to yourself darkly, arranging a polite smile despite your heart thundering and screaming at you to run with every rapid beat.

“Har har, Buchanan. Mind your own business,” Steve snapped from behind you, his voice carrying tension, but no malice. If anything, there was a light humour laced between his protective words.

“Ouch, full name, you’re in trouble, James Buchannan Barnes,” Sam commented with a grin, earning an eyeroll from the supersoldier – and a second later, Bucky was staring at you and Steve again, grinning as well.

“I think he’d much rather mind yours,” Natasha hummed as she set down her cocktail, beckoning at your pair in greeting. “Hey you guys.”

“Well too bad for him,” Steve said, stepping further into the room, a wordless prompt for you to do the same.

Into the lion’s den indeed. But at least they were friendly lions. Right? Why did it still feel like it would be safer to jump into the literal snake pit with no weapon but your own fists?

“Do you need any help?” Wanda asked sweetly, practically rushing to your side.

It reminded you of her earlier enthusiasm; your smile automatically grew, genuine. You simply shook your head with a low but heartfelt ‘no, thank you’.

“Is she here voluntarily?” Tony questioned, stealing your attention. “Casper, if you want to get out of here, blink twice, I’ll save you. Blink thrice if he threatened to shoot you to get you here.”

“Stark!”

“Tony!”

Despite all the heads snapping back at the man, it was Steve and Pepper who cried out; and you couldn’t but snort undignifiedly when Tony’s head whipped to Steve on instinct, and only then slowly, oh so slowly as if he was terrified, he turned his head from the hulking form of a semi-supersoldier to the petite woman that was his wife, clearly indicating who was the one inspiring more fear in him.

“What? It is too soon?”

Pepper just kept glaring at him, without a word – an answer in its own right.

It only now dawned to you why they had snapped at him, why Tony had asked if it was too soon. They were worried. About you. About how you’d react, about whether you’d fold down like a house of cards at a mention of a gun, whether you’d break like a weakling, like—

Except it wasn’t that, was it? the kinder voice in your mind questioned, growing stronger when you felt Steve step closer, your enhanced senses picking up on the warmth of his hand nearing your shoulder, even if not touching. They weren’t worried because they thought you were useless; they were worried and considerate, because that was what friends did for each other.

“I’m pretty sure that about thirty hours after is still rather soon, yes,” Natasha hummed, breaking the silence with light amusement in her voice, eyeing the billionaire who was smiling at Pepper with clueless innocence. “You’re lucky you’re tech-smart at least, Stark, even if Johnson keeps giving you run for your money.”

“Oh gimme a break!” Tony cried out, abandoning his post of a scolded child, turning to Natasha fully. “She basically grew up in the Rising Tide, that’s like… that’s like she’d been to Hogwarts of hacking and became Dumbledore’s protégé, or something, okay-!”

The corner of your lips twitched up, a feeling of unjustified pride swelling in your chest at the mention of whom you certainly considered a friend of yours; and at the rather accurate description, even if wrapped in a literary reference.

You fought the urge to grin fully when you heard Sam tease Tony further.

“Ooooooh, look at the well-read man with such apt metaphors!”

“Please, I’m pretty sure he only watched the movies, like you lots with The Hobbit,” Bucky added, a look of mutual respect for roasting a friend exchanged between the two men, until indignation coloured Sam’s expression when he realized he was being teased as well.

It was the most surreal scene to watch; but it was even more surreal scene to feel.

Feeling of knowing Daisy, knowing someone so capable and knowing you belong among her favourite people somehow, was one thing – but it was a whole another thing to realize that watching the Avengers, literally the mightiest heroes on Earth, poke fun one on another, didn’t make you feel out of place. In fact, it made you feel quite welcomed. As if you… as if you could almost, almost belong one day, if not as one of them, then at least alongside them without sticking out.

And it was that dizzying feeling, that traitorous feeling, that made you speak up too.

“Hmm… I don’t know, Tony. I’m pretty sure it was more like the Hogwarts sent her an encrypted message begging her to join so Dumbledore could learn a few new tricks,” you corrected him with a gentle humour; or at least you believed so.

Until you found the whole room suddenly staring at you, Tony even mutely pointing his index finger at you, unable to retort.

The image he made for should be preciously hilarious; you had a feeling that now you truly should be proud, because you had managed to render him speechless. He had to be utterly shocked to be at loss for words. But he wasn’t the only one – and that was the thing that stunned the warm feeling blossoming in your chest, the air in your lungs freezing, a cold coil of anxiety settling in your ribcage instead.

Alongside them. Not one of them. In fact, not even close to the latter, forever stuck in the former.

It wasn’t your place to join the teasing; that was a gross overstep.

You had said too much. You had overstepped by miles. Tony’s face was pure shock. Bucky’s and Sam’s and Wanda’s, when you checked subtly, were unreadable. You had missed by thousand miles. Steve behind you remained quiet and you didn’t dare to turn to him. Pepper appeared somewhat scandalized, even as she was still looking as perfectly put-together as ever, not a hair out of place in her elegant overall and a loose ponytail. You messed up. You had to apologize-

A levelled voice, warm with amusement, interrupted the noise of your mind and the quiet that had settled in the room alike.

“Not wrong, from what I read up on her,” Natasha said.

Tony, still pointing an index on you still, opened his mouth. “How dare you, Casper. I’m always in your corner and that’s what I get? Jail, I say!”

Your shoulders sagged in relief, lungs expanding again with a generous inhale; you felt yourself grin and letyourself do so, lifting your hands in surrender. That was very true, he had been in your corner – and you were grateful for it. Yes, Tony did whatever Tony wanted and you had no doubt he had pushed you and manipulated you into that charity gala, but much like in the case of Steve, you realized now, as reluctantly as it was, that his behaviour was coming from a good place. From a place of a wanting to be helpful and useful and good and supportive… an ally. A reluctant friend, perhaps.

He deserved the same from you. Your grin widened, heart stumbling even as your voice carried confidence.

“Hey, just saying what I know... Don’t shoot the messenger.”

A distinct sound of someone choking on their drink had you snap your head to the couch, taking note of Bucky doubling over as he coughed; several snickers sounded around, causing satisfaction fill your gut – and warmth your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hold on, how come she gets to joke about it?!” Tony complained loudly, taking steps closer to you as he gestured in – hopefully mocked – accusation.

“I think that for starters, she’s the one who got shot-“

“So did he!” Tony cut Sam off, pointing at Steve this time. “What if he’s uncomfortable with it?”

You finally dared to look up at Steve, who was still by your side, now silent for a while – and whose stare you felt for just as long. There was a mischievous grin on his face and if you looked further, a speckle of what looked like a little bit like pride.

They are your friends too, you know.

He glanced up at Tony, shrugging with his healthy shoulder without care for the world.

“I mean… I don’t mind at all-”

“Ooooof course you don’t,” Tony stated, grimacing and looking at Steve somehow both with indignation and uncomfortably knowing look. “When it comes to her, you’re already whi-“

Pepper shot Tony another warning glare and he hesitated as he glanced at you in the least subtle way, causing heat rise to your cheeks, a small swell of panic swirling in your chest at his implication – panic and bottomless source of warmth.

“-spering behind my back, like the whole team,” Tony finished, clearly entirely differently than he had intended. “You know what? Just for that, Rogers, I’m gonna crush you in Monopoly.”

A collective groan sounded around the table, various protests against the game rising, incomprehensible words with a very comprehensible message.

You used the momentary chaos to move, glad to have a second of reprieve at attention was no longer on you.

You had been childishly naïve. Sam’s eyes instantly turned to you as he stood up and offered to take care of your drinks.

“Oh- uhm, thank you. Can I… can I have a cup of tea?”

“Coming right-“

“Tea?!” The exasperated cry genuinely made your heart skip a startled beat, upper body whipping the direction of its origin. “Did she just ask for TEA? It’s a party, Casper, for the love of god. Live a little.”

You could hear Steve, who magically appeared by your side just as Sam had disappeared to the kitchen area, breathe in to protest – but there was no need. This, you got.

“I’m on pain meds, Tony. Not to mention I literally can’t get drunk now. I mean… probably.”

At that, Tony’s eyes snapped to Steve, bright and mischievous. “We can get you drunk now, even without Thor’s help. Wilson, get some tequila in here while you’re at it!”

“You… do know he’s on pain meds too, right?” Bucky deadpanned, voicing the very protest you would have – as amusing as seeing drunk Steve might turn out. It would be quite an experience to see him without a filter, wouldn’t it?

“So? He’ll live!” Tony called out, waving the concern off with a theatrical swipe off his hand. “And I’m sure his liver will recover once they switch again.”

You froze.

Just a joke. A simple sidenote – and yet, you found yourself going rigid, anticipating pain, the kind that had no relief no matter the amount of medication; as if it was going to return any second. And then, cold creeping up your spine, dreadful anticipation of justified judging gazes turning to you; because you were the cause of Steve’s momentary lacking healing factor, the cause of his condition – a condition they didn’t even know the worst part of, from what you understood.

You were the reason; you were the thief. You were the sole reason why Steve wasn’t healed yet, even if that was his very own choice, one you hated him for as much as… appreciated him.

And then you noticed.

No one was looking at you.

There were no glares filled with contempt. If anything, the company seemed both amused and slightly annoyed at Tony’s half-serious suggestion.

Breathing in and out, you forced yourself to relax, consciously lifting the corners of your lips when Bucky seemed highly unimpressed, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“Will it now, Doctor Stark? I mean… we didn’t try any antiserum yet. Switching powers, or bullets weren’t enough. So let’s try if a cocktail of alcohol, salt, citrus and fentanyl does the job, shall we? Come on, Stark. It’s like you don’t know him, he does enough reckless shit on his own… please don’t encourage him.”

Several things happened at once.

Natasha hummed in agreement, her face speaking volumes about how truthful she found the statement.

Next to you, Steve made a small offended noise.

Tony rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “buzzkill.”

You barely stifled a snort of laughter, managing to mask it as a cough; yet, Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, something pleased flashing in his eye.

“Honestly, I think I could beat you even in that state, but Bucky’s right. Let’s leave that to another time,” Steve offered in a conciliatory manner, causing Tony to arch his left eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge--?”

“Maybe-”

Bucky flung his hand towards Steve with what could only be read as mute despair, leaving no hopes for your snort to stay silent this time; but also earning much of your sympathies, as you immediately marked him as your ally. He got it. He agreed with you on Steve being a hypocrite when calling you out. He was, as you had assumed before, the one keeping Steve in check – or to least was trying to do so. Good.

At the sound you failed to stifle this time, Bucky’s gaze found yours again, even if briefly. What you found was warm understanding.

“Aaaalright,” Natasha interrupted the playful – but not quite so – exchange between Steve and Tony, a gentle gesture of stepping between the two. “Down, boys. Let’s get back on track, some of us had an early morning, some of us are on painkillers indeed. What are we playing? Not Monopoly, so…”

At that, you proceeded to tune the noise out, unable to help them decide anyway. When you glanced Steve’s direction again, he charmed an easy smile for you, gently brushing your arm with his fingertips before he sat down, sending both shivers and pleasant tingles through your body, your heart making a funny little flip in your chest at the tender subtle touch.

When you smiled back, genuinely unable to help it, his smile turned blinding and he leaned in, whispering only for your ears – and probably Bucky’s.

“Thank you for joining me in the madness. I’m sure you already see why I needed some strong and reliable back-up.”

It was an easy compliment, a barely-there acknowledgement wrapped in a joke; and yet, you felt yourself smile wider, meeting Steve’s gentle blues, something deep within your stirring.

“I’ve got your six, Captain,” you reminded him. “And thank you for inviting me.”

“My absolute pleasure… but if we end up in different teams, just don’t win with too many points over me, will you?”

You smirked, even as you had a lot less faith in your board game skills than he apparently did; it gave you a confidence boost you weren’t aware you needed. It seemed so effortless to let the playful competitive atmosphere of the night affect you, when Steve’s literal and figurative warmth radiated off of him, caressing your skin even as he was no longer touching you.

“Well… no promises.”

“Hmpf… a wolf in sheep’s clothing...” he muttered, suddenly turning to Tony with a stern look on his face as the billionaire held one of the board games. “No, we will not play Twister, that had better be a joke, you have two people who got shot and one with a sprained wrist-”

You hadn’t noticed, but since the only conclusion of the other injured person was Natasha, you were not surprised she was able to hide it, especially with her sweatshirt sleeves having a thumb hole, easily disguising a splint. And perhaps you had been a little distracted; by your pain medication, of course. There was nothing else to draw your enhanced senses to itself with the force of gravity. Nothing at all.

Even as your heart raced at the turn your thoughts seemed to be running to, you accepted your tea from Sam’s hands with a silent thank you, missing the wordless exchange of meaningful look between Natasha and Bucky, who in turn had not missed how close Steve had leaned in to whisper in your ear even though you were momentarily an owner of enhanced hearing indeed.

But even without seeing that, it felt like what you were doing – something as trivial as being present at a little party in with your colleagues – was moving forward.

And no matter where you’d end up, it felt like it would be a good place; and you’d have a good person by your side, always, be it Steve, or one of his – and one day perhaps yours as well – friends. You’d count your blessings, even as Wanda pulled out the box with the chosen game at last, the number of rules she started to list already making your head spin.

Being surrounded by so many voices had rarely ever felt better; and rarely quieted the ones in your mind. It had rarely felt safe. And as a sweet cherry on top, Steve’s fingers brushed your elbow, his reassuring smile feeling soft even as you didn’t turn your head to see it.

Yes, it was slow; but you were moving forward. And it felt really, really good.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Dear reader, apologies for the long wait on a long chapter. Life got busy, specifically work did, draining all my (creative) energy. And frankly, a part of this chapter fought me tooth and nail – I can only hope you, too, will think I won the battle eventually. But oh, did you think only pure fluff was coming? Well. Sorry to disappoint 🤭 ehm. Anyway.

As always, many thank you for your support – and a gentle reminder I’m always happy to hear your thoughts if you’re willing to share them.

Also, I feel like there might be one more chapter before something I can actually call an epilogue, so stay tuned.

May June be kind to you and your loved ones 💕

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

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