Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage.

The sing-songy nursery rhyme was ringing in your head over and over again, feeling almost like a prayer. That’s the way it had to be. Love, marriage, then, and only then, a baby. It was said that children spoke the truth, so it had to be the truth. It had to go that way. It just had to.

There was no baby, yet, you reminded yourself as you stood in the small bathroom of your apartment and waited. Until you had proof, there was no baby. There had been certain activities that would under certain circumstances result to a baby, yes. But you had been cautious about it, yes. But you were also an adult who understood that 99.8 percent wasn’t the same thing as 100 percent. The second-guessing was going back and forth in your head, your thoughts bouncing around your skull like your brain had lost its connection to gravity and was trying to escape. You drummed the counter next to the sink with your fingers and glanced at the clock, expecting that at least 3 minutes had to have passed by now.

It had been 45 seconds. These were proving to be the longest minutes of your life – certainly something in the time-space was acting whacky if this was taking this long. Why hadn’t somebody figured out a faster way to do this? Even the rapidest test out of the four you’d bought took over a minute to develop.

Your period was late, yes, but that by itself really meant nothing. Those things were fickle; just the amount of stress you were currently under might very well explain everything. After all, getting a degree at MIT wasn’t exactly known for being a walk in the park, and you did have a rocket thruster to design.

You stared at the four pregnancy tests on your bathroom counter. All of them were different brands to ensure that results you got would be accurate. Because this was important.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage.

Apparently, the children didn’t know a damn thing.

“Miss? Excuse me? Are you alright?”

You wanted to answer that you really weren’t okay. For a moment, you wondered what he’d say if you just said to him that No, actually, I’m not okay, because I am apparently pregnant and I’m pretty sure you know the father, too. Here’s a hint: stars and stripes. But you were certain Starbucks baristas dealt with enough weird stuff without you adding to it, so you just nodded and reached for the drink he’d been holding to hand you for God knew how long.

“Yeah, yeah, I just… Didn’t sleep well, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t we all know that feeling. Probably had my last good night’s sleep in kindergarten,” he said. “I hope this’ll wake you up. Have a nice day.”

You were pretty certain he didn’t know this feeling.

Your body didn’t feel like your own as you sat down – it was like guiding one of the first robots you’d designed, clumsy, slow, overshooting with every movement. Every muscle cell in your body seemed to be shell-shocked by the revelation you’d had this morning. Had it been this morning? You’d just sat at your desk and stared at your computer the entire day, and you weren’t sure you’d even moved the cursor the entire time. You had missed a lecture you really should’ve attended, and you knew that should’ve bothered you, but it didn’t. The only thing you could think about was the image of a pregnancy test burned into your brain.

2-3 weeks pregnant, the small LCD screen had cheerily informed you.

Alright, the cheerfulness of it was your projection. But you weren’t supposed to be in this situation. It was improbable, especially with the desolation that had been your social life over the last few years. People who just got accidentally pregnant were the ones who didn’t plan ahead, right? You had planned ahead. Your planning ahead was on the level that it spanned the entirety of your life. It was not fair.

One date. You had had one date over the last three years. And that hadn’t even been a date, not really, just one thing leading to another. A very poorly timed fertile window combined with both the condom and your IUD failing. The one time you had had sex with somebody else over the last three years and it had led to this.

The odds of that happening had to be astronomical.

Improbable didn’t equal impossible, the annoyingly rational part of your brain reminded you. Even astronomically improbable didn’t equal impossible. Damn mathematics for always being right.

You took a sip of your coffee, and the taste hit you so hard your stomach turned. Even through the milk of the latte, the bitterness of espresso was so bad it almost burned in your mouth. Shooting an incredulous look at the glass, you pushed it away in disgust. For a moment you thought the milk might’ve gotten spoiled and that was making the entire thing taste like burned-to-hell gas station coffee, but then it dawned on you. Apparently, this had been taken from you, too, by your state. A state in which you probably shouldn’t have a lot of caffeine anyway.

Abandoning the coffee on the table, you rushed out, trying to fight the wave of nausea that was hell of a lot more the emotion than it was the pregnancy. If the barista was looking at you funny, you didn’t see it through your tears.

One night, and everything was ruined.

Steve (Tue, 12:16 PM): Hi. I just got back from off-the-grid, and boy, that was a long two and a half weeks. Sam and Bucky’s bickering was driving me insane. How have you been?

Steve (Wed, 03:34 PM): About that date, are you still free on Saturday? Natural History Museum and coffee afterwards, what do you think?

Steve (Wed, 08:51 PM): I know the way it all went down wasn’t exactly very gentlemanly of me, but I really like you and I’d love to take you on a proper date. No hidden expectations.

Steve (Wed, 08:56 PM): And I didn’t mean that last thing in the sense that I didn’t like what happened, I just… don’t want you to think that it’s the only reason I’m texting you.

Steve (Wed, 08:56 PM): That came out wrong. I’m sorry.

Steve (Wed, 08:58 PM): Bucky says I’m making a fool out of myself. I should probably stop talking now.

Steve (Thu, 01:22 PM): Are you alright?

Steve (Fri, 05:37 PM): Hey, just wanted to let you know that I’ll take the hint, but could you just let me know you’re alright, please? I won’t bother you after that. I apologize for offending you.

You stared at the screen of your phone. The entire week, you hadn’t picked it up. You’d just gone from a lecture to the lab to the library, you’d returned three essays you had absolutely no memory of writing. You’d done your grocery shopping and eaten your vegetables and taken your walks and your multivitamins like a robot performing a sequence of actions without thinking.

As you looked at his messages, the numbness of the last days was draining out of you and being replaced by the heaviest pang of guilt you’d ever felt. Even if it had been just one night, you and Steve had had something great going on, and it seemed like you hadn’t been the only one thinking that. It could’ve been the start of something beautiful but instead it had been the prelude to a disaster. But Steve was a good man. He deserved to know the truth about this, and that meant you needed to tell him the truth.

His latest message had arrived just ten minutes ago, which meant he was probably still near his phone and in a situation in which he could probably talk. He didn’t seem like the guy to send that kind of messages from under the conference room table. You pressed the button to call him, and barely had time to stuff the headphones into your ears before he picked up the phone.

“Hi. Thanks for calling me. Sorry to bother you.”

His voice was tense, but not unfriendly.

“Hi,” you said, surprised your brain was still working that much. “It’s… You haven’t been. I’m sorry I’ve been blowing you off. I… didn’t mean to.”

Steve was silent for a moment, three seconds, five.

“Has something happened? Are you alright?”

You couldn’t say it over the phone. You just couldn’t. Before you could figure out a way to start the conversation of it probably being best if he came over, he continued:

“Because you don’t sound alright. Look, if I did something to –“

“It’s not anything you did,” you said, despite the fact that it was technically a lie. “It’s just…”

That was how far you got before bursting into tears. Steve had fallen silent on the other end of the phone, listening to your desperate, chest-shaking sobs for only a few seconds before asking:

“Can I come see you? Is that okay with you?”

The softness of his voice made you cry harder. You’d just spent the last four days ignoring him, and still he was willing to not only come to your rescue but suggesting it himself. You tried to string a sentence together, but it just wasn’t happening. Luckily, two words were enough:

“Yes. Please.”

He didn’t hesitate for a second.

“I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Text

Three weeks earlier

“I started this speech by outlining that even in 1742, Edward Young recognized the problem we face: humanity’s inclination to bury their celestial dreams, to clip their wings before they even try to spread them. I do hope that I have built a strong enough case to show that we have not only the possibility but the duty to make our dreams reach beyond the horizon. Because we, as humanity, we are built on hope, and it is hope for a brighter future we need to withstand and solve whatever problems tomorrow might bring us. May we, who have the resources and the bright minds to truly build humanity’s bridge to the stars and beyond, have the courage to do it. For Young said it best, even as early as in 1742: Too low they build who build beneath the stars,” you let the words sink in for just a few seconds before continuing. “On behalf of the student body, I would like to welcome all of you to the Annual Mentorship Program Kick-off Gala. Thank you for being here tonight.”

The applause was thunderous as you took your bow. The air of the Gala Hall was downright electrified by your words, everyone raising to standing ovation, and telling by the small smile on your red lips, you knew you’d nailed it.  

Steve knew full well he was staring, his gaze tracking you as you made your way down from the podium and back to your table. Even in the sea of black-tie event appropriate floor length gowns, yours stood out – the deep navy tulle floating around you was shimmering because of the constellations sown into it with the daintiest silvery glitter yarn, the off-shoulder design elegant as ever, the glittery ruffle of the neckline making you somehow highlighted. A statement, definitely, and after a speech that had left him speechless, Steve was definitely intrigued.

Tony snapped his fingers in front of Steve’s face.

“Cap, this is Houston speaking, come back down to Earth,” he grinned. “I know freezing’s kind of your thing, but I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of my old buddies.”

“Oh, because associating with someone who has saved the world multiple times is so very embarrassing for you, Stark,” Steve answered his smile. “People might find out you actually have a soul.”

“Yeah, and the people would be very disturbed by that,” Tony said, taking a sip of his red wine. “Though I have to hand it to the kid, she’ll go places.”

“She’s hardly a kid, Tony. But yes, seems like a bright one. Great speech.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed at that, and Steve suddenly found the centerpiece of the table very interesting, thankful that their tablemates had gotten absorbed into a discussion about some speculated particle and weren’t listening.

“Oh my, Captain, I’m scandalized. A student had that kind of effect on you. Isn’t she like 70 years too young for you? I thought I was bringing you here to inquire about your opportunities to return to school and not to rob cradles.”

“She’s what, 24? That makes me about five years older than she is, so that’d hardly be cradle robbing” Steve said, gaining awareness of what he was admitting to only after he’d already said it, and Tony’s grin widened.

Tony leaned back in his chair and clicked his tongue. In the soft blueish lights of the Event Hall, he looked younger than he had in years. Maybe being back at MIT brought him back to his student years.

“She’s 24, yes. And I can’t really deny that she’s impressive: a double major in aerospace and electrical engineering, and 4.8 GPA at that.”

Steve looked at him in curiosity.

“You know her?”

“She got a full ride from Maria Stark Foundation after winning my science competition back in high school. We’ve never met, but I keep track of my kids. And since me paying for her schooling makes me essentially her father figure, I would very much like to know your intentions with her.”

Steve could feel his cheeks burning.

“Cut it out, Tony.”

Of course, he didn’t.

Jackson was being a jerk again, but that was certainly nothing to write home about. You twirled a glass of alcohol-free champagne in your fingers as you listened to him talk. Holding the speech had been enough of a buzz for tonight, you’d decided, and you had wanted to make sure to appear your best if anyone came to talk to you now that the sit-down dinner had been finished and the true mingling had started. After all, everyone who was someone on the field of engineering was here tonight, so you wouldn’t let the opportunity to go to waste.

Jackson was talking way too loud, probably trying to impress everyone within ten-feet radius, though nominally he was talking to the sophomore girl next to him – Olivia or Olive or something. You’d seen her before in a mixer, but she wasn’t your class, so you really didn’t have an impression of her.

“I’m telling you, magnetoplasma is where it’s at. You know, that’s when you accelerate plasma in a magnet field to gain thrust for a rocket.”

Seriously. Jackson was talking in that tone to a sophomore engineering student. He was a jackass, yes, but even for him, this was low. The way his eyes were gleaming, he might’ve enjoyed the free-flowing champagne a bit too much and had a bit too little to eat. Olivia/Olive shifted her weight, glancing to her side.

You didn’t know her, but you knew Jackson. Placing your most charming smile on your face, you stepped a bit closer to interject yourself in between them and their discussion.

“Hey, Jackson, I couldn’t help but overhear, and I was wondering what’s your opinion on the thermal management problem of magnetoplasma? After all, the electrical power to thrust ratio of the things is already poor, and the waste heat just adds insult to injury, in my opinion.”

Jackson looked at you like you were something particularly nasty he’d stepped in.

“Excuse me, but did I ask your opinion?” he said with a plastic grin on his face.

You tilted your head.

“Did she ask yours?” you nodded towards Olivia/Olive and took a nonchalant sip from your glass. “Based on your reaction, I’m going to assume you don’t have an answer for me.”

“Advanced lightweight radiator technology to – “ Jackson started.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you said where it’s at, not where it will be in the sci-fi future. I’m not denying the effectivity and potential of it, but even with current state-of-the-art technology, what they have is just not feasible right now. But you certainly know that already.”

Jackson turned to face you properly, and from the corner of your eye you saw Olivia/Olive slip away into the crowd, mouthing a silent thank you at you.

“You know, you don’t need to be so condescending about it, little Miss Uptight. Even if you can’t visualize that, it doesn’t mean – “

“I do think she has a point,” a somehow familiar voice said behind you. “The technology just creates a myriad of problems, the excess heat certainly not being the least of them.”

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up, and you turned around to see what he was looking at. You certainly knew who Tony Stark was, even though his voice had been hard to recognize in all the chatter of the hall. He was standing next to you, somehow managing to make a black tuxedo among the sea of black tuxedos in the room look show offish. Respect. It was the way he carried himself, certainly, or the watch on his wrist. Next to him was Captain Rogers in a much more toned-down version of black tie attire, a simple black tuxedo jacket with a vest and a pair of matching pants. Despite the muted details of his outfit, he was certainly an impressive sight. He caught your eyes on him and smiled, nodding a polite greeting. You had known they would both be here when you’d been given the honor of giving the speech, but in an event this big, you hadn’t really expected you’d run into them. Or that they’d run into you, more accurately, because the way Tony was now talking to Jackson made it obvious that he’d been listening to this conversation for a moment now.

“I don’t think it’s all that much about the ability to visualize it – I think it’s about being able to visualize something that doesn’t just bring more problems to the table. I just find it unnecessarily complicated, and that is certainly not because I don’t understand how it works. I think that’s how she sees it, too, right?”

Tony turned to look at you and you nodded.

“I do see the potential, but that’s not going to solve any problems anytime soon. It’s not feasible now, and it’s not far-reaching enough for the future. I know you’re more of an ion thruster guy,” you smiled with one corner of your mouth. “And that’s certainly fine, for now, but if we’re truly going to start imagining new things, I see no reason to stop at magnetoplasma when a closed system similar to the helical engine NASA’s dreaming of would solve the problem of excess heat. Though, it does bring the obvious problem of the particle accelerator technology really not being there yet.”

Jackson scoffed next to you.

“Yeah, as if that isn’t some sci-fi future bullshit. You know, sweetheart, I don’t know why you’re wasting Mr. Stark’s time with your – “

Tony turned to look at him, and the air around him grew ten degrees colder.

“You know, believe it or not, I’m actually a guy who’s capable of deciding how to spend his time without a nanny deciding it for me. And if that’s going to be how you present your argument, somewhere in here is probably a kiddie table that’s more up your speed.”

Holy hell if this wasn’t just proving to be the greatest night of your life. Seeing actual Tony fucking Stark put Jackson into his place, resulting in the latter disappearing into the crowd with his head bowed down was a moment you’d probably relive in your head until your dying day. All the coldness just melted from Tony as he turned to look at you and grinned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

He was not sorry, and he had very much meant it.

“Tony Stark,” he extended a hand. “But you probably know who I am.”

“I’d say I do, but I don’t think your ego needs any more fuel.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise but broke into an even wider smile. You laughed as well and introduced yourself before continuing:

“If you really would’ve wanted to piss off Jackson, you should’ve brought up the problem with the electromagnets,” you said.

“Do you think it’s a more challenging problem than the excess heat thing? After all, all it takes to neutralize it is a magnetic quadrupole,” he raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, and one of the poles goes down and the shit-fan proximity turns a bit too small for my liking. Just the torque itself would be rather dangerous. It’s just a matter of what has more parts that can break down.”

Tony considered your words.

“Yeah, that is a fair point. Though that’s still something that current state-of-the-art technology could solve, while the heating problem isn’t.”

You nodded.

“You’re right about that.”

Tony lifted his whiskey glass to his lips and took a sip; his eyes were obviously assessing you. You didn’t mind that at all, doing a mocking Cinderella twirl in your dress in front of him. He laughed at that, and so did Captain Rogers – and for a moment you thought that maybe you should’ve been a bit more cautious around them, more conscious about their status as superhumans and celebrities. But this was your territory, and you’d talk rocket science with Tony Stark like you’d talk it with any of your professors. The professional talk had put you instantly at ease with him.

“Are you judging whether or not your money is being used well?”

“Oh come on, kid, that makes me sound like a sugar daddy,” Tony sighed, but he was holding back laughter.

“Well, technically you do pay for my schooling, even if it’s via your mother’s foundation. Thank you for that, by the way. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you; all jokes aside I really look up to you. You probably hear that one a lot, but – “

He waved it off.

“I never get tired of hearing it. And the full ride, I honestly can’t think for a better way to use my money than helping some very intelligent young people get a fighting chance. No need to mention it. Great speech, kid,” Tony patted your upper arm. “I have to fly. There’s like forty people here I still need to remind of embarrassing things they’ve done, and I have to do that before I turn back into a humble servant girl at midnight.”

Just like that, he was gone into the crowd, leaving you chuckling for a moment before you realized Captain Rogers was still there and you hadn’t said a word to him.

Your gaze shot up at him and found that his eyes were already on you. He was looking at you with some sort of curiosity, like you were something he was really trying to analyze. But there was an almost amused smile on his lips, and that made your cheeks burn just a bit.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I just… Sometimes forget myself when I get a chance to really talk shop with someone,” you said and extended a hand to introduce yourself.

“Steve Rogers,” he returned the introduction. “It’s a pleasure.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m terribly rude for ignoring you.”

He shook his head, and you breathed out in relief. Somehow, he was a lot more intimidating than Tony, and it wasn’t just about the fact that he was towering over you. Tony was, in essence, a colleague of sorts. Steve was something else, an unknown variable. He certainly wasn’t a bad guy, but you were used to interacting with certain types of people who ran in your circles, and he wasn’t that.

“Don’t worry about it. I like listening people when they talk about things that they’re passionate about, even though I understood approximately four words out of that discussion,” he smiled.

You’d never been the one to get star struck, but he was definitely pushing the limit. What had gotten into you all of a sudden? You joked it off:

“Oh, come on, it’s just rocket science.”

He laughed, and it really lit up the blue of his eyes.

“And I’m just the muscle of the team. I’ll leave the brains to someone else.”

“Come on, don’t belittle yourself. You’re clearly a smart man,” you said, and before he had a chance to contest that, continued: “But are you being the muscle tonight? Tony needs a bodyguard?”

He smiled as he shook his head.

“Nah, Tony is perfectly capable of holding his own.”

Steve glanced into the direction in which Jackson had disappeared and tensed up just a bit, his smile leaving his face for a second before returning.

“But I have to ask, do you? Need a bodyguard, that is? That guy didn’t seem like a pleasant person.”

Something about the way he said it, how nonchalant he was being of his intentions to keep you safe even though he didn’t know you at all had your heart beat a little bit faster. He was certainly as honorable as he was painted to be. You shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it. Jackson’s an asshole, but he lacks the guts to do anything but talk.”

“Is he always like that?”

“He’s not as bad when he’s sober. Actually, the guy has got a brain, I can’t deny that. His insights on groupwork can be pretty great, and we had the same GPA at high school. But me winning the National Jarvis Competition and doing 0.02 percentiles better in SATS made me the valedictorian, and I think he never forgave me for making him question if he truly is the universe’s gift to science he thinks he is.”

“So, it’s a rivalry,” Steve remarked.

“Perhaps. He’s just ultra-snarky today because he would’ve wanted to give the speech, but I got it. He’ll calm down, so stand down, Captain,” you smiled.

His eyes definitely turned more curious at that, and you wondered if this was how petri dishes felt when they were being stared through a microscope. But he wasn’t being mean about it, just intensive – you wondered if something bothered him.

“I’m sorry if I’m babbling you to death,” you said, offering him an uneasy smile.

People had told you that you sometimes did that. But he didn’t seem to fake it to be polite when he smiled, not with the way the smile reached his eyes.

“You’re not. And I asked. But anyway, I don’t mean to hog you from your networking or your friends.”

Luckily, he didn’t expect an answer to that before continuing, because there was a pang in your chest.

“I just wanted to say I really liked your speech. The way you described people’s tendency to squander themselves; never even go after their dreams and never try to realize their potential was great. It deeply resonated with me.”

Steve had been listening. You hadn’t been half sure if people actually were, not before the applause that had felt surprisingly authentic. And he didn’t seem to find you that annoying, which was more than some people thought of you.

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into that.”

“I could tell,” he said.

Why was he looking at you like that? You didn’t mind, certainly not, but there seemed to be something else here than just politeness. You just couldn’t pin it down. But his praise made your cheeks burn in a way that made it feel different from the other praises your speech had gotten. Steve didn’t seem like a man who said things just out of politeness, and that meant his words had way more weight than anything else said in a networking event.

“Well, I’ll be on my way,” he said, nodding to you. “It was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you, too.”

You watched his wide shoulders disappear into the crowd, wondering.

It was getting late; most of the mingling had stopped, and the dancing had started, the soft sounds of a string orchestra filling the hall. You shifted your weight from one leg to other as you stood leaning an elbow to one of those small standing height cocktail-tables you always forgot the proper name of. It would be time to slip away soon because you’d gotten all your networking done, and it was not like you had anyone to dance with.

Alright, it would definitely be time to slip away before you would start to lament the interference that seemed to always be there when you tried to connect with humans. In an attempt to not stand out like a sore thumb, standing alone, you’d lowered your gaze onto your phone, doing a cursory reading on an article before deciding if you’d fully dive in. You’d talked with the woman who had written it earlier tonight, and she’d founded a pretty impressive-sounding start-up around her attempt to revolutionize commercial flight travel.

Apparently, you standing alone in the outskirts of the buzzling hall wasn’t enough to shield you from Jackson. Normally he was just annoying to deal with, but you were starting to get tired of the day and the human interaction, and he was rather drunk, judging by the gleam of his eyes. As he saw you, he changed his course.

“Well, you really had to embarrass me in front of Tony fucking Stark, didn’t you?” he spat as soon as he reached your table.

“I think you should just go to bed, Jackson,” you said, not lifting your gaze from your phone.

“Did you do it just because you knew I’ll be applying to Stark Industries Internship Program for the spring? To sabotage me?” he continued, and when you didn’t answer, slammed his hand on the table loud enough to startle you. “Are you even listening to me?”

He wasn’t shouting, but the tone was definitely angry. You lifted your gaze, mostly because you just wanted to get this over with.

“I didn’t know you applied to that.”

“Please, everyone applied to that,” he scoffed.

“I didn’t,” you shrugged. “And it’s not like we ponder our lives over coffee, so I couldn’t have known. Honestly, Jackson, I was just there. What you said or did, that’s on you.”

He was on the edge in a way that was different from his usual contempt towards you, and even though you didn’t want to, you felt your body tense. This would be his, and yours, last year of undergraduate. It had to be the stress you were all in, about graduating, about moving on into the real world.

“He just agreed with you because he wants to get into your pants,” Jackson hissed.

Alright, then. If he wasn’t going be even remotely civil about this, neither were you. Your eyes snapped at his.

“So, now you’re jealous of my beauty on top of being jealous of my brain,” you sneered. “It’s not my fault I was born prettier than you. And he’s married.”

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone.”

“That statement says a lot more about you than it does about him.”

Despite the words, your heart was beating a bit too fast, now. You were on the side of the hall, probably hidden from the gazes of most of the people who were either dancing or deep in discussion or getting drinks at the overflowing open bar. Jackson was standing in front of you, his back covering you from the view of most of the room. He’d never been like this before. You’d had your heated arguments and shouting matches during the projects you’d been forced to work together in, but this seemed personal on a whole different level.

“Too bad he doesn’t know he doesn’t stand a chance with it, because you probably think he’s beneath you, too, just like everyone else,” Jackson spat.

“Oh, are you addressing me or is there a mirror in here you’re talking to? Seriously, Jackson, just leave it alone and go to bed.”

The suggestion seemed to provoke him more than the insult, and he started to lean towards you to close the space in between you two.

“You are in no position to tell me what to do, you b- “

He never got to finish his sentence, because a large palm landed on left his shoulder from behind, yanking him back away from you as a deceptively calm voice said:

“I think that’s quite enough, son.”

As Steve met your eyes with his, he didn’t let go of Jackson’s shoulder, even though the other man was trying to get away, squirming under the obviously pretty firm grip.

“Are you alright?”

He addressed you like Jackson weren’t there at all; his eyes were full of concern and as he spoke to you, he didn’t seem angry at all. But he was there.

He’d noticed the situation.

He’d kept an eye on you. There was no other option. Somehow, he’d been able to tell something you hadn’t: that Jackson was behaving differently tonight, that he was way more on edge than you had thought. And Steve had gone out of his way to ensure nothing would happen to you, even though he didn’t know you.

That meant the guy was both seriously smart and genuinely good.

Your heart beating a lot harder now had nothing to do with Jackson’s behavior.

“I’m… I’m alright.”

Steve nodded, and then and only then, he spun Jackson around with one flick of his arm to face him. At this point, it was obvious Jackson was seriously under the influence, at least enough to have drown whatever brain cells he had, because he still wasn’t backing off.

“Who are you supposed to be, her boyfriend?” he spat.

Steve was standing above him, and it was easy to imagine him in a different kind of suit on a battlefield.

“I’m just a guy with some spine and some morals, both of which you seem to lack. Leave the lady alone.”

The warning in his voice was perfectly audible to everyone except Jackson. For someone so smart he could be quite thick sometimes.

“You know, no matter how much you white-knight, she’s not going to let you tap that, ‘cause she’s such an uptight little wh– “

Really quite thick, it seemed. Because just like that, his feet were no longer touching the floor. Steve had gone from stern to seething in the blink of an eye, his grip on Jackson’s coat lapels hoisting him up with seemingly no effort at all. Apparently, that had finally alerted some booze-paralyzed survival instinct in Jackson’s brain, because his face had gone completely white.

“You know, I really didn’t want to cause a scene, but it seems you and I need to take this outside, because in addition to spine and morals you seem to lack manners, and it’s high time someone taught you some.”

The way Steve had grabbed the shirt had pulled Jackson’s collar tight, and while he wasn’t gasping for breath, he didn’t look exactly comfortable, either.

“Steve, he’s really not worth it,” you said, despite some primal part in you that really wanted to see this played out.

Preferably ending with those same hands grabbing you in a whole different way.

What had gotten into you? But it was really hard to not think about that when a gorgeous man was being the literal definition of a knight for you.

Steve turned to look at you, still holding Jackson in the air like he wasn’t there at all.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because I’m more than willing to do that.”

The fact that he made this your call. The fact that this wasn’t about him getting to show off how well he could throw a punch.

It might just be that in addition to being wrong about a multitude of other things, Jackson just might have been wrong about his latest statement, too.

You nodded, and just like that, Steve let go of him, leaving him on the floor to collect himself. As Steve stepped close to you, he shot Jackson one last disappointed look over his shoulder:

“You should probably get out of here, because if I see you again tonight, she might not be there to stop me.”

Jackson gasped a breath and was gone in an instant. Steve watched him retreat, making sure that he was heading straight towards the coat check before turning back to you. He leant his forearms on the table next to you, and you couldn’t help but feel it was to shield you in case Jackson came back.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, he… He has never been like that before. I never saw that coming, so I’m happy you did,” you bit your lip as you glanced up to him. “Thank you. Really. That was very kind of you.”

“That was common decency,” Steve replied.

No, it really wasn’t. But to him it probably was. Who was this man?

“I owe you one. I’d buy you a drink but it’s an open bar,” you smiled.

“I didn’t do it to gain favors,” he said, and the warm smile on him told you that he meant it.

“I know you didn’t,” you said. “But I still owe you one.”

You placed your hand on his forearm on the table before you really gave it a proper thought, and you gave it a gentle squeeze to highlight your words. He glanced at your hand.

“If you insist, you can pay me back by letting me keep you company for a moment to ensure he really left you alone,” he said, smiling first but turning serious for a moment: “Only if that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, that is.”

“No, I really don’t mind the company.”

You smiled at him, and as you did, the analytical gaze was there again. Steve searched your eyes for a moment, and you desperately wished for your beating heart to still. Because those eyes were seriously blue.

For a moment, his gaze stayed on your hand still resting on his forearm as the music turned into a soft waltz, and then he smiled as he looked up.

“In that case, may I have this dance?”

You had planned to go home.

And for the first time in years, you steered away from your plans.

“You may.”

Chapter Text

Steve was quite the dancer, it seemed. That shouldn’t have surprised you at all, not with the control he had with his other movements, but somehow it seemed almost surreal, too, considering what kind of dream this night was turning into. Two different Avengers had put the guy who had been a total pain in your ass for years in his place during the same evening. And somehow that still didn’t compare to this moment.

The dancefloor was crowded enough for no one to really pay any attention to you. The tulle of your dress was even more weightless than before – you were entirely weightless with his arm around you. You’d never been that great at this, but you were decent enough not to embarrass yourself. Because suddenly, not embarrassing yourself was very, very, very important. Probably, though, you could’ve been much worse dancer without it turning awkward because Steve’s lead was so firm it all you had to do was follow. He ran hot, you remarked now that you were this close to him; your bare arm draped over his upper arm and shoulder felt the warmth radiating off him despite the jacket and the shirt. Under the soft cashmere silk Steve was all firm and warm, in a way that reminded you more of fireplaces than weapons.

Somehow, the whole dancing thing felt like an excuse to touch.

Steve, of course, was a perfect gentleman. His grip was as firm as his lead, but that was just for the dancing – his hand had taken a place on your back that was probably higher than it would’ve needed to be. His fingers didn’t caress yours as he held your hand, he didn’t pull you flusher against his chest than what was necessary for him to guide you through the dancefloor. And still, as your steps were so perfectly in line with his, your heart was beating louder every minute, and he was looking at you in a way that certainly wasn’t necessary and polite.

He was looking at you like he was puzzled by you; perplexing like you were a new theory presented to him and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

And he was, probably unbeknownst to himself, too, stealing glances at the redness of your lips. Just brief ones, but after the first two, you could definitely tell they were there. Not that you held it against him, not when the feeling of his seriously strong hands on you were awakening all kinds of thoughts in your head.  

As the song ended, Steve didn’t let go of you immediately, and only distantly you remembered that other people existed on this Earth, too, some poor unfortunate souls on this dancefloor. You needed to get out of the way, because music picked up and you definitely didn’t do tango. With him, you might’ve been inclined to try, but that would’ve just ended in both of you being embarrassed.

“Thanks for the dance, stranger,” you whispered.

“My pleasure,” he smiled.

That arm was still on your back.

“We’ll be in the way of others if we don’t move,” you said.

You’d ended your dance on the very edge of the dancefloor, so you had a moment of time but not much longer before the other dancers who’d materialized back to reality after vanishing into thin air earlier would hit you.

“That would be impolite, wouldn’t it?”

“Probably, yes.”

Steve had to hear the way blood was coursing through your veins, pulsating across your body. There was no way he didn’t, not when the roar of it almost deafened you.

“We should probably move to the bar to continue,” you whispered.

Continue exactly what? It didn’t matter, not now. You were on the verge of discovering a new force of nature, uncovering the exact reason why he was drawing you in like a magnetic field, and you had to see this through. Out of scientific curiosity, of course.

“Yeah,” he said.

Finally stepping back, you let your fingers drag across his arm as you left the dancing position, quietly wondering what kind of fabric was that smooth. Steve glanced at your hand, again, before retreating a step back himself and bowing his head slightly. You smiled and curtsied a bit, in obvious humor, getting a small laugh to escape from him.

There was ample room at the bar now, so you chose the end that was farthest away from the dancefloor – that way you wouldn’t have to shout over the music. It was shaped like the letter C, curving from the wall to the floor, and Steve slipped in between you and the wall, positioning himself so that he’d be able to watch the room behind you. Not uncomfortably close, not overly close, but close, still.

Not close enough.

The dryness in your mouth was very similar to the one you’d had before starting the speech. Steve pulled a bar stool out of under the bar for you and you climbed up to sit sideways on it, thankful for the break it gave your heel-tortured feet. He remained standing, so close that when he turned to the bar, his movement made the tulle of your dress ruffle. Not that it was in any way a small dress, the tulles surrounding you like a poofy aura of navy and glittering silver, but still. Avoiding his eyes, you stroked the skirts to make them fall better down from the chair and checked that the corset was still in its proper place. Somehow, you felt naked with your bare shoulders and exposed neck, even though if Steve was stealing glances, he was doing it very politely.

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Champagne, alcohol-free, please,” you answered.

Steve asked for two of those, and you shot him a curious look before realizing you did. He didn’t owe you an explanation, and it was the most annoying thing anyway when people asked why someone else wasn’t drinking. Maybe he was driving.

“Trying to get me drunk is a waste of good booze,” he nevertheless offered.

You nodded. As your glasses arrived, you took the excuse to fiddle with something and not look at his face. At this point of night, the light was so soft it made him seem even more ethereal than he had been when the lights were brighter. It was impossible, and still it felt like that in the dimness of the event hall, he glowed some light from the inside. You ran a finger on the polished dark wood of the bar, biting your lip and trying to figure out something to say, as soon as your breath stopped getting stuck in your throat.

“I hope I didn’t step on your toes,” you finally said, rolling your eyes at the creativity of it inside.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You didn’t.”

You still had to glance up to look at his face, despite the fact that you were sitting on a pretty high bar stool. After seeing pictures of him, his impressive dimensions should’ve come as a no surprise to you, but still, the fact that he carried himself like this even without the suit was reeling you in like no tomorrow. The straight posture, the drawn-back shoulders, the alertness that was present even here.

You were staring, you were pretty certain of that. And he was noticing. And his eyes were drifting down to your lips again as you lifted the glass to take a sip, barely tasting the drink.

Not wanting Steve to think you were impolite, or that he was making you uncomfortable, so you started talking about the first thing that crossed your mind: the drink in your hand.

“I’m still so buzzed about the speech it’s probably a great idea to stay otherwise sober tonight. I was pretty damn nervous about that thing,” you said.

“I know the adrenaline buzz,” Steve said. “But I can assure you, no one would’ve been able to tell you were nervous. I thought you knew you were nailing it.”

You couldn’t help smiling, not with the praise and the feeling of getting a standing ovation coming back to do one last victory lap in your veins. You were pretty certain that being high felt a lot like this.

“I knew that I nailed it, when it was done” you chuckled. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. And I had the luxury of quoting people who’re way better with words than I am.”

Steve nodded, taking a sip out of his glass before saying, his eyes locked with yours:

“I like the quote you started with. Embryos we must be, till we burst the shell, yon ambient azure shell, and spring to life; The life of gods, o transport, and of man. Yet man, fool man, here buries all his thoughts; inters celestial hopes without one sigh.”

Goodness gracious, like your aunt always said. Or, like you always said: holy fuck.

You swallowed harder than you should’ve.

There was no way Steve didn’t know exactly what he was doing. Not when he had that kind of mischievous smile on his face.

Word to word. That meant three possibilities, all of which could coincide: he was an extremely attentive listener, he had a great memory, or he had read Night-Thoughts himself and liked it enough to remember a quote that long.

“Someone didn’t fall asleep during my speech,” you said, catching the teasing in your tone only after it had escaped your mouth.

“Trust me, I was listening to every word. And I certainly wasn’t the only one,” he answered, and you tried to focus on his words despite his eyes being on you like that.

Like you were a code to crack.

“Thank you for saying that,” you said. “It’s… It was hard to tell what people thought before the end. I’m not great at reading people. Interacting with people. They’re confusing.”

And if that just wasn’t Exhibit A. This wasn’t something people just said to other people, especially other people who they’d just met, over casual cocktail chat. But just once in your life, you would’ve liked to realize that before the words had left your mouth.

“People seem to perceive me differently than I mean to be.”

Apparently, being this deep in the hole meant it was a great idea to keep shoveling. You thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t been drinking – if you were talking this candidly without meaning to now, you would’ve probably told him your whole fucking life story before your glass was empty if you had. Something about Steve was at the same time making every muscle in your body relax and every nerve in your body light up. Like you were getting drunk on him and at the same time so thoroughly relaxed in his company, throwing insecurities to the table like you were discussing the chance it might rain.

“People like to assume, don’t they,” Steve said.

Maybe it wasn’t just something that he’d perceived people do to others. But the topic didn’t seem tender – he didn’t tense under the weight of it. Maybe that was the thing that had just made the confession slip out. You didn’t exactly have the broadest experience with having conversations over drinks with someone you’d just met, but you had an inkling they usually weren’t like this.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “They do.”

“They pick one thing they see and build everything else on that, like that’s everything there is to it.”

Steve was twirling his glass in his hand, leaning onto the bar, and watching your reactions. There was a smile in the corner of his mouth and a gleam in his eye that told you he knew what he was talking about. But it wasn’t just it. Somehow, he was clearly, even to you, enjoying this, enjoying figuring you out. You’d made an impression on him, that was certain; the speech, maybe. Something in you was drawing him in just like something in him was drawing you in.

But alright. Game on.

You weren’t the one to be outdone, so you gathered all your faltering composure and smirked as you said:

“So, that’s why you’re returning to school? Architecture, right? To be something else in addition to the one thing people always see about you?”

He was visibly startled by the remark: it made him straighten his posture and turn to look at you with real laughter in his eyes. That spark in his eyes seemed to lift the some of the weight of the previous conversation, but it was still there – just differently now. Feeling an awful lot like trust.

“I thought you just said you aren’t good with people,” he said, leaning over your chair so that his palm rested on the backrest behind you.

Probably the first personal space invader in your life you didn’t mind. The problem you had with this was more the category of him not being close enough, because there was still ample room between you, despite his arm brushing against yours.

You had to tilt your head almost completely back to see his face. Distantly, you wondered how much cleavage exactly your dress was putting onto display now that Steve was looking at you from above you. But if he stared, he was doing it covertly.

“I am not good at interpreting people. But I never said that I’m not observant. That I don’t know how to put two and two together,” you smiled, taking a sip from your glass without breaking the eye contact, somehow managing to not spill the champagne onto your chest.

“So, what gave me away?” he asked.

“You’re here, even though Tony doesn’t need a bodyguard and you don’t seem like the type to hit the event just for the food and the booze. I saw you being introduced to the dean of the architecture, clearly after Tony requested it from the president. And I know the mating dance of academia, the ‘oh this very exceptional person might be a part of my faculty, I have to put my best foot forward’, the whole thing.”

The smile on Steve was somehow… proud. But even though this should’ve given him more information about you, the puzzled look in his eyes just deepened. He looked like he was about to say something but something behind you caught his eye before he could begin.

“Speak of the devil,” he grinned.

Tony had a way of claiming whatever space he was in, and now, it seemed to be your conversation. He was properly drunk as he leaned towards Steve and patted him on the arm that was resting on your chair.

“Listen, Disney in Ice, some of my buddies and me are doing a campus bar crawl and I’m assuming you won’t be participating, since you’re a total no-fun killjoy Grandpa.”

There wasn’t malice in his words or in Steve’s smile. It was obvious they weren’t just workmates; they were friends with a bond of trust forged in place by facing some unimaginable events. You could barely imagine that kind of bond, and there was a quiet pang in your chest.

“I have responsibilities tomorrow, Stark,” Steve said. “As you’re aware.”

“I am. Thank God I don’t because I’m going to drink tonight like I’m still 19 and immortal. So, anyway, I’m sure you can find your way back to the hotel. Just call the –“

“It’s fine, Tony, just go,” Steve said, laughing. “I can handle getting myself home from a party held five minutes away from our hotel.”

Tony nodded, momentarily all serious like a man on a mission, and then he spun around and landed his eyes on you, staring you over the sunglasses he was for some reason wearing way past midnight in a dim room.

“And you, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” you smiled.

“You’re essentially my kid after winning the Jarvis. Did you not read the terms of the competition, outlining that by participating, you give me the exclusive rights to adopt you?” he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I expected a lot more from someone of your intelligence.”

“Bold words from a man who should be our institution’s greatest gift to mankind but who’s currently behaving like any drunk fool in a way too flashy tuxedo.”

It caught him of guard, and it made Steve’s gaze snap to your face. Tony tilted his head and spread his arms in a gesture to make even more of a show out of the tuxedo.

“Way too flashy for peasants, maybe. But seriously, we could use a brain like yours at Stark Industries. Give me a call when you’re about to graduate. Or sooner.”

He grabbed a card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to you over Steve’s arm. It was red metal with golden letters and a stylized Iron Man helmet on it. The text read only ‘You know who I am’ and under that was a phone number. Tony pointed a finger at the card.

“You know, that’s my personal cell. In case you didn’t notice the weight of my gesture, because I need you to fully appreciate it.”

You smirked at him, putting the card into your tiny purse before shooting him a look from under your brows.

“I might, Stark. Or I might just start my own company and come for your kingdom and your crown. We’ll just have to see.”

The grin on his face turned even brighter, and he laughed, patting your upper arm again.

“I like your style. See you around; I have to fly since I have a meeting with an alcohol-induced coma in three hours.”

Steve shook his head as Tony turned away, thanking whoever watched over the universe that you were still looking in his direction. Because as Tony was walking away, he spun around one last time, with considerable unsteadiness. And after he had nodded towards your turned back, he locked eyes with Steve and winked so obnoxiously and obviously that Steve was surprised you didn’t see it through the back of your head.

Luckily, Tony turned around again, and he had not walked three steps before a text – on official Avengers-only emergency channel, mind you, but luckily directed only at Steve – hit the StarkWatch on Steve’s wrist.

If you back out of chasing that one, I’m going to kick your ass so hard the serum falls out of you.

As if Steve had any inkling of intention to do that.

“Something important?” you asked, nodding towards the watch Steve was looking at.

He shook his head.

“No, that can wait.”

“Another drink, then?” you asked. “We have time for one or two before the party’s over.”

Steve nodded, and as your new glasses arrived, you gave one to him, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The jolt of electricity shooting up your arm almost made you drop yours. He had stepped closer, you were sure of that, but had no idea when he’d done that.

“So, where were we?” you asked.

“On Young?” he smiled. “At Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, here pinions all his wishes; wing'd by heaven, to fly at infinite; and reach it there. On other things, I don’t think I remember.”

You’d heard stories about his impressive memory, and apparently those stories were being proved true. But it wasn’t just that – the man was obviously well-read, because you couldn’t remember something you’d never read in the first place. That probably wouldn’t be the observation that’d win you the Nobel.

The way Steve said it meant he definitely remembered.

There was a smile on Steve’s face, and he followed your finger with his eyes as you poked him gently to the center of his chest, lifting your eyes only as your skin hit the fabric of his shirt. He met your gaze.

“I think you do remember. You were just about to tell me how impressed you were when I guessed you’re here because you want to tip your toes into architecture.”

He was still looking at you. Your finger was still pressed against his chest. This was starting to thread dangerously close to actual flirting.

“I was impressed, and I mean it,” he whispered.

“Do you?”

You took a sip, and his eyes fell to your lips for the briefest second before returning back up. You let your palm drop against his shirt without lifting the initial finger, resting the hand there with lightest touch possible. Under your hand, you could feel the long breath Steve drew in at that, his heart beating.

On second thought, the line of flirting might’ve long since been passed.

“I do,” he smiled. “I’ve been impressed by you since you opened your mouth at the podium. You’re something else, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head and bit your bottom lip, registering the way his eyes stayed there for a moment again. Definitely a longer moment than before. Your voice was a quiet, syrupy hum as you spoke:

“If you’re going to say I’m not like the other girls, I’m going to be so truly disappointed in you, Captain. And if I have to be disappointed in you, I can just stop holding out hope for the humanity altogether. And what’s going to help us to reach beyond the stars, then?”

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to another, stretching his neck like suddenly his collar had gotten way tighter before meeting your eyes with his, his jaw tense. Your chest was tightening at that sight. Oh no. Tony and his praise had put you at ease, and you hadn’t realized how exactly you were talking to Steve. How close you had gotten, how you were actually touching him now. The realization made your face burn as he was trying to find words, and you pulled your hand away as you straightened yourself. What had gotten into you?

Fact: you had a history of misjudging people’s intentions and situations.

Fact: Steve had multiple reasons which would’ve been just as plausible reasons for him to linger in your company than flirting.

Kindness. Politeness. Compassion. Being ditched by Tony. Defending you from Jackson, not out of some romantic gesture but out of being a good person. Or maybe he was just trying to figure you out, understand why Jackson had been such an ass towards you. And you’d misjudged all that into flirting, now, and made him uncomfortable. Great job.

“I’m sorry. I probably overstepped a line there. Not great with people. Might as well put that one onto my business cards,” you said, not sure if your babbling was just annoying him further but your nerves kept going.

“No, it’s… Not that,” he said.

Well, that was helpful and comprehensive. You were pretty sure the blush was visible on your cheeks now. Steve continued:

“A lot of people don’t talk to Tony like he’s a person. Your interactions with him looked like something between people working in the same department and not… I don’t even know what I’m saying right now,” he said with an apologetic grin. “Didn’t mean to offend you, so I’m sorry. I just don’t get a lot of interaction with people that doesn’t involve punching them in the face.”

It seemed like Steve wasn’t going to be mean about you tricking yourself into thinking he was into you. Honestly, that didn’t quite seem like his style anyway. But all that didn’t make him any less Captain America, an honorable man who deserved respect, to whom you’d just talked like he was just some guy after he’d been a knight in shining armor for you. Of course he would be offended. God, you hadn’t even asked about his work, talking his ear off about your speech and your observations. That was probably perceived by people to be pretty weird and intrusive and disrespectful. You wanted to offer an explanation:

“Look, I… People tell me I’m not great at picking up social cues. That I don’t understand how I should behave in a given situation. It might be that,” you said in a tone that hopefully told him that this might be that, too. “For me, Tony is just… a guy with ideas, either good or bad.”

“Trust me, there’s aplenty bad ones there,” Steve smiled.

Alright, he wasn’t horribly mad at you, and he wasn’t backing away. In fact, the palm was still on your chair. You could work with that. You’d had your fair share of awkward situations, this same heat on your face. You could explain yourself, tell him why exactly you hadn’t been treating the people who saved the world on a regular basis with all due respect, because there was no mockery in Steve. Even at the peak of your awkwardness, during yet another of the moments during which you wondered which passing spaceship had accidentally left you behind, he wasn’t being unkind. It gave you the courage to speak, even as you dropped your gaze:

“It all comes down to whether or not he can prove his ideas are good, whether they’re scientifically sound or not, and the defining factor is not whether he’s Tony Stark. It’s about the ideas to me. The thoughts. Anything else is… decorations. So, I often forget the rest when I talk to people. I’m sorry. I’ve been told it’s impolite.”

“Is that how you see me, too?” Steve said.

You nodded.

“It’s enchanting,” he said, very matter-of-factly.

That drew your gaze back up, and your breath was getting stuck in your throat as you met his eyes. There was a shade of blue in there you’d never seen before. A storm of barely contained power brewing in an ocean, not above it but within, intensive in a way that accepted nothing but surrender. Overpowering, even. But not laced with anger, but with something else. This was him being close to the solution to the puzzle you’d presented him, driven to click the last pieces into place. And that was making a lot of things click for you, too. Against all odds, you hadn’t misjudged him.

He wasn’t mad at you.

He was intrigued.

Somehow, that caused a lot more butterflies to appear in your stomach than thinking that he was offended had.

“I don’t get to talk to people a lot without them making it about my job,” Steve said. “And that’s nice about you. That’s all I meant by that statement. Or it’s not all, but…”

Oh my. Luckily, Steve continued, because you really didn’t have the ability to form a coherent sentence to answer that. Not with your heartbeat pounding in your ears like this.

“I didn’t mean to compliment you by belittling anyone else,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention.”

It was clearly important to him that you knew that; his posture straight, his face solemn. You tried to put him at ease by smiling.

“I know. It’s not really your style, is it?” you said. “And it’s good to know you don’t. After all, I’m a carbon-based lifeform, just like the other girls. If anyone here’s not human, it’s you. Who the hell uses the word ‘enchanting’ in a sentence just like that?”

With that, Steve’s half-cocky grin was right back:

“Oh, I think the term you used a few moments ago was very exceptional. If I do recall correctly.”

Alright. Alright. If he was going to play this game, you were going to play it with him. Definitely. And you were going to win.

“For a guy whose main trick is throwing a round piece of metal and catching it, you seem like a pretty well-read man, Captain Rogers. Any other secrets you’re harboring under all that muscle?”

Straightening himself, Steve glanced at his watch and smiled as he returned his eyes to yours. Something in that smile you didn’t quite understand, still.

“The lights are coming back on in a minute and they’ll throw us out. I don’t think we have time for that conversation. But let me take you out and I’ll tell you all about it.”

You pushed your glass on the bar to not drop it from your suddenly weak hand. Trying to force your brain to process this, you searched his eyes.

“Now?” you asked.

He laughed, but it wasn’t malicious. Something bright was glowing in your chest.

“Unfortunately, my job does come with some scheduling issues. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be off the grid for approximately two and a half weeks. But when I come back, I’d love to see you again, if that’s something you want.”

“Don’t you live in New York? Isn’t that – “

“Twenty minutes from the Tower roof to here with the Quinjet, yes, it is” he finished the sentence for you before you could throw counterargument. “Tony just has too much money to throw around and he hates flying in the thing when he’s drunk, so we’re staying in a hotel.”

Made sense. You couldn’t actually call that long-distance, then, especially considering the fact he was planning on returning to school and would spend time here. And it wasn’t a relationship, definitely not, it was just one date to which you hadn’t even agreed yet.

“I could fly you down to NY and show you my city.”

It wasn’t exactly what you’d planned to do with your life. Dating was something you’d scheduled on your life goal list to take place directly after passing Stark Industries on the Fortune 500 with your company.

“I’ve never been to the Natural History Museum,” you said.

But with this gravity pulling you towards him, it was always going to happen. Your eyes caught the boyish triumph in his, and you couldn’t help but smile. You were definitely intrigued by him, as well, and if someone was willing to listen to your ramblings for this long, it was definitely something that deserved a chance.

“Sounds like I need to take you there, then. How about you take my card and text me your number, and then we’ll agree upon the details when I get back? Missions can get quite tricky sometimes and I don’t want to blow you off in case it takes longer.”

Sounded reasonable, so you nodded, and he fished a card out of his pocket. It was simple, matt white cardboard with blue letters. Steven G. Rogers. Captain, U.S. Army. Head Strategist, The Avengers Initiative. Under all that was a phone number, and you grabbed your phone out to save it and shoot a text message to give him yours.

“Well, I’m flattered,” he grinned.

“What?”

“You saved mine but not Tony’s.”

Damn it. He’d caught you. And he wasn’t wrong. Instead of admitting it, you snarked at him:

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to go out with Tony instead? That’d probably make Jackson very happy since it’d make him think he isn’t the absolute dumbass he is.”

Steve tensed, but it wasn’t the joke, it was the mention of Jackson. As the lights came on above you, he seemed to be at odds with himself for a moment before finally saying:

“Look, I don’t want to intrude, and I’m not expecting anything but… Would you let me walk you to your door?” he said, stressing the last word more than was necessary. “Or if you don’t live on campus, give you a ride home? I don’t like guys like him, and it’d make me happy to know you got home safe and sound.”

You didn’t think Jackson had it in him to sit in a bush to ambush you again, but you hadn’t thought he had it in him to pull the kind of crap he had earlier tonight. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It seemed like guys like Jackson didn’t exist in the same universe as guys like Steve.

“I don’t want to burden you. I live on campus in the Stark Building so it’s less than ten-minute walk from here. I’ll be fine.”

“Then it’s no trouble at all,” Steve said. “Please? I promise to behave.”

Looking at his demeanor, it was clear this was very important to him. And the trip across campus really wasn’t that fun to make alone at night. If he wanted to be a gentleman, you could indulge him.

“I know you will, Captain,” you smiled. “If you insist – “

“I do,” he said.

There it was again. That storm brewing. Understanding that it had something to do with you, you were all the more transfixed by it. Despite the champagne, your mouth was dry.

“Let’s go get our coats, then.”

Chapter Text

Dragging out leaving for the coat check until the lights had already turned on meant that you had to wait in a queue. Steve was standing next to you, looking directly forwards, and you were stealing glances at him. He held his arms in front of him, his right hand holding the wrist of the left. Certainly, he had to be aware of the implications of getting your coats together, and he was doing his best to not only put you at ease but also to not give anyone any reason to talk about it. You doubted he cared if someone talked about him – it was so very clearly done for you.

How was this man even real?

That thought only strengthened when you reached the coat check. As the man working there lowered the contents of your hangers on the desk, Steve very unceremoniously took yours and put two five-dollar bills down to take its place. After he’d taken his own grey wool coat to rest on his arm, both of you moved to the side to make way for the people behind you. For a moment, Steve was puzzled by the small pile of white faux fur he had in his hands.

“You don’t have a coat? Just this?” he asked.

“I don’t really own a coat that’d be black-tie appropriate. I’ll be fine with the shawl,” you smiled.

He frowned a bit.

“It’s a cold night.”

“It’s a short walk. I’ll be fine,” you laughed. “Unless you’re planning to hoard that for yourself and leave a lady out in the cold.”

God, that smile of his. Everything about this was light in a way you’d never experienced, almost natural. You certainly weren’t natural at this but with him, you could almost be.

“I would never,” he grinned.

“Move your hands, then, Captain,” you said, spinning around to turn your back to him.

Steve draped the shawl across your shoulders, and you did your best to hide all your exposed skin underneath it. For just a few seconds, his hands stayed there on top of the shawl on your upper arms, before he seemed to realize he was lingering and let go, throwing his own coat on.

“Let’s get you home, then,” he said, opening the door for you.

Of course, he did.

Steve let you lead the way, since he probably wasn’t really familiar with the campus. You made your way to the river, dragging your steps despite the freezing wind. Amongst the bright colors of fall, next to the avenue of maple trees and the dark river, Steve looked like something out of a painting – the grey wool overcoat hanging open over his tuxedo was a very good look on him. He took his place on your side, almost instinctively positioning himself in between you and the road, trusting the railing on the other side to keep you out of the river.  

“The Stark Building is on the East Campus, so we just have to follow the river,” you said. “It’s about ten minutes from here.”

The temperature had dropped considerably from what it had been when you’d made your way to the Event Hall. As you breathed out, a small cloud appeared in the night air in front of you, and the faux fur shawl really wasn’t doing that much to help keep you warm. Trying to distract yourself from the cold, you asked:

“So, tell me, why architecture? Your background is in liberal arts if I remember correctly?”

Steve shot you a glance, smiling, and you found that your steps were slowing down even more than they already had. You didn’t mind freezing to death if it meant that this conversation kept going. Almost three weeks seemed like a long time to wait for the next one.

“A patchy year of art school in 1936 is not exactly what I’d call background, but yes, I’ve tried my hand at it before.”

“It’s good that you came to your senses and chose something a bit more STEM, or this’d never work out. I’ve sworn a holy oath against the humanities as part of my initiation,” you laughed.

Steve turned to look at you properly now, gleam in his eyes.

“Work out, you say?”

Oh god damn it. You bit your lip, hoping the dark and the cold masked the redness of your cheeks. While you oversharing things was not exactly new, he was turning you into such a flirt with all his easy-going behavior. You refused to look at him, but the smile was creeping onto your face despite the lip in between your teeth.

“I think it just might’ve worked out anyway. Being star-crossed lovers being torn apart by peer-pressure from their respective disciplines,” Steve grinned. “That would’ve had the whole appeal of Romeo and Juliet.”

“Yeah, because that one ended so well,” you answered. “You should pick it up sometimes. Really educational. If the words of Shakespeare are not too big for you.”

If that widening grin of his, that teasing in his eyes, just wasn’t setting you right on fire. Steve looked directly in your eyes and said:

“Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, misshapen in the conduct of them both, like powder in a skitless soldier's flask , is set afire by thine own ignorance.”

“Oh come on now!” you laughed.

He just tilted his head.

“What? Do you think that’s impressive?” he said, as if he didn’t know that yes, you very much thought that.

You were trying to get your scattered thoughts back in line. He truly was something else, wasn’t he?

Almost too good to be true.

A dark thought bubbled into the surface from some less-than-pleasant part of your brain, and you turned your head to watch the rippling surface of the river to avoid Steve’s eyes as it did. Of course, he noticed the change in your demeanor, and the cocky teasing gave way to something much softer. His hand touched your back, ever so slightly.

“What is it?”

You’d really shown him enough of the awkward side of you. There was no need for more, there really wasn’t, so you just shook your head. There was no need to ruin the moment, the light atmosphere. But apparently, he was going to make a thing out of this, turning so that he was walking backwards halfway in front of you; not cornering you, but definitely watching your face.

“Hey, talk to me,” he whispered.

“It’s nothing, Steve.”

“It’s clearly something.”

“No, it really isn’t,” you sighed. “Just let it go.”

Telling him to do that worked about as well as it had worked for Bucky Barnes for the entirety of his life. Steve came to stop in front of you, and you stopped walking, too, keeping your eyes on the ground. You shifted the shawl to better cover yourself under his all-too-observant gaze.

Steve was waiting. He would probably stand there waiting until the morning came – not that it was that many hours away anyway – if he had to. You’d probably freeze to death way before that, the frost from your breath sticking to the hair framing your face. Resigning, you sighed:

“It’s just… You’re a literal superhero who knows classical literature by heart and who has on top of all that been the definition of a gentleman. And I can’t help but wonder if…”

Tightness was back in your chest. Steve wasn’t rushing you, but you could feel his eyes on you, taking in your every reaction, every twitch of the muscles of your face. You wondered if he was able to hear you when you continued:

“You’re miles out of my league. And I know you’re a man who doesn’t back off in front of a challenge, and the thing Jackson said about me – “

“’Cause the guy seemed like such a great judge of character,” Steve scoffed.

You didn’t stop to answer that, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t know what to do. Lifting your eyes back up to meet the concerned look in Steve’s, you said:

“Am I some sort of challenge?”

There was determination in Steve’s demeanor, now: his shoulders drawn back, his face stern but not in anger.

“Why would you think that?” he asked, and deciphering his tone was impossible.

You shook your head gently, fingers fiddling with the edge of your shawl.

“I mean, I just told you why. This feels like the kind of stuff that happens only in movies and yes, I do think you’re exceptional, but I just can’t figure out the reason you’d be – “

Steve didn’t let you finish, or at least that was the effect of what he did. His hand cupped your jaw, and you realized this was the first time he’d actually really touched you during the whole evening. Dancing, yes, his arm brushing against yours, yes, helping your shawl on, yes, but not… this. Whatever it was. His hand was so warm against your skin. Everything in your brain came to a screeching halt.

“I’m a simple man, truly, I am,” he said. “I’m not the one to play games.”

His voice was low, but he didn’t seem offended. The fact that he wasn’t offended at your question, and the fact that you realized he really hadn’t touched you before this were really strengthening the foundations of your belief in his thorough sincerity. But why, then, if not out of conquest, of challenge, because he was so damn otherworldly.

Steve was radiating warmth in more ways than one as he spoke:

“I see a lady whose speech renders me speechless, who talks about hope and courage and nature of people and her plans to take the humanity to stars while quoting one of my favorite works of literature, and then I find out said lady is not only extremely bright and witty and funny, but on the top of all that talks to me like I’m an actual person and not a propaganda device. I might be a fool but I’m not enough of a fool to not go after that. That’s all there is to it, I promise.”

The way that statement was making your chest rise and fall had you worried for a second that you’d just pass out. There was no sign of lies on his face, no sweet-talk, no teasing flirt that had been there earlier. Just complete earnestness.

It wasn’t anything in him that made it so hard to believe, it was just… you. Your social life wasn’t exactly filled with people fighting to have a chance to talk to you. And now you had to somehow process this man saying all those things.

“It’s not exactly like you have to wait in line,” you tried to chuckle, not really getting the humor behind the sentence. “You should know that a lot of people think I’m impossible to deal with.”

The way he smiled at that told you he might’ve heard that one being said about himself sometimes in the past.

“Sounds like a lot of people don’t know what they’re talking about,” Steve said. “And about… that thing he said. I’m not trying to, you know… Anything. I just want to get you home safe. You believe me, right?”

There was a faint redness on his cheeks, and you lifted your hand to caress his face, the butterflies in your stomach gaining new wind under their wings as you did. Mankind owed Dr. Erskine a statue for just that jawline only.

“I do. So come on, then,” you smiled, slipping past him to continue walking. “Home’s that way.”

Half of it was you not wanting Steve to feel awkward, half of it was the fact that you weren’t sure if you were feeling your arms anymore. The shawl had been fine during the day, but the night was colder than had been predicted. You usually didn’t see below-freezing temperatures in October, but you had a feeling this might be the first frosty night of the year. You should’ve checked the forecast again before leaving and thought this through better. But you hadn’t exactly anticipated the night would be this long, and you’d end up not wanting to walk home fast during the night. First time for everything. Distantly, you were reminded by yourself that things were not going according to your plans, and that… That was a new feeling. Definitely.

For a moment, you walked in comfortable silence. Rubbing your arms under the shawl as you walked, you glanced up. If it was this cold now, stargazing season was right around the corner. Among all the light pollution of the city, though, you could make out only a few bright lights. Steve followed your gaze.

“Not much to see here,” you remarked. “Too much artificial light.”

“Well, at least the sky on your dress is accurate, isn’t it?” Steve said.

You nodded.

“Yeah, it is. I… I just really like the stars. If that hasn’t already been established,” you said, lowering your head back to watch where you were going.

“I’m kind of starting to think you do,” Steve said, holding back laughter.

Damn. It. You hadn’t meant, at least consciously, to allude to his symbol of choice, but that must’ve sounded like it. Written in the stars was starting to gain a whole new meaning. But you didn’t honestly mind his teasing, not when it came with that kind of smile.

“You’re such a jerk, Steve,” you huffed.

“I never said I wasn’t,” he answered. “But you’re taking my coat.”

You shot a sideways glance at him and found his eyes were already on you, expecting you to comply with his command. Because it had definitely been that. You drew a breath at the realization.

“I’m fine.”

“Your teeth are practically clattering. It’s a cold night.”

It was, you couldn’t deny it. But you weren’t far from home, and you didn’t want him to have to suffer from the cold just because you couldn’t read a weather forecast. You adjusted your shawl, trying to appear like you didn’t mind the cold at all.

“If I needed a coat, I should’ve brought one.”

You’d reached the end of the park, so it wouldn’t be a long walk anymore. You could take it. The night around you was surprisingly empty; probably the cold had driven everyone sensible inside, or made them take taxis home. In the soft light of buildings and streetlights, the moment was almost private, the buzzing campus and the pulsating city behind you fading into background, almost like it was giving the stage to you. To him.

“Luckily, I brought one for you.”

“Oh, does that one have bigger pockets than it looks like?” you smiled. “Because the only coat I see is the one staying on you. My lack of planning shouldn’t mean you have to suffer.”

“So, you admit it’s cold?” he grinned. “Come on. I run pretty hot, and it’s been established I can take the cold.”

You didn’t want to laugh at that, but you did. He seemed to take it as some sort of sign of surrender.

“Besides, what kind of a man would I be if I let a pretty lady freeze to death when I have a perfectly fine coat to give her?”

Steve was already taking the coat off and you were running out of counterarguments. Especially when the act of him taking the coat off highlighted the way his muscles moved under his jacket, and that made it a lot harder to form any kind of arguments. Before you could resist, Steve stepped in front of you to throw the coat on your shoulders. As the heavy wool lined with cashmere silk landed on your body, more a cloak than a coat on you considering his size, you realized how much it smelled like Steve. The combination of the woody notes of his aftershave and something else, something musky and so thoroughly him hit you so hard your mouth almost watered. It was still warm from being on him, melting your body right down.

And he was still standing in front of you, awfully close, still holding the lapels of his coat in his hands and looking at you like that again.

Like all this was inevitable. Like despite this all happening so fast and without planning and without schedule, he was just adapting to it on the fly. Like there was nothing to second-guess.

Like he knew he was exactly where he should be.

For a moment, you thought he might kiss you; he was thinking about it, judging by the way he was still holding onto the coat and his eyes were drifting down to your lips yet again. Had the weight of his previous reassurances of his honorable intentions not rested on you, he probably would’ve, and at that realization the speed of your heartbeat reached Mach 1. Now that you were wrapped in the warmth of his coat, all the blood came rushing back to your body, hitting your cheeks, too. You offered him a flimsy smile.

“So, you think I’m pretty,” you whispered.

Steve let go of the coat, ever so slowly, not shifting his eyes away from yours. He reached down to wrap his fingers around your hands. His thumbs caressed your cold skin, and the tingling wasn’t just the blood rushing back as you warmed.

“Would you hold it against me if I did?” he said with a small smile.

The breath you drew was way shakier than it should’ve been, considering the fact that this was just handholding. You had standards, high standards bordering on impossible, but it wasn’t like you’d never been on a date before. And this wasn’t even a date.

“Considering the compliments you’ve already paid to my intelligence, I don’t think I would,” you answered.

Never breaking the eye-contact, he lifted both of your hands in front of his face, bowing his head down just a bit to blow warm air on your fingers. You bit the inside your cheek. He wasn’t talking directly to skin, but the space in between your skin and his lips would’ve fit approximately three atoms:

“Then allow me to say that considering the way you made my knees weak when I saw you on the stage, I was glad I was sitting down.”

Never mind Mach 1, the pulse of yours was hitting lightspeed.

Steve smiled at your wide-open eyes as he let go of your right hand. He kept the left in his as he pulled you with him to keep walking. You entwined your fingers into his like holding hands with breathtaking men was something you did every day. He glanced at you when you leaned your head onto his shoulder as you walked, smile on his face widening. It wasn’t just the warmth radiating through the smooth fabric that was pulling you to him.

“A shame, though,” you finally managed to say.

“What is?” he said.

“That you were sitting down. Knocking Captain America off his feet would’ve looked good on my CV.”

You’d never wanted to see your door less than you did now. But still, it stood there, wooden and straight and completely oblivious to what kind of a disgrace it was being.

“Alright, that’s the door,” Steve said.

“Are you certain, Captain Obvious,” you said, but instead of the teasing you intended, only a breathless whisper came out.

Steve had already made the choice of walking you from your building door to your apartment door. After all, it was good – the dimly-lit hallways of the building might’ve held a serious threat to you. You’d taken the stairs instead of the elevator, and despite your heels, that was a choice you didn’t regret at all, because it had prolonged this moment for just a few minutes more.

Steve was still holding your hand. His coat was still draped over your shoulders, and he wasn’t doing a damn thing to get it back and leave. Not that you wanted him to. But you couldn’t keep standing here in the hallway, because despite the nighttime, people were always coming and going. Something about engineering seemed to correlate with abysmal sleep schedules.

Your thoughts were going back and forth, and Steve was watching you, waiting for you to do something. He certainly wasn’t expecting anything, he wasn’t, but he was also looking at you like you were something spectacular, making your breath get stuck to your throat.

“I’ve hoarded your coat so… you might be cold already. I don’t want you to freeze because of me. So, I was wondering if… Do you want to wait inside? Maybe have a cup of coffee? While you wait for your car?”

It was almost two thirty in the morning and he hadn’t even called the car, which would have been here in about three minutes if he had. It was a lie, a ruse to not have to end this night, an obvious one at that. He had to know all that, and still he nodded.

“Yeah. Sounds great,” Steve said.

Steve watched you fumble with your keys as you got the door open. He was going to have a cup of coffee while he waited for the car, which he was going to call as soon as he entered your apartment. He was not going to even think about anything else, not that spark in your eyes, not those red lips he knew he’d already been staring way too much, not the way your skin shone against the glitter of your dress, and definitely not the way your chest rose and fell with your breaths or the way the combination of the corset and the fluffy tulle highlighted your curves. Definitely not.

“Shoes off, stranger,” you said, slipping your heels off, too. “I’m one of those people.”

Steve took a tentative step inside the apartment and shut the door before crouching down to take his shoes off like you’d asked. Not that he planned on staying.

“I think the apartment Tony pays for you is probably nicer,” you laughed. “But it’s a home. As far as student housing goes, it’s definitely up there.”

You’d entered into a small hallway, so short that it took Steve two steps to reach the main area of the apartment. The floor under his feet was reddish, dark hardwood, and in combination with the off-white walls, the impression was rather classy. The apartment was one bed, one bath, with a living room area with a kitchenette on the same wall as the door. Almost the entire left wall of the room was windows, and the place probably had very nice lighting during the day. Steve passed the small kitchen island to reach the windows, not wanting to look like he was surveying the apartment. The view to the river was probably pretty amazing during the day, and even now as he peeked from between the curtains, the lights of the city from the fifth floor were a sight. In front of the window was a large houseplant that had seen better days. Steve smiled at that.

Next to the windows but facing the wall was a large, wooden Ikea desk on which stood three monitors of a desktop computer, pile of some pretty heavy-looking books and four empty coffee mugs. Behind the monitors you’d fastened three printed portraits.

“I hope that doesn’t make me look like some fangirl,” you said.

Steve turned to look at you. You were standing on the opposite end of the room in front of the TV positioned against the wall, next to a closed door that probably led to the bedroom.

Which he absolutely would not think about.

You’d taken off his coat and thrown onto a light gray gaming chair facing the TV, and the shawl was gone, too, leaving you standing there in that very pretty dress that was glittering in the bright lights of the apartment. The white rug under your feet felt like some sort of spotlight.

Not wanting to stare for any longer, Steve just smiled, giving another glance to the portraits. Nikola Tesla, Albert Einstein, and Tony Stark looked back with curiosity.

“No, I don’t think it does. And for someone with a holy oath against the humanities, you sure have a lot of books,” Steve said.

You grinned, not really able to deny it. Because the entire back wall of the living room, save for the space the desk took, was filled with wooden bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books. There were some engineering textbooks, but mostly, it was fiction and non-fiction; sci-fi, fantasy, horror, classics. The books were spilling from the shelves onto top of it and the tv stand; there was even a pile taking half of the kitchen island, and Steve smiled at that as he sat down on a bar stool. Night-Thoughts was resting on top of the pile, open and face down.

“Sorry, I don’t have a sofa. I don’t get a lot of visitors,” you said.

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “This is a nice place.”

You smiled as you walked to the kitchenette and turned on the Keurig next to the sink. Steve shifted in his seat, so he was facing the kitchen and you. Your back was facing him, and he found his eyes drifting onto the lacing of your corset like gravity was pulling them down. He shook his head to get the thought out, but his mouth was dry.

“I’m not actually against humanities, I’m just joking,” you said as you placed a coffee mug in front of him. “So you’re fine, Mr. Liberal Arts.”

Steve glanced down at the mug. Coffee. Right. He was here to drink the coffee and wait for the car, which he’d call just any second now. You leaned onto the kitchen island on the other side of it, directly opposite to him.

“I’m not sure what I should make of this,” he grinned.

The mug you’d given him was a white one with a picture of a pink cartoon unicorn pole-dancing in a tutu in front of it. You smiled at his reaction.

“Oh I’m sorry, your fragile masculinity will just have to endure that, because all my dandy fine china is still at my summer villa. It’s so hard to find competent help nowadays,” you grinned, taking a sip from a black mug that said ‘Engineer: We can fix anything except stupidity’.

Looking directly in his eyes.

Three seconds, five, ten.

“You never answered my question, though,” you finally said, sounding somewhat choked.

Steve tilted his head. You’d talked, you’d talked a lot, about things he really didn’t get to talk that much about. The knowledge of that was coursing through his veins, and he could still feel on his skin the imprint of your hand in his. And God almighty help him and his heightened senses, he could smell his cologne on you, mixing into your perfume now that you’d worn his coat.

He was a gentleman, he was. He’d already toed the line by accepting your invitation to come wait inside, and he would not cross any further.

“What question was that, again?” he said, realizing you were waiting for an answer.

Your red lips curled into a small smile. He’d take you out. He’d take you on a proper date, Natural History Museum, coffee after, walk in the Central Park and dinner, maybe pizza in one of his favorite places, the whole nine yards. And then he might kiss you as he brought you home. After the date, after showing you he wasn’t just chasing a skirt. And anything beyond that would wait until you’d gotten to know each other, until you were comfortable, despite the feeling that was burning in his veins and telling him to claim, claim, claim, take all that to himself before someone else would beat him to it.

You’d agreed to a date with him. That meant he wasn’t in a rush. The way you were looking at him, he hoped that’d all happen eventually, but not like this, not without even a date, not eight hours before he had to be on a Quinjet heading to the other side of the world. Because this was something precious he’d have to thread carefully around not to break, this was different, this was lighting a fire in him that was melting something inside him he hadn’t known had still been frozen.

And with it, the reservoir inside him was close to spilling over, the dam barely holding it all back.

“Why architecture?” you said.

Alright. This was a safe topic, something that was professional and cool and not flirting. He’d answer you, and then he’d call the car.

“It might be a bit ridiculous,” he smiled.

You tilted your head, the curls in your hair moving to fall over your shoulder. He was not staring the exposed skin there.

“I really doubt it is,” you whispered, and that tone was way wrong for this very professional discussion you were having.

That tone made him think how his name would sound falling out of your lips as he sank his teeth on your shoulder.

God, what was he doing.

He needed to get his head straight, so he took another sip of the coffee, focusing his every still functioning brain cell on the taste of it on his tongue. That grounded him back to reality enough to answer:

“I mean, the world around us is not just something we live in, it’s also something that constantly shapes us. I think architecture is something that could and should be used to inspire sense of hope and community in people, to inspire us be better. I would like to be a part of that, to build that.”

You were listening to his every word, like the answer to this question was very important to you. Maybe it was; he still couldn’t believe that he was that interesting to you. He, and not Captain America, even though the line between those blurred a lot. But he was absolutely certain that this whole night you’d been looking at him.

“It’s not that far off from what I said about the duty to dream,” you said, still not breaking the eye contact.

He shook his head.

“No, it’s really not.”

Three seconds of silence, five, ten. The coffee mug in his hand was empty. The excuse had run its course and he stood up so abruptly it startled you a bit. He shot you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I just… I really should get going. I’m heading out tomorrow with Bucky and Sam. Or, technically, that’s today.”

You smiled a bit, looking directly into his eyes very much in the same fashion he’d been looking at yours and quoted:

“In human hearts what bolder thought can rise, than man's presumption on tomorrows. Where is tomorrow? In another world.“

The words rolled like honey from your tongue, and he found it hard to breathe. He needed to go now, or he’d never make it out of here, the sound of the dam cracking ringing in his ears.

You watched Steve walk to the sink and rinse his coffee mug before leaving it in the sink – he’d probably noticed your dishwasher was open and full of clean dishes drying. Yes. He had a world to save tomorrow. Or today. He really should get going. You walked past him, so close that the skirt of your dress brushed against the back of his legs.

“I’ll get your coat. Thanks for lending it,” you said.

“My pleasure,” Steve answered.

His eyes were tracking your every movement as you gathered the coat from the chair you’d thrown it onto. The wool was surprisingly heavy in your arms as you stopped to stand in front of him in your very small hallway. Steve smiled softly as he looked at you, and his voice was soft, too:

“I had really nice time today. I’ll text you as soon as I get back from off the grid so we can agree on the details of that date. Should be about two and half weeks, maximum three.”

Why did that sound like ‘eternity and a half’ in your ears?

“I had great time, too. And yeah, let’s do that. I look forward to it,” you managed to say.

The air around you was so thick it was hard to breathe. But he was right, and you’d already prolonged this way more than you’d meant to. You had nothing to feel wistful about; this completely amazing, downright unbelievable man who would leave only because he had to literally go save the world would get in touch as soon as he came back. But you’d also thought about different kind of touching ever since Steve had hauled Jackson into air by his lapels.

You’d never met anyone like him, and the thought of not seeing him for multiple weeks felt like torture, especially considering the way he was lighting you on fire without laying a hand on you.

“I’m going to need my coat,” he smiled, but you could hear the struggle in his voice.

“Yeah. Coat. Right,” you said.

You fumbled with it for a second, finding the shoulders of it and then looking up at him. You stepped closer and held the coat in your hands. He glanced at you, his smile widening a bit as you lifted the coat onto his right shoulder, planning to drape it over his shoulders just like he’d done for you.

You rose to your tiptoes to reach and slipped your right arm around Steve’s neck to be able to pull the coat properly onto his shoulders. He was so tall you had to really reach to get a hold of the coat behind his back, and your body pressed against his chest as you glanced over his shoulder to see the coat. Finally, your fingers met the wool, and you pulled the coat by the lapel onto his left shoulder, turning your head from his shoulder to see his face.

Steve had turned his head, too, and was already looking at you, his face less than inch from yours. Your hand was still holding the coat and pressed against him like this, you could feel the long, labored breath he drew, your pulse thundering in your ears and that storm brewing in his eyes.

Gravity. Inevitability.

You closed the distance before you could think and let your lips brush against his, for just the briefest moment. It could not have lasted more than two seconds, and the pressure was so light you could barely tell your lips touched his. Then you caught what you were doing and retreated, letting go of his coat and shooting a panicked glance into his eyes. Immediately, you started talking, three hundred words per minute:

“I’m sorry, that was probably way too forward, and I didn’t mean to, I just have been thinking about that half the night and… I hope you don’t – “

The dam broke.

Steve slammed you into the wall behind you, the taste of you on his lips cutting straight through every single string of self-control he still had had in him, the animalistic need in him spilling right over as he claimed your lips with his, his hands grabbing your waist and pulling you against him, because he’d felt your body against him, now, and he was done for. He had wanted to do exactly this from the very moment you had opened your mouth on the podium and that quote had left your lips.

Everything he’d tried to do to suffocate the fire had just made it grow stronger, and now he had you in his hands, flush against his chest, your soft lips on his as he drank the same fire straight from them, and as it shot through his veins it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t thought humanly possible. It was blinding, raging inferno inside him and he had to, he just had to have you, or it’d kill him. The coat had fallen from his shoulders and as you started pushing his jacket down, too, he gained some distant inkling of awareness to what he was doing. It took every single ounce of his strength to pull his face away from yours, barely enough to talk, your foreheads still resting against each other and both of you breathing hard.

Steve was looking directly into your eyes, almost shaking with the effort of holding himself back. You needed more of everything, more of his kisses, more of his hands on you, his weight pressing you into the wall.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything,” he said with a voice so strained it made you tremble. “What we have going… that’s worth the wait, if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you panted. “But I’d really rather not wait. I’ve never wanted anyone like this. I… I think this was always going to happen. The way we sparkle, I haven’t felt that with anyone. And if you want me…”

He pressed his eyes closed for a second, and his body shifted just enough so that you could feel his hardness press against you. The whimper that escaped your lips made him drop his face down and press it against your neck. You tilted your head back as his lips brushed against your skin.

“God, I do. But I have to go tomorrow. I really do,” he choked.

Your eyes closed as you arched your back to press your body better against his, and his grip on your waist tightened. Gathering the last remnants of your composure, you whispered:

“Where is tomorrow? In another world. Take me to bed, Steve.”

He’d never been so happy to accept defeat in his life. As he gathered you to his arms while kissing you and lifted you up to let you wrap your legs around his waist, he was done for, and so were you. You pushed his jacket down from his shoulders, and he shook it off, supporting you with one hand without any effort at all. You whimpered at the thought, fumbling with the buttons of his vest to get it off too, but it was hard, it was so hard to find fine motor skills from your brain when Steve was kissing every single inch of the skin your dress left exposed.

“You haven’t been the only one thinking about this,” he rasped. “But tell me to stop and I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” you whispered.

He kicked the bedroom door open, and the distant sound of a hinge ripping off flashed in your conscious, and then it was all Steve again. His presence was overriding you, pushing everything else to the side, the knowledge that this was not what you had planned, this was not something you did.

Because when it was Steve Rogers, apparently this was something you did.

Your bedroom held only a queen-size bed, dresser and two doors but it was enough, since bed was all both of you could think about at this moment. He let you down for only just long enough to get the lacing of your dress open and let it fall into your feet, and then his hands were back on your body again, pulling you to him. You needed more skin, you needed to touch him, to feel him, to taste him. Steve nibbled your bottom lip with his teeth, holding your head with both his hands behind your neck, and you whined into his touch as you pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid your hands underneath it, shivering in anticipation of feeling all that hard, warm muscle against your naked body. You’d completely lost all decency, and when Steve snapped your bra open, you threw it to the side and pushed him back to sit on the bed, climbing to sit astride on his lap, rolling your hips against his hardness.

Steve didn’t know where to look. That gleam in your eyes, the red lips slightly parted as your breaths escaped your mouth in pants, the smooth skin, the curve of your breasts. It was too much and it was not nearly enough. His hands glided over your thighs and grabbed your butt, pulling you even closer to him, and then you finally managed to open all the buttons of his shirt, pulling away from the kiss just to look at him. Chiseled was the only word that crossed your mind, all that muscle underneath his skin looking like it held enough power to tear the world apart. You bit your lip and touched his chest, almost tentatively, and his dark eyes snapped right at yours.

“You’re seriously a work of art,” you whispered.

“Not as much as you,” he smiled, caressing your cheek for just a second before pulling you into a kiss that made everything in your brain shut down.

Your naked upper body pressing into his hard, warm chest, his hips rolling up to drag his cock against your core and his lips on yours like he was going to eat you alive. You slipped a hand in between you to feel his hardness, and he moaned straight to your lips as you did. He was so hard it hurt, the need pulsating in his every cell, but not yet, not just yet. You pulled back for another second, meeting his eyes:

“Do you have a…”

No, he didn’t. Fuck, no, he didn’t. Steve shook his head. He’d never in his wildest dreams imagined his evening would take a turn like this. You drew a shaky breath, trying to form words.

“I… I have an IUD. But I think there was a condom in the ‘Welcome back to Campus’ kit they gave us.”

You had no idea how you managed to pull yourself away from his lap for long enough to walk into the bathroom on the opposite side from the bed. He watched you rummage through the medicine cabinet on the wall, tracking the curve of your hips with his eyes, feeling the tide rising and rising and rising.

“Found it,” you said, but as you turned around, he was already behind you.

He caught your lips into a kiss and slid one arm around you, pulling you with him and back to the bedroom.

“God, the things you do to me,” Steve muttered straight into the kiss.

His palm was sliding down your stomach, slow enough to give you time to tell him to back off. You let your body fall relaxed against the arm draped over your back, because he was strong enough to hold you upright, and then some.

His fingers dipped in between your legs, and the soaking wetness that greeted him there pushed him right over the last edge of his control. The lust peaked in his blood with force that was enough to blind him, and he pushed you onto the bed and pulled all your remaining underwear off.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel insecure in front of him, not when he was looking you like that, his eyes raking over every single inch of your body as he got rid of all his clothes before positioning himself on top of you. Because it was so so hard to believe that this wasn’t meant to be, when every single brush of his fingers against your skin was making you tremble with want, his teeth biting down to your shoulder coaxing his name out of your lips.

“Steve, oh god,” you breathed.

He chuckled against your skin, but the way he pressed his cock against your thigh told you he wasn’t nearly as composed right now as he would’ve wanted you to believe.

“I like the sound of that. I wonder if I could hear more of it.”

Without stopping to wait for an answer, he sunk a finger inside you and landed his thumb on your clit, and the sound that escaped you probably alerted your neighbors to what exactly was happening here. You rolled your hips against his touch, squeezing your muscles around his finger, drawing a curse from his mouth in response. His other hand found the nape of your neck and he pulled you up to kiss him, cherishing the little whimpers his hand was drawing out of you.

“I want to see you come undone,” he whispered. “I want to hear you whisper my name as you do.”

A shiver shot down your spine, your core clamping down on him. This was going to kill you, his touch driving you delirious, every nerve in your body aching for him. In the dim light of the bedroom his eyes looked almost black from lust as you met them with yours. The fire inside you was reaching the point of no return, burning down everything from its path and you didn’t care, you didn’t care if the world would end as long as you felt him inside you. You hadn’t known it was even possible to ache like this for someone, like all of a sudden a part of you was missing and he was the only thing that could make you whole again.

“I want to come on your cock,” you whispered, completely unashamed of the filth that was leaving your mouth.

Steve smirked at that, rolling his thumb in a particularly demanding touch, and making you throw your head back in desperation.

“Oh, you will. On that, too.”

There was no coming back from the short-circuit that evoked in your brain. The peak was a collapsing star behind your eyelids, every single muscle in your body tensing and then releasing at the same time when it rushed over you.

Steve watched it all unravel, and as the last wave washed over you, he gently let you down to bed and stole your quivering breath right from your lips, humming in satisfaction. Your eyes were hazy as you tried to focus on him, the need to have him inside you and the last waves of pleasure fighting in your veins.

“Are you going to leave a lady waiting?” you managed to say.

He smirked, grabbing the condom you were still holding in your hand and said:

“I would never.”

He checked the expiration date of the condom and ripped the package open. For a moment, you were scared it wouldn’t fit him, because apparently, he was cocky in more ways than one, and you were staring, and you really didn’t give a damn.

From how demandingly he’d touched you, you’d anticipated him just sinking himself inside you and ravaging you into oblivion but instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached to pull you back into his lap.

“Come here, you,” he whispered.

You sat astride on his thighs, his cock pressing against your pubic bone in between you. Your eyes met his, and you pressed your forehead against his, drawing in that scent of his you’d been lusting after ever since catching the first hint of it. There was gentleness in his touch now; getting a taste of you had calmed him down just enough to keep his composure, because this needed to be done right. You ran your hands up and down his arms, cradling his face and smiling.

“Do you want to do this?” he asked, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear in a moment of sudden tenderness, like he wasn’t rock-hard, and you weren’t soaked down to your thighs.

You didn’t have it in you to form any kind of words anymore, so you nodded, and with that, he grabbed your hips and coaxed you to stand on your knees as he guided himself to press against your core.

Even though he’d gotten you properly relaxed, taking all of him was still a challenge, and you had to take it slow, almost torturingly so. Steve’s eyes never left yours, and he grinned when he saw a glaze overtake yours as you sunk down on his cock, inch by inch, trying to adjust to the pressure against your every nerve ending. His labored breathing was echoing in your ears, your hands feeling his pulse on his chest. He filled you in a way that you hadn’t known was possible, and when he was finally all the way down to the hilt inside you, your back was already arching.

One tentative roll of your hips with your eyes locked in his, and he lost it.

For the second time today, you found yourself in between Steve and a wall, and the speed with which he’d stood up and reached the opposite wall was a white-hot reminder of the fact that he was a supersoldier. That everything that was now under your hands and inside you was the absolute peak of man and it was all yours, it was all yours, and you were all his because the way Steve grabbed your hips and marked your neck with his teeth and fucked into you lit you on fire from which you’d never recover, because no mortal man could ever do this to you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lifted his head, catching the almost unhinged lust in his eyes before he claimed your mouth with his as he slammed deep and hard inside you. Something about all this was driving him feral, primal, something about the way you smelled telling him to take and take and take and make you his. Every movement of his was making him want it more and more and more, everything except the oldest part of his brain shutting down on him, the instinct to just claim driving him to sink himself inside you again and again. And when he felt you tense in his hands, the triumph in him was older than time. The breathless moan that was probably his name escaped your lips and with that, he bottomed out inside you with hardest thrust yet and came so hard the force of it almost knocked him unconscious as you quivered around him.

For a second, Steve was afraid his knees would give underneath him since everything in him was spent in a way he’d never felt. You were trembling under his hands, trying to catch your breath as you met his eyes.

“Wow,” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered.

He lowered you down, pulling out from you and slipping into the bathroom to discard the condom. You collapsed to sit on the bed, trying to gather your thoughts as you heard him wash up. What the hell was the proper social protocol to these things? The last time you’d had sex had been with your high school boyfriend, so you had no idea. And the way your legs were still shaking wasn’t really helping you make decisions on what you should do.

Before the panic could really rise, Steve came to stand in the bathroom doorway, looking somehow absolutely lost and completely content at the same time.

“Yeah, um, I… May I borrow a towel because if I go to the Quinjet in the morning smelling this much like sex, I’m never going to hear the end of it?”

The giggle bubbled inside you, exploding to the surface as your nerves realized that yes, you had actually taken Captain America to bed and no one would ever believe that he would sleep with someone the first night of meeting them and say those kind of things. Your laughter was contagious, and the low chuckles coming from Steve made something in your chest feel very warm. You opened the walk-in closet door next to him and found him a clean towel.

“There should be a new toothbrush under the sink, too,” you said as you handed him the towel. “If you’re staying.”

The certainty in Steve’s eyes made you shiver, but in the best way possible.

“I am.”

A kiss on your forehead dragged you back to reality. For a moment, you were confused, and then the memory of last night came rushing back. Your eyes snapped up to see Steve, and a sense of relief rushed over you. You hadn’t dreamed it all.

“Hi,” he whispered.

He was standing over your bed, already dressed in the white dress shirt and the dress pants he’d been wearing last night, too. The delicious smell of coffee was floating out of the mug he had in his hands.

“Hi,” you yawned. “What’s the clock?”

“Way too early,” Steve smiled. “I’m sorry to wake you up, but I really have to go and I didn’t want you to think I just sneaked out. But I made coffee to make it up.”

Steve sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed the coffee mug into your hands as you rose to sit, and you smiled as you noticed it was the “Keep Calm and Science On” one. You took a tentative sip and looked at the glow on his face. He’d be back for you, you were sure of it, because when you’d fallen asleep, his arm had been wrapped around you like you’d known each other for a much longer time. As if he was reading your thoughts, he brushed your cheek with his finger.

“I wish I could stay,” he sighed. “It’s going to be long three weeks.”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

You wouldn’t cry. You absolutely wouldn’t cry. It made no sense. So, you blinked back the tears and pressed a peck to his cheekbone.

“Go save the world.”

“Yeah, in a minute,” he breathed, grabbing your jaw, and pressing a long, lingering kiss on your lips.

When he pulled away, it looked like he was trying to fight the same force you’d both felt last night. But this time, he had to beat it, and you understood. He smiled as he looked into your eyes, thumb still caressing your jaw. In the early morning light, he looked even more golden than he had before.

“See you soon, Starstuff.”

“Starstuff?” you asked.

He looked like he’d gotten caught, smiling sheepishly.

“Yeah, Bruce has this quote on the wall of his lab about people being made of the same things as stars; from star stuff.”

“From Sagan. I know that one. I like that one,” you said.

Somehow hearing him call you was like getting a hug. He liked you, he liked you for you, he liked you enough to give you a silly cute nickname and wake you up with coffee to assure you he wasn’t sneaking out.

“I guess you just remind me of it. If you think it’s stupid – “

“It’s not,” you said. “I like it. And I think we’ve crossed the threshold of nicknames after last night.”

He smiled, rising to stand with visible reluctance.

“Yeah, I think we did. I’ll text you as soon as I get back, alright?”

“Alright.”

With one last kiss to your forehead, Steve was gone, and somehow, you were missing him before the door closed behind him.

In fact, you were missing him so bad that when the doorbell rang two hours later, you jumped in ridiculous excitement, hoping it was him despite knowing he was already on a Quinjet heading towards somewhere far away and classified. But as you opened the door as much as your security lock allowed, the voice calling your name wasn’t Steve’s.

“Miss? I have a delivery for you.”

“Just a sec,” you said, your heart beating its way almost out of your chest as you opened the door properly.

The deliveryman that was standing in your hallway was wearing a cap that read ‘Frank’s Flower’ on it. He handed you something rather large packaged in brown paper and smiled:

“Have a good day, Miss.”

“Thank you, you too.”

Barely managing to shut the door behind you, you put the package on your kitchen counter and slid the card out of the envelope that was taped to it. Seeing a silver star printed on it had made it pretty clear what this was all about.

I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. I got you a little something, so you don’t forget me while I’m away. I thought about an Earth Star Plant, but I noticed the sorry state of your previous houseplant, so I went with a timeless classic since you seem to be into those.

I really look forward to seeing you again.

Steve

P.S. I ’ll fix the hinge when I get back. Sorry about that.

You opened the tape holding the package together and peeled the paper off.

This man was truly something else.

The bouquet was entirely made of red roses, big, perfect, long red roses, and there had to be at least forty of them wrapped together with a red silk ribbon.

You lifted the bouquet into your arms and pressed your face into the flowers, smiling with every fiber of your being.

Chapter Text

Present

You had planned on straightening your appearance, but when the doorbell rang barely over twenty minutes later, you were still sitting on your bed with your phone in hand. For a moment, it filled you with dread, your heartbeat racing and bile rising to your throat. This was probably going to be the worst night of your life.

The doorbell rang again, and the sound was followed by a stern knock on the door. You needed to move. You needed to find it from your paralyzed limbs to move, to open the door, to form the words “I’m pregnant” and say them to Steve’s face. And then you needed to accept the fact that he was never going to want to see you again.

The vibration of your phone in your hand startled you.

Steve (Fri, 06:24 PM): I’m outside your door, and I’m getting really worried now. If you’re there, open the door, or I’m coming through it.

You hated doing this to him, you hated that you and your traitor of a body had done this to him. Blinking back tears, you got up and dragged your feet down to the door despite feeling like you were walking through a block of ballistic jelly. You knew full well that once you opened the door and everything spiraled, you would have to let go of your fantasy of actually having someone like him in your life. The fucking lock was not opening, your shaking hands fumbling with it. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. If you cry, you’ll never stop. Finally, the lock gave in, and you swung the door open.

Steve was a bow with the string drawn back. Every muscle of his was on the verge of springing into action, and immediately when he saw you, his eyes were on you, assessing, running over your messy bun and baggy oversized MIT sweatshirt and leggings and bare feet. Only when he saw no obvious signs of injuries, his gaze met yours.

“Tell me what happened.”

Those were the words, and yet you could hear the real meaning beneath them: tell me whose neck I need to break. He was in civilian clothes, blue button-down and slacks, but the shield was on his arm, strapped into place with leather. He shut the door behind him and stepped closer, visibly wincing when you took a step back to stay away from him. You weren’t going to lull him into a sense that things were okay between you. They weren’t. Nothing was okay. Nothing was okay and despite you being like this, he wasn’t angry at you, and you couldn’t take it.

“I don’t want to upset you any further,” Steve said, his tone turning even gentler and quieter. “But you need to tell me what happened. I’ll make it okay, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” you whispered.

“I can try,” he said. “Please. Let me.”

Steve was searching your face, taking note of your swollen red eyes, trying to see what was going on. You needed to tell him, you didn’t want him to stay in this anguish of uncertainty for a minute longer, but those words were stuck in your throat.

“Put the shield down, Steve, please.”

“Are you scared of me?”

There was no anger in his voice, and that pretty much tore your heart out of your chest.

“No. I’m not.”

He loosened the strap and put the shield down to lean into the wall, crouching to take off his shoes, too. You retreated to the living room, glancing behind to see if he was following. He searched the room behind you, trying to figure out what was going on. You needed to speak, there was no need to prolong this. And you couldn’t speak. His eyes landed on the large glass jar on your desk and stayed there for a moment – the dried, red rose petals filling the jar clearly telling him something.

“So, it’s not me.”

You shook your head as you reached the desk, feeling his eyes on your back.

“No. Yes. Not in the way you think but yes. Dear God, I can’t do this,” you breathed in, sniffling.

“Tell me,” he said, and it was a plea, not an order. “And we’ll figure it out.”

The words weren’t coming out, they just weren’t, not the right ones. So, you chose the next best option, grabbing the Ziplock bag that was sitting next to your monitor. You didn’t really know why it was there. You had no memory of putting it in there. You turned around, and Steve was standing there in front of your kitchen island and the contrast of this night and the previous one he’d been here made it all hurt even more.

Not bearing to look at him, you shoved into his hands the Ziplock back containing the first test you’d looked at, the one which had burned itself permanently into your mind. 2-3 weeks pregnant, the screen still read.

The bathroom trashcan was full of the things, which you kept buying and doing, as if believing that if you just did enough of them, one time the test would read ‘Ha, gotcha!’ and all of this would vanish like a nightmare. But it didn’t; with every single test, the screen said the same, and the red lines of the other kind of tests turned stronger and stronger as the concentration of the hormones in your body was rising. No turning back. No making it undone. You’d made your bed and now you had to lie in it.

Steve fumbled with the bag for a second, turning it in his hands to turn the pregnancy test inside it around. For a second, it crossed your mind he might not know what it was, the fear of having to actually say it out loud stirring in you again despite the words on the screen. The emotions in him were so strong you could read them from his face: the fear, the confusion, the puzzle pieces falling to place.

The realization.

Steve’s eyes snapped at yours, wide open and alert, the look in them so intense it was impossible to know what emotion it exactly was. When he spoke, he sounded completely dumbfounded:

“Is this…? Are you saying you’re…? That the night we shared…?” Steve drew a breath, his eyes searching your face. “Are you upset because you’re pregnant?”

You hugged yourself and nodded, afraid that if you opened your mouth you’d throw up on the floor.

You had expected anything but the words that fell out of his mouth:

“Oh, thank God.”

The relief in his voice caught you completely by surprise. Your eyes snapped at his, and only then he seemed to realize what he had actually said out loud, his eyes blowing even more wide open. You blinked once, twice, thrice, and then it just exploded out:

“WHAT THE HELL, STEVE?”

Your brain was trying to comprehend the words, but all you were getting was a syntax error. That didn’t make sense. That didn’t make sense at all. Steve sat down on the bar stool, still holding the Ziplock bag in his hand, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“Look, I… I’m sorry. I just… I was so scared something was seriously wrong. That it was a lot worse than this.”

You didn’t understand.

You didn’t understand at all.

This was going to ruin everything, change everything, wreck all your best-laid plans, and Steve was… Steve was saying it was not seriously wrong.

“What exactly could be a lot worse than this?” you hissed.

The sentence hit him like a slap on the face; you could see it from the visible wince of his shoulders. When he looked at you, his eyes were colder than you’d ever seen them be. He still wasn’t angry but there was something in there shutting you out like a wall of ice.

“I thought someone had hurt you, or attacked you, or that you were ill. So those, for starters. Or that someone had seen you with me and…” Steve didn’t finish, turning his head away from you.

The missing bracket making the syntax error disappear. Your face was burning. Of course. His job was a never-ending battle. He had to see some seriously bad things out there, and that had to skew his perception of what was bad and what wasn’t. You sniffed, and he turned to look at you. The tears in your eyes made everything blurry, but you were sure that his face was softer, now.

“You know, Steve, that’s really not fair,” you whispered on the verge of crying. “I’m not a superhero. I… I don’t deal with the things you have to deal with. For me, this is serious.”

Steve put the Ziplock onto the bar stool next to him and buried his face in his hands, sighing so deep he sounded exhausted.

“Yeah, you’re right. That was pretty shitty of me, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I can see how upset you are and I just… I should’ve phrased it better.”

You hugged yourself, biting your bottom lip and trying to keep the tears out. You needed to survive until the end of this discussion and then you could cry until you couldn’t anymore. But not before.

“No, I, I understand your point,” you whispered.

You did. You really did, whether you wanted to or not. Steve seemed to reach some sort of resolution within himself and stood up, his entire demeanor changing. Everything in him was firm and certain, rooted in deep belief in a set of principles. He wasn’t at war with himself, not conflicted, not at all. And that was probably why he spoke with such calmness as he stood in front of you, looking directly into your eyes:

“Look, I don’t believe a baby coming into being from a consensual night shared between two adults is a bad thing. I just don’t. It might be an inconvenient thing, it might be a thing that makes some other things a lot harder, it might be and is a serious thing, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. Not the baby itself. In my books, bad things are a lot different than that, and I’m not going to lie to you about it.”

Baby. Steve was using that word probably even without thinking. It was not a baby just yet, even though the line was hard to draw and entirely dependent on how one conceptualized the situation. But all this was still in such an early stage that you still had options. You weren’t allowing yourself to really ponder Steve’s words before you’d really talked this through. Really. And that meant you had to talk about the options, too.

Breathing in and then out, you forced your mouth to formulate the question you’d been dreading the most:

“What should we do, then?”

The fear was ringing in your ears. You weren’t scared of Steve, not in the meaning of being afraid he’d ever hurt you, but this was a discussion you’d really rather not have with anyone, let alone with someone from the fucking 1910s. There was a bitter taste in your mouth. All this could’ve been so beautiful.

You’d gone round and round and round the thought over the last five days. There were no easy answers to this, and there certainly were no easy ways out, no matter what you’d do. But you couldn’t deny the fact that terminating the pregnancy would be the option that’d probably rock the boat of your life the least. No one could judge you for that, not with how very not baby appropriate your situation in life was. No one would ever even know, except for you and Steve, no one would be any wiser. You’d continue your life just like you had until this point, and Steve would continue his, and nothing would change. You’d graduate and start your company and wipe the floor with Stark Industries and continue your guest of making the mankind a home in the stars. All this would become a small footnote of your life, a What If you would probably sometimes wonder, or maybe not. There was no knowing that beforehand, just like there was no knowing what would happen if you decided to go through with this – but the odds of you getting a good life out of pursuing an education and making sure you got it were tremendously better than they were for getting  a good life out of having a baby out of wedlock with an almost complete stranger without having even graduated first. Not to even mention the whole Captain America situation.

It made sense. It made perfect sense. Basing this on probabilities, mathematics, statistics. Game of numbers.

And it didn’t. Somewhere deep in your heart, it didn’t, and that made no sense. You were not the one to believe in fairytales or miracles or divine interventions, but somehow, over all this was resting the same feeling of inevitability that had been present during your first night together. It was a hazy feeling, something you could not really conceptualize, and had it been anyone but Steve, you probably wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of going through with this. But had it been anyone but Steve, you wouldn’t have even been in this situation in the first place. You couldn’t shake the feeling that odds this astronomical had to mean something, that because everything had felt so special with him, like there was more to this than the numbers. Seeing the grave look on Steve’s face, you were certain he understood what you were really asking. He was quiet for a long time before saying:

“Despite everything I believe, it’s not my place to ask you to put yourself through this. It is not my choice.”

It was crystal clear from his eyes that it’d devastate him. But even still, he wasn’t asking you not to – he was placing the choice into your hands, willing to bear whatever consequences that brought upon him. Steve was laying down his life at your feet. He wouldn’t ask you to do this if you didn’t want to, no matter how much pain it caused him. You swallowed, pressing your hand against you stomach, and he caught that but didn’t say anything. A good man. A truly good, selfless man.

The father of your baby.

It was impossible to decipher what Steve was thinking when he was shutting you out like this. He was doing it out of trying to save you from his pain, but the end result was that it was the only thing you could see on him. Despite his best effort, it left you out in the cold and that threw open the flood gates of panic you’d been trying not to feel over the last five days.

“You can’t leave me alone with this. Steve, please, I can’t get through this alone. I can’t make this decision alone.”

“You’re not alone.”

Said like he was stating the existence of a force of nature. But that didn’t mean he was right about it. You hadn’t picked your phone up for over four days, and the only messages had been Steve’s. You had no support network, you had nothing and no one to talk about this. The sheer terror of it had the nausea rising to your throat again. How on Earth were you supposed to know what to do?

“Steve, please?” you whispered. “Say something.”

You were about to reach your hand to touch Steve’s arm when a small cramp bit its teeth into the right side of your stomach. It wasn’t bad, nothing worse than what you regularly dealt with on your period, but it made you move your hand to cover the place and hiss. And there was no possibility that Steve, in all his tense hyperawareness, didn’t catch that.

“Are you in pain?”

You shook your head.

“Yes, you are,” he said.

“It’s normal. I read online. Small intermittent cramping is to be expected,” you sighed. “It’s nothing.”

Steve’s eyes didn’t leave your face.

“Have you been to a doctor? Or talked with one?”

You shook your head, and with that, the graveness on his face tightened, and then disappeared. The man standing in front of you was no longer Steve Rogers, but Captain America, like a switch had been flipped. You watched it overtake his demeanor, pushing down all the darkness left by the discussion you’d been having just two minutes ago. He pressed a button on the futuristic watch on his wrist, and the watch projected a holographic display above it. It had the same faint blue glow that you’d seen in pictures taken from Tony’s lab, and despite everything going on, you couldn’t help but run your hand through it, watching in awe the light moving like water around your hand and then return to previous position. Your fingers went straight through it, despite it currently answering to Steve’s touch and giving haptic feedback. He was scrolling through a list and didn’t seem to be bothered by you not keeping your hands to yourself. Even his voice was different now, lower, calmer, older, lulling you into safety:

“It’ll react only to my biometrics.”

You had no idea how Tony had pulled that off – what kind of technology was able to recognize his partial fingerprint and behave like that. Steve stopped scrolling and clicked something open.

“Are you comfortable with her?”

Steve moved his wrist, and the display moved with it, turning so that it was facing you. It was see-through enough that you could see Steve’s expectant face behind it. Based on her picture, maternal-fetal medicine specialist, OB-GYN Dr. Brian, M.D. was a woman in her mid-forties, with chestnut hair reaching her shoulders and a warm smile. Your eyes raked over the long list of achievements, research and awards given to her by American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists and various others. Your head was starting to hurt.

“Steve, I don’t need to see a doctor,” you shook your head. “You’re overreacting.”

It was no use; he was a stone wall in front of you.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Whichever way we go about this, you’re going to need a medical professional.”

He wasn’t wrong. But this wasn’t… You hadn’t even called a doctor yet, any doctor, let alone someone like that. You took another glance at Dr. Brian’s list of qualifications.

“Look, I can just go to the campus medical center if I’m in pain. I’m not in pain right now.”

The cold lights of an examination room would shed light on all of this, unmistakably pull this out of the nightmare-realm and into reality. You would have to answer questions.

“Steve, I can’t. I don’t need to. It can wait.”

You could barely get the words out. Even if he had a point, there was a perfectly fine OB-GYN included in your student health insurance plan. Probably. If you just could start figuring all that bureaucracy out. But you didn’t need to do it right now, and it didn’t matter anyway, because there was no way a doctor like that would be included in your bare-bones plan. And you already had a headache. It could wait. Steve heard your words, you were sure, but decided to completely ignore them:

“You said you have an IUD. A pregnancy occurring with that can be life-threatening if it’s ectopic and not implemented properly.”

“How do you even know that?” you asked, trying to fling Dr. Brian away from in between you, to no avail.

“We dealt with an emergency concerning an agent at the Tower a while back,” Steve said. “She was alright in the end, but it was way too close and there is no way I’m letting that happen to you.”

This was a mission, the look in his eyes making that suddenly absolutely clear. He flicked his wrist and threw the display to the side, opening another one next to it, and started browsing a list of transport services. You tried to reason with him.

“And there’s no way she’s covered by my insurance. There just isn’t. It’s a very basic plan.”

“That’s not what I am asking,” Steve said, glancing into your direction. “Just whether you’re comfortable with her. She seems to be our directory's most qualified one in this area. But if you prefer someone else, tell me.”

Tightness of your throat eased up just a bit. The tiniest bit.

“I can’t afford that out of pocket, Steve, I really can’t, and I just haven’t been able to even start figuring out what is covered.”

He looked at a car service on his screen and frowned, flicking it away with his palm and replacing it with another as he said:

“That doesn’t matter because I’m paying. Are you comfortable with a practitioner like her or shall I find someone else?”

“You can’t pay it out of pocket.”

He turned to look at you, and that same overpowering intensity you’d seen the first night was there again.

“Yes, I can. And I will.”

“You don’t even know how much it costs.”

The answer was probably a fortune, because if someone like her even did on-call on a Friday night, it wasn’t going to be cheap.

“I don’t care. I can afford it. The absolute least I can do after getting you into this situation is to make sure you get the care you need. And I’m paying for all of it. So, is it going to be her or someone else?”

Like there was nothing to second-guess.

The walls of your reluctance were collapsing when he was looking at you like that.

Like everything was going to be alright. Despite everything, it was going to be alright, because he was going to make it alright. That had been the among the first things he’d said when he’d seen you. I’ll make it okay, I promise.

He would keep that promise. He would deal with this. He was dealing with this, and you were no longer alone.

Because he’d been talking about himself when he’d said you were not alone, talking about like it was an irrefutable fact.

You were no longer alone. Steve was the force of nature.

“She’s fine.”

“Go get your coat, then.”

Chapter Text

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

You were pregnant with his child.

The words were ringing in Steve’s head over and over as he opened the car door for you and waited for you to get in. Avoiding any noise, he shut the door behind you and went around the black SUV’s back to sit on the other side. Someone, probably him, gave the driver the address of Dr. Brian’s clinic, and registered the information that it’d be about a twenty-minute drive in this traffic. The small Quinjet parked on the designated landing space on the Stark Building’s would’ve been faster, but he didn’t want the attention, and he had wanted to keep an eye on you, which he couldn’t do if he had to fly the thing.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Steve said.

No reaction, so he reached over and fastened it, touching you only to move the hem of your trench coat aside. You were huddled inside it and staring directly forwards, deep in your thought. What was going on in that head of yours?

“What should we do, then?”

That was not a question that needed his attention now, because that was not a question that was his to answer. If the pregnancy was ectopic, it wouldn’t be viable – it’d be life-threatening, and could not survive to the term. It might be that there wasn’t even a question to be answered. He leaned back, sinking deeper into the leather seat, and realized his shield was still leaning to your hallway wall. His eyes had been on you as you’d left, and he’d completely forgotten about anything else.

Pregnant.

It was a thing that happened. It was a thing that had happened a lot more in his youth, his real youth, because just right now, he felt centuries older than his twenty-nine (plus sixty-six) years. The baby wouldn’t be a bad thing. He just couldn’t think it that way, despite everything else. But seeing you like this, seeing this and comparing it to how you’d been during the Gala night… Before he’d done this to you. That was the thing that held his heart in a grip that’d probably crush it any second now. He had made an exception, he had steered from his principles, and now you were bearing the consequences of it on a very physical level. The IUD. The condom. How the hell did all that happen? He remembered the dam breaking, the passion taking over, yes, but he had also thought he’d made sure to be careful. Apparently not. Steve had made his bed and now he had to lie in it and face the consequences. It felt like two words were colliding him, the forces of the impact tearing him apart as two images were fighting over.

A ring, a house, a child. A family. This was nothing people hadn’t faced before. People got pregnant. People got married and raised families together. It wasn’t always so simple, obviously, not for everyone, but he had a job, he had more money than he’d ever even thought he’d one day make, he had his other family to watch his six – not one by blood but one forged in battle. There was no reason why you two couldn’t do this. There just wasn’t.

And opposite to that your empty eyes in the hallway, the way you’d stepped back when he’d tried to touch you. The sheer shellshock this had caused you. The fear that this would wreck everything because your world was different than Steve’s. He couldn’t ask you to do this if you didn’t want to, he wouldn’t ask you to do this, he wouldn’t even suggest it. He would be there for you, cover the costs of everything and let you decide.

He would do the right thing, no matter what he wanted.

You were still staring directly forwards when you reached the reception desk of Dr. Brian’s clinic. Everything here was posh, somehow a lot more muted and warmer than most medical centers. Maybe it’d make you feel a bit more at ease. Steve was practically praying it would, because you hadn’t said a word to him since he’d told you to get your coat. You were just following him like a lost puppy, not touching him but not letting him step a foot away before coming after him. It was okay. If despite everything, despite this being Steve’s doing, he was able to give you some hint of solace, it’d be what he would do. You’d kept the roses, dried the petals, and kept them in a jar, which you hadn’t thrown away even amongst all this. That was a ray of hope he didn’t want to be there, but it was refusing to go away, no matter how much he tried to not read into it.

“We are here to see Dr. Brian,” Steve said to the nurse in her fifties sitting behind the reception desk. “Appointment under the name Rogers.”

The reception nurse’s eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than was probably professional. Steve cleared his throat to draw her attention back to him. She snapped out of it and pulled a polite customer service smile onto her face.

“Good evening, Mr. Rogers,” she said. “We’ve called Dr. Brian in, but she’ll take about twenty minutes to get here. We’ll guide you to your private waiting area. Miss, if you could fill out this form while you wait, please.”

You took the clipboard and the pen from her and let your hands drop back to your sides without even glancing at the form fastened into the clipboard. The nurse’s eyes stayed on you.

“Miss, are you alright? We were informed that this is a first prenatal appointment, but if you are in serious pain, you need to tell us.”

You blinked and nodded.

“No pain. Just processing,” you said with a voice that came somewhere far away.

The nurse’s eyes filled with warmth at that, and she glanced back to Steve, the professional face not faltering a bit, like he was just any customer.

“Will this appointment be billed under the contract of the Avengers Initiative?”

Steve shook his head.

“No. You can use the same billing address, but address the bill to me, personally. I would also like to…” Steve searched for words. “Is it possible to open some kind of account, so that she can book an appointment here, and the bill will be sent directly to me without any need for authorization from me?"

The nurse looked at him, then you, then to the side at her computer before sighing.

“That’s not something we usually do but considering the existing business relationship between the Avengers Initiative and our clinic, I think I could make an exception and open a tab for you, Mr. Rogers. What kind of credit limit would you like?”

“None.”

If she understood what was going on, she wasn’t letting it show from her face, not making a big deal out of this, and Steve made a mental note to have flowers sent here to thank her.

"I'll get the paperwork started, then,” the nurse said. “Please follow me.”

The private waiting room was smaller than a bedroom, but a 50’s style sitting group consisting of a sofa and two chairs and a coat rack and a water dispenser didn’t really need that much space. Steve glanced at the artwork hanging on the wall, an oil painting of a calm sea, and checked that the creamy curtains covering the window of the room were closed. After hanging your coat to the rack, you sat down on the sofa, and Steve tracked you with his eyes as he took his off.

“If you need to go to the bathroom, it’s that door,” Steve said, rubbing his neck with a hand.

The room had exactly one door aside from the one you’d entered from, clearly marked with a bathroom sign. Steve was still standing, not sure if he should sit on the sofa next to you or in one of the armchairs. You stared forwards like you were catatonic, the form sitting in your lap, and held the pen in your fist like a toddler learning to draw. Realizing that you were not going to start filling the form, Steve sighed and run you a paper cup of water from the cooler. As he sat down next to you, he carefully took the clipboard from your lap and pressed the water cup into your palm, not letting go before your fingers had wrapped around it.

“There we go,” he cooed.

As gently as he possibly could, he pried your fingers from around the pen and took it in his hand.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said, and it was barely above a whisper in all it’s softness. “I’ll help you fill this out.”

He filled your basic contact information in and glanced at the list of the questions. The form called for some very private medical information, but he had to try to get it out of you to ensure that you’d get the best care. The thought pushed all the awkwardness out of him.

“These are pretty short questions, so I’m sure you can do this,” he said, keeping his tone hushed. “Let’s get you through this.”

You took a sip of the water in your hand and nodded, not turning to look at him. Alright. At least you were listening, hearing his words, so he could get started:

“Who do you want as your emergency contact?”

You shook your head.

“They require one,” Steve said as softly as he could.

“I lost my parents in a car accident over ten years ago. I don’t have friends that are that close.”

Steve was trying to decipher the tone, but it was so completely flat it was impossible. Alright, then. He sighed. It really dawned on him now that you’d been completely alone with this for the last few days. He probably should’ve been more persistent in trying to contact you, he should’ve known something was wrong. But he’d thought maybe he’d hurt you, maybe he’d creeped you out, and he hadn’t wanted to seem like some unhinged stalker. There was no point in dwelling on that anyway; more pressing matters were at hand.

“Any family members, maybe?” Steve tried.

“My aunt’s family took me in after that, but we were never really close. It was not a bad situation, but the most contact I've had with them after moving out is exchanging Christmas cards. I don’t want them to have my private medical information.”

You were still looking at the wall in front of you, and your tone had stayed robotic.

“Is it okay if I put my information there, then?”

You nodded, and Steve scribbled his contact information down.

“Alright. Then the actual medical questions. Average length of a menstrual cycle?” Steve said.

Steve was reading the form aloud like he was debriefing a group of agents, all the embarrassment having been showed aside by quiet professionalism. You were answering the questions with same kind of expressionlessness, still staring the wall with glazed eyes, seemingly not there at all.

“24-26 days.”

“Average length of period?”

“Four days.”

“How many days has it been since the start of your last period?”

“36 days.”

“Are you on any form of birth control?”

“Hormonal IUD installed a bit over three years ago.”

“If you suspect you’re pregnant, have you done a positive pregnancy test?”

“Yes, fourteen of them.”

The form told Steve to move to another section, so he traced the paper with his pen and continued after reaching the right set of questions:

“Do you have any existing medical conditions that might affect the pregnancy?”

“No.”

“Have you ever suffered from a sexually transmitted disease?”

“No.”

“Is this your first pregnancy?”

“Yes.”

“Was this pregnancy planned?”

“No.”

“If this pregnancy was not planned, what method of contraception was used?”

“The IUD and a condom.”

“If this pregnancy was not planned, are you considering terminating the pregnancy?”

“No.”

Steve’s head snapped up, his heart raising up to his throat. You’d answered the last question with the same kind of flatness as the previous ones, and it looked like the answer had caught you by surprise, too. The glaze in your eyes was gone, and you were looking at him, and relief rushed over every muscle of his body. You blinked a few times and opened your mouth, trying to find words, but nothing was coming out. Steve had never in his life been less sure what he should say, so he stayed quiet, waiting for you to start talking. After taking another sip of your water, you did:

“I… I can’t make you do this with me.”

“I’ll be there,” Steve said. “I will. I promise. You won’t be alone. But…”

He drew a long breath, closing his eyes and opening them again, forcing the words out as he met your gaze:

“But don’t do this for me.”

A smirk. A very, very small smirk, your lips curling up barely tenth of an inch, but it was there, and Steve’d never been so happy to see anything in his life.

“You should know by now that I’m not that stupid.”

Your voice was still shaky, barely coming out of you, but it was there, and Steve realized how much tension he’d held in his body over the last two hours. He wanted to ask but he wasn’t sure how he should phrase it. Before he could find the words, you continued, shifting in your seat so that your knees were also up and turning to face him:

“I can’t explain it. I don’t have a reasonable explanation. Nothing about this makes sense. But I… When you started talking about the possibility of ectopic pregnancy, and I know that those are not viable… The thought of it not being viable made me sad. It should’ve made me relieved, but it just made me sad.”

You sighed, burying your face into your hands. Steve was focusing on your words so hard his face tingled. Maybe this would work out. Maybe, maybe, maybe you wanted to do this with him.

“Nothing makes sense. I don’t have enough data to base this decision on facts. I can’t know what will happen, either way, so I guess I just have to… Make a new plan based on what I think I should do. If this isn’t ectopic. I don’t know what’s going to happen but…”

You trailed off, shaking your head in your hands.

“Nothing bad will happen,” Steve said. “I promise. We’re not the first people in the world this has happened to. We won’t be the first to get through this. As long as you’re sure you want to do this.”

You lifted your head and looked into his eyes with such unwavering trust in yours that Steve found that something had gotten stuck in his throat. Trying to hold back tears, you said:

“You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“I’m a carbon-based lifeform, too,” he said, and the stupid, small, choked chuckle that left his mouth made you smile a bit wider.

You reached both of your hands to cover the one of his holding the clipboard and shook your head gently. The fog in your head was clearing, lifting, the decision getting the gears turning again. There was no not winging it in this situation. There just wasn’t, and you had to go with your gut.

“Yeah, maybe. Jury’s still out on that one. But. The way you’ve been this entire night. I… I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else but you’re… special. And I can’t shake the feeling that this is something special, too. It’s not grounded on reality or anything and I don’t understand but…”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m not the one to judge anyone for following their sense of what’s right.”

Steve was trying to sound nonchalant, but his throat was all choked up and his eyes were burning. You lifted a hand to run it over his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, smiling, before taking the hand into his and pressing a kiss on your fingers.

“You do know, I’m going to marry you if that’s what you want.”

You blinked, swallowing hard and breaking into a smile after that. Actual, real, bright smile, and Steve thanked whoever watched over the universe for that sight.

“Yeah, maybe that’s a discussion that can wait a bit,” you said. “The form looks like we have about 50 pages to go.”

Steve lowered his gaze to the clipboard and seemed to agree. Before he could hand it back to you, the knock from the door interrupted him, and Dr. Brian’s friendly face peeked in.

“Mrs. Rogers? We’re ready for you.”

Your face was tingling as you got up, feeling like your body was yours for the first time in five days. You could swear you heard Steve chuckle behind you. This was apparently the idiot with whom you were going to have a baby, if everything was alright.

“Yeah, I’m not actually…”

Her warm smile did not falter.

“Oh, I apologize, Miss. Please, come with me.”

Steve had gotten up, too, but as you started making your way to the door to follow Dr. Brian into the examination room, he stayed there. Panicked for a second, you turned around, and you didn’t even have to say anything before he was on your side again. His hand slipped around your waist like it had always belonged there. As he pressed a kiss in your hair right above your ear and said, in a low whisper Dr. Brian couldn’t hear:

“Yet.”

For a second you didn’t understand what he meant, and then your face started burning. Steve smiled like he’d said nothing out of ordinary before he continued:

“And don’t worry, I’ll be there. I just thought you might want some privacy, so I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Yeah, the privacy boat has probably sailed at this point,” you sighed.

Even without experience from medical field, you could tell that Dr. Brian had dropped some serious money into her examination room, and that wasn’t just the marble floor. Everything seemed cutting-edge, high-end, and for a second your mind returned back to the clinic being in the Avengers Initiative’s directories. You’d have to ask Steve about that, because it was hard to figure out why exactly they’d have a billing agreement with an OB-GYN clinic in Boston. You focused your attention at Dr. Brian, who had taken a seat and gestured you to do so, too. The dress underneath her white coat looked expensive, and distantly you remembered that you had your finals week look on you. If she noticed, she didn’t make a show out of it. She eyed your form.

“Fourteen tests. That’s pretty extensive. But I can understand your shock, with the IUD and the condom. Not unheard of, but not exactly common,” she said. “I see that the form is not finished. That’s okay, usually we send it beforehand to your home, but this was a bit… rushed.”

You took another look at her: the dress, the lipstick, the pearls, the heels. You – or Steve – had probably pulled this woman straight out of a date night, and she didn’t seem to even mind, which probably meant that the paycheck she was getting out of this was probably on the heftier side.

The lengths this man would go for you.

“A five-year IUD, correct? A hormonal one, but you still have a cycle?” Dr. Brian

“Yes. It never stopped my period. It said online that that’s normal.”

“It is,” Dr. Brian assured. “A pregnancy that occurs when a patient has an IUD is considered a higher risk than a pregnancy without one. We should probably start off by checking the situation with the IUD, and remove it if that’s possible. If it’s not, we’ll have to figure it out from there, but many people carry healthy pregnancies to term with an IUD in there to keep the baby company.”

You glanced over at Steve, who had sat down to the chair next to you, and the expression on his face was the alert Captain one again, probably the same one he had when he was getting mission information. You smiled at that as Dr. Brian continued:

“You’re too early for a fetal heartbeat to be heard, but I think the newer ultrasound technology we have here could even this early tell us if it’s an ectopic pregnancy or a normal one. If we can’t confirm that, we’ll book you a new appointment on your fourth week of pregnancy. Those test you’ve taken, have the lines been getting steadily stronger?”

You nodded at that, and she smiled.

“That’s a good sign; the hormone concentrations of ectopic pregnancies rise slower than they do when it’s a normal pregnancy. But why don’t you go get your lower half undressed, and we’ll take a look?”

She gestured towards a small side room, and you got up. As you did, you heard Steve ask:

“The newer technology, is that safe?”

You could hear from Dr. Brian’s smiling voice that this wasn’t her first, or her hundredth, rodeo:

“I can assure you, Captain Rogers, it’s perfectly safe.”

Only when Dr. Brian was already looking at the screen wheeled next to the bed you were laying in, it occurred to you that having a vaginal ultrasound in front of a man you’d spent less than twenty-four hours of time together was probably a thing that should’ve weirded you out. But Steve was perfectly nonchalant about it, and the privacy ship had truly disappeared beyond the horizon. After all, nothing about this situation was exactly normal. Had someone told you on the Gala night that you’d be in an OB-GYN’s office with Steve Rogers standing on your side, holding your hand, in less than three weeks, you’d told them to get their head checked. A part of you was still expecting someone to walk in with a straitjacket and tell you that you were hallucinating again.

Dr. Brian turned the screen towards you and smiled. You didn’t have the expertise to tell anything from the grey-black mass on the screen. It was somehow a bit sharper than the ultrasound images you’d seen online and in movies, but all meaning of the image on it was still lost on you.

“As for the pregnancy, everything looks good. The zygote has left the fallopian tubes and has become burrowed to the uterus. So, this is not an ectopic pregnancy, and I can say that with certainty. Here it is.”

Dr. Brian tapped the screen with the forefinger of her free hand. As of this moment, among the greyish image of the ultrasound, your baby looked like a black dot that could’ve been a smudge on the screen. Not exactly very maternal-instinct-evoking yet.

“Not very photogenic one, huh?” you huffed as you turned to look at Steve, and then you shut right up.

Because he was looking at the screen with an expression of bright, heartfelt wonder on his face. It wasn’t affection just yet, he didn’t look like he was going to cry, but it was… Like he’d lived in the city his entire life and then seen the starry desert sky for the first time.

Something very warm exploded in your chest as he pressed a peck onto the hand he was currently holding, not taking his eyes off the screen. Maybe this was all going to be okay.

You saw Steve’s expression change in a heartbeat, and snapped your eyes back to Dr. Brian, whose look had turned a lot more puzzled. She turned the screen back towards herself and looked at it, moving the probe.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

She shook her head, but the puzzled look didn’t leave her face. It was more of a curious one than a worried one, but Steve was nevertheless holding your hand a bit tighter.

“Huh,” Dr. Brian finally said. “Do you use a menstrual cup?”

You nodded, not certain what that had to do with anything.

“I also assume the strings of your IUD were cut so that they weren’t visible from the cervix,” she said.

“Yes, they were.”

“So, I have to ask, have you used a condom every time you have had sex?”

Your cheeks were getting a bit warmed up despite there being nothing that much embarrassing about this.

“Yeah, well. My social life hasn’t exactly been busy. I got the IUD a bit over three years ago because we decided to try again with my high school boyfriend, but that ended up lasting approximately two weeks, and we did use a condom. And that’s the last time I’ve had sex with someone else before the Saturday three weeks ago.”

Why were your cheeks burning this bad and why were you explaining your entire dating history to this doctor? Was Steve judging you for such a short fling? He didn’t seem like he was that but still. Though considering that the situation you were currently in had been the result of knowing each other for exactly one night, he was probably in no position to judge. But when the next words left Dr. Brian’s mouth, you were no longer thinking about any of that:

“I was just curious, because it’s likely you would’ve become pregnant, if you had had regular sex without a condom. Because the thing is, there’s no IUD in your uterus. It has probably become dislodged by the suction of the menstrual cup and gotten out. It’s not common, but it can happen, and the pain can be masked as a period cramp, especially if your period is a painful one.”

You blinked at her, not getting a word out as she took the probe out. Steve had fallen completely silent, too.

“So, congratulations, that’s not a thing you have to worry about. By the looks of it, I can only assume you’re going to have a normal pregnancy. But it’s a good thing you’ve been using other protection, because I can’t be sure when exactly the IUD has exited your body. It has probably been pretty soon after the insertion of it.”

This could’ve happened earlier. This could’ve happened with someone who was not Steve. You moved just fast enough to throw up on the floor next to Dr. Brian instead of on the bed.

Chapter Text

Steve was quiet for the rest of the appointment, deep in his thought. You weren’t – you babbled endless apologies to Dr. Brian, who seemed to think nothing of it as she walked you through the early pregnancy essentials – which seemed to boil down to ‘avoid these things and just chill and let Mother Nature do her job’ – and booked you an ultrasound appointment in three weeks. When she gave you her personal cell number and told you to call any time you needed, you wondered how much exactly Steve was paying her for this.

Well, that’d be a pretty short-lived joy. You’d just cancel the ultrasound later because you sure as hell couldn’t afford her. The thought of having to figure out your insurance made your head hurt.

Steve still wasn’t really speaking to you when he called the car – save for asking you if you were ready to head home or if you had errands to run – and he stayed quiet the entire car ride as he browsed his phone, the make and model of which you didn’t recognize. Every second of the silence made your pulse thunder in your ears a bit louder, and by the time you arrived, it was deafening, the panic sitting on your chest and turning heavier every moment. You had had no IUD. You had technically lied to him about it. And he’d had sex with you thinking you had an IUD, that you were careful, that you had it under control, and it had all been a lie.

The thought of this happening when you and Charlie had dabbled back in dating wasn’t exactly joyous, but at least Charlie would’ve known you had no ulterior motives.

The moment the apartment door closed behind you, you spun around to face Steve. You did it so fast that you hit your foot on the shield that was still leaning to your wall, sending it clattering to the floor. The sound of it made Steve turn his head to look at you and frown.

“Are you – “ he started but you were already talking.

“I didn’t know about it, I didn’t, Steve, I swear I didn’t! I never meant this to happen, and I understand if you want nothing to do with me after that because I should’ve been more careful about it but I swear I wasn’t trying to baby-trap you when I asked you to take me to bed!”

The words were falling out of you like they were riding a white-water river, and somehow, the tears were back too, falling down your cheeks. For a fleeting moment, you had thought this all might be okay. It would not. It could not, not after this. Not after he had witnessed the full extent of your stupidity, and especially not after the fact that this had to look like something else than stupidity to him.

“And the comment about me not being that stupid, oh God that must sound so bad now but I didn’t plan this, Steve, I didn’t, I swear to God and universe and whoever but I never meant to use you like that to get resources or ahead in life or anything and I swear I thought I was telling the truth about the IUD when we had sex and I didn’t mess with the –“

That’s when Steve managed to process everything you had said over the span of approximately eight seconds, caught on, and his thoughtful expression shifted into something else as he stepped closer to grab your upper arms.

“Hey, hey, hey!” he said.

You shut up but couldn’t bear to look at him, tears still falling out of your eyes even though they were squeezed shut. The entire week had been such a rollercoaster of emotions they were all just pouring out of you now, and he’d been this good to you up until this point, and now it would probably be all over because you had been so fucking stupid and careless.

“Hey, I need you to look at me.”

Steve’s voice was soft as his hands moved up to cup your face, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he gently coaxed you to turn your face to him.

“I’m sorry,” you said as you opened your eyes.

He wasn’t angry. Why wasn’t he angry? You were angry, so damn furious at yourself for somehow managing to rip out the exact thing that was supposed to be your insurance against this exact thing happening.

“There’s no need to be sorry for anything. You didn’t know.”

He was talking like he was trying to get a scared kitten to come out from under the porch.

“But –“

The forefinger of his right hand landed on your lips, pressing down with so little force that you could barely tell it was there. Steve’s other hand was still cradling your head, draped across the nape of your neck, and the thought of his hands having all that strength in them when he was touching you this gently was insane.

“Shh. My turn to talk, okay?”

You nodded, just a bit, and somehow, his hand being there was making all the tight-wound muscles of your neck relax, and when his forefinger left your lips to caress your cheek, the effect was there, too. Steve seemed to be satisfied with that and when you finally had the courage to meet his eyes, you were greeted with kindness. Maybe you could survive this discussion, too, because this man was proving to be something rather exceptional.

“I don’t think that. I would never think that,” Steve said. “And I don’t particularly care for the term baby-trap, because if a man gets himself into that situation with a lady, he’s old enough to understand what might happen as a result, and if he’s not ready to face solving that with her, he should probably think the whole thing over. It’s never going to be something he can decide for her, anyway.”

How was he saying all these things like they were common decency? You were smarter than to think they’d been common decency even during the time he’d grown up.

“Yeah, maybe, but you got into the situation thinking I have an IUD and it turns out I lied.”

“Key term here is ‘turns out’. Stating something you honestly think is true is not lying.”

Technically, he was right. You had had no idea this thing could even happen. As much as you tried to go over the time of getting the IUD, you couldn’t remember any situation in which you’d actually thought something was wrong. And you were pretty pedantic about things like these.

Lot of good that did to you, as it turned out.

“Just because you’re ready to have sex with someone doesn’t mean you’re ready to have a baby with them,” you said.

He sighed.

“Yeah, maybe. But you should be ready to navigate it with them. You should be ready to bear responsibility for your choices, whatever the right solution for you is at the time.”

You could understand that. Steve had one very solid spine on him, and maybe you could trust it to bear the weight of this, too. He shook his head a bit as he said:

“And why on Earth would you even do that? That makes no sense.”

“It makes sense. According to tabloids, people have tried to do it to Tony approximately 800 times before he got together with Pepper and stopped sleeping with people. People do shitty things.”

“Not all people. You’re not that kind of person,” he said.

Steve barely knew you, and still he said it like it was a fact.

“How can you even know that?”

He smiled a bit, almost teasingly now.

“My line of work comes with having to learn to read people. You’re not that kind of person, and no one can fake the expression you had on your face when she told you there was no IUD. The throwing up especially was an Oscar-worthy touch in your acting,” he grinned. “Besides, we used a condom in addition to the IUD, and that should’ve been enough by itself.”

“But –“

Steve wasn’t going to let you spiral further into this and scoffed.

“Please. There was no knowing we would even meet during the gala, let alone that we’d actually end up hitting off so well that we’d sleep together, because I don’t exactly have the same kind of reputation Tony did. I know you’re smarter than that. If that was something you would’ve planned, it would’ve been a better plan.”

“That’s a weird angle to take on this,” you said, but the smile was creeping back to your face. “Saying that if I decided to be an utter sociopath about getting ahead at life, I’d be better at it.”

“It’s the angle I know you’ll believe,” he smirked.

Alright, maybe he was decent at understanding how people worked. Maybe. Maybe against all expectations, you could survive this. At least you had stopped crying, even though your brain was still buzzing around the fact that you had dodged a bullet so many times only for this to finally catch up to you. The desolation that was called your dating life had, in the end, been kind of a blessing in disguise. Because if you had to face this with someone, the man currently looking at you like he was in absolute peace with this situation was probably a pretty good bet.

“I stand by my point that you’re something else,” you sighed.

He smiled just the tiniest bit at that.

“Common decency should not be something you can’t expect from people.”

“I have a feeling that your standards for ‘common decency’ might be a bit higher than other people’s,” you sighed. “You came to me even after I blew you off, and you arranged all this, and you just… Everything’s a mess but I just have this feeling it’s going to be okay, because you’re there. Because it’s you I’m facing this with.”

Oversharing? Probably. But by judging by the look in his eyes, he didn’t mind a bit. Distantly, you wondered if people actually ever told him how amazing he was. Because whatever he thought about his actions being common decency – and maybe they should’ve been, in a perfect world, in a world filled with good people like him – they certainly weren’t common in reality. Even now, he was trying to play it off. He landed his on top of yours, stroking the back of it with his thumb as he said:
“It’s nothing. It’s the least I could do after –“

Suddenly it seemed very important that you assured him how amazing he was. Very important.

“No, it’s not, Steve, it’s really not the least. It really isn’t. You could’ve just walked out. You could’ve just unleashed all the hell of the A.I. legal department on me to get out of this. I would’ve had no chance to fight all that.”

His jaw tensed like the thought of doing that was repulsive on a physical level.

“I would never do that.”

“No, you wouldn’t, but a lot of people would.”

The tears were coming back, you could feel it, the emotional turmoil of this entire night and situation pouring over you once again.

“I thought we already went over the fact that lot of people don’t know what they’re talking about,” Steve smiled. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not in the future. I’ve got your back. I’ll take care of you.”

With that, you just collapsed against him, pressing against the front of his coat, and wrapped your arms around him, suddenly realizing that your fingers had no chance of reaching to touch each other behind his back. That made a lot of thoughts cross your mind, none of which were appropriate for the situation. Steve’s arms closed around you, and you could feel the relieved breath he let out amongst your hair as he let his head drop down. Even under the soft wool of his coat, his muscles felt like rock, and he was a rock you could lean on. You were not alone with this, and being enclosed into his hug like this, his soothing scent around you, felt like he’d wrapped a warm coat around you again. But in a way that was not physical and would not leave when you finally managed to pull yourself away from this.

It took a long time but being inside in your winter coat and hugged by a furnace like Steve eventually reminded you that you really wanted a shower and you probably smelled like a bit like puke. Finally, you lifted your head to face him and took a step back.

“Do you want to stay the night?” you asked. “You don’t have – “

“Yes.”

He seemed to realize that he’d been a little too enthusiastic to answer that, and the faint redness on his cheeks made you grin a bit. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat.

“I mean, I just want to make sure you’re okay, I’m not expecting anything and – “

“Stand down, Captain. I’m starting to think I know you, and that’s not you. It’s okay. I’m going to take a shower so just make yourself at home, I guess.”

He nodded, smiling.

“I have a bug out bag with some essentials in the Quinjet that’s currently on the roof. I’ll go fetch that. Mind borrowing your keys, so I don’t have to interrupt your shower?”

You grinned a bit as you stepped out of his hug, noticing the way his hands glided over your body like he didn’t want to let go, and dug out your keys from the pocket of your trench coat.

“I thought you were capable of breaking the door down,” you joked.

Steve let out a chuckle.

“Oh, I am. But it’s not very polite to make that much noise in the stairwell.”

Taking out the two days old messy bun and washing your hair made you feel almost like a functional human again. Through the sound of your hair dryer, you heard Steve talking on the phone with someone but couldn’t make out the words, only the official sounding tone of it. Not wanting to intrude, you arranged your hair best you could manage and slipped into pajama bottoms and t-shirt. For a moment, you thought about applying makeup for some ridiculous reason but set the thought aside. It’s not like Steve hadn’t already seen you at your worst, and he was apparently not running for the hills. Quite the opposite, actually.

And it’s not like you were on a date, anyway. It’s not like you were dating. It’s not like you’d progressed to that point.

You hadn’t actually talked about that. You would have to talk about that, somewhere in the future, but for now, you didn’t want to rock the boat anymore. Steve had offered to marry you – that was a thought you probably had to chew a bit before you could fully swallow it – but that was probably more out of his honor than out of anything else. He had put his arm around your waist and pressed that kiss in your hair but that could just be him being there for you. Still. Something about the tone of his whisper didn’t match with Honor and Duty. But maybe you two had enough figuring out to do with the whole baby situation without mixing your feelings into this. Not tonight. Apparently, Steve Rogers had stared at the inside of your uterus on a screen before you’d had the infamous “What are we?” discussion, and that thought made a half-hysterical laugh escape you. What the hell were you even doing? Having a baby with a superhero you’d known for exactly one night, apparently. Could it be possible that you’d been replaced with a changeling without you yourself noticing it?

You had applied your skincare and almost stepped out of the door but came to a stop. The bottle of perfume you’d been wearing during the Gala night was sitting on the bathroom shelf and calling your name. It was your favorite one, the luxurious one that had definitely been a splurge on your tight budget, but the way the scent fit your skin had been just mesmerizing. But it was expensive, so you had saved it for special occasions. Well, maybe deciding to have a baby was one of those occasions.

It’s not like you didn’t understand the implications of applying parfum late at night after showering, after inviting Steve to stay the night – the specific parfum you’d been wearing the night you’d both been swept away by the magic of it all. It was for those implications exactly you sprayed it onto the pulse points of your neck and wrists. Nothing wrong with conducting an experiment. You were a scientist, after all. If it drew Steve in, it might be that he still harbored thoughts about you that weren’t purely dutiful.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Steve was kneeling in the bedroom doorway, a palm pressing down on the doorframe in front of him. Open on the floor next to him was a small toolbox, which wasn’t yours, so he must’ve brought it with him.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He shot you a smile and nodded towards the door. The lower hinge had been ripped off from the frame during that fateful night, and you couldn’t really have been bothered to do anything to it. Home renovations hadn’t exactly been a priority on your list over the last weeks.

“Fixing the hinge. The part to which it’s fixed is a bit broken, so the doorframe needs a couple of dowels and wood filler to help the hinge to stay in place when I install it back. I’m holding the dowels in place until the glue dries.”

“Man of your word,” you returned his smile. “You know, I loved those roses. I really did.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, glancing at you with softness in his eyes. “I saw the petals on your desk. That was pretty cute.”

Your cheeks started burning just a bit, but before you could say anything, his face turned a bit more worried as continued:

“I took the liberty of ordering us food. I would’ve cooked but your fridge is pretty empty. Look, I have to ask, the comment you made about not being able to afford a doctor and the state of your kitchen, are you… alright? You’re not on your last dollar because you haven’t sold the electronics, but is it heading that way?”

This one you had to thread carefully, because Steve had shown how ready he was to drop money on you, and you weren’t exactly sure how comfortable you were with it.

“My stipend includes full meal plan, so I eat like 99 percent of my food out,” you assured. “I’m well-fed, let me assure you. And I have a health insurance, just not the most extensive one, but I’m pretty sure it even includes an OB-GYN. Just because I couldn’t afford the doctor whose clinic looks like the East Coast old money just rolls in and out, it doesn’t mean I can’t afford a doctor. I’m not going to lie to you that I’m rolling in money, and my computer and other stuff were bought with the Jarvis prize money, but I’m doing okay. Can I help with that?”

You gestured towards the door, hoping your attempt at changing the topic wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

“No need to, but if you want to, you can sit on the floor with your back to the door, so I don’t have to move it back every five seconds when it moves,” Steve said, turning back to look at the state of the glue. “The upper hinge is probably a bit of a mess, too.”

You did just that, dropping down next to him and leaning to the door so that it stayed put against the wall.

The whiff of your perfume hit Steve in approximately one second, and his head perked up. For what felt like a long time but was probably closer to five seconds, he just stared at you, and it was impossible to decode his face. You met his gaze, your heart beating harder than was appropriate, and you were acutely aware of the exact circumstance that had gotten this door broken in the first place. Your lips fell open, just a bit, and his eyes drifted down to them like they had their own gravity field. Dryness in your mouth, pulse on your neck. Maybe, despite everything, he still thought – 

The doorbell rang, making you both jump, but Steve didn’t turn his face away from you. The smile spreading on his face was somehow boyish.

“Could you get that, please? I might… draw attention.”

You laughed at that and got up, stepping over his knees and arm to get to the door. He was still holding the structure down, but as you were climbing over him, he reached to his back pocket and took out his wallet with his free hand, awkwardly wresting out a twenty-dollar bill from it. He extended his hand to give it to you.

“Pay upon delivery?” you asked. “Old-fashioned of you. But hey, what did I expect.”

He shot you a look that told you he knew you were just teasing. And that maybe the teasing was good. Maybe it was something almost normal.

“Please. It went via my PayPal since I ordered through the app. That’s the tip.”

You looked at the bill between his fingers, noticing the size of his hands once again. Not appropriate for this situation. Definitely not. You desperately needed to focus.

“I can cover –“ you managed.

The doorbell rang again.

“That’s the tip,” Steve repeated, smiling. “Don’t keep them waiting.”

Well, you weren’t the one to stop anyone from giving underpaid people tips that were on the larger side. You grabbed the bill and rushed to the door to meet the delivery person, who was a young guy, probably a freshman making some extra bucks on the side.

“Hi, from Suzie’s, I have a delivery for Grant Kent. Am I…?”

“Yeah, you’re in the right place, sorry to keep you waiting. Thank you.”

You took the paper bag from his hand and gave him the bill. After exchanging goodbyes and thanks, you shut the door.

Steve had moved out of the bedroom doorway so that he hadn’t been visible, but his face peeked out as he heard the door shut and positioned himself back to the doorway, having held the dowels down the entire time. You rolled your eyes at him, and he grinned.

“’Grant Kent’. Are you kidding me?”

“Worked for Superman. I didn’t want them to know it was for me, because it might’ve raised some questions if the delivery address was the Stark Building. Might’ve given someone the wrong idea.”

You huffed.

“Yeah, because it’s not like you’re sleeping with college students and getting them pregnant, or anything.”

That got a laugh out of him.

Pregnant. That was the first time you’d actually said it out loud, and realizing that made your head swim. This was real. Everything about this. Even though the domestic intimacy you and Steve seemed to share, the almost unbelievable one, was there putting you at ease, it still made you bite your lip and breathe in. And Steve caught that, of course he did. He wanted to come to you, it was clear from the way he glanced at the doorframe he was still holding, but he couldn’t move just yet or the half-wet glue would make a mess of everything. So, he talked instead:

“Look, I’m really sorry for getting you into this situation. Or. I’m not sorry it was you, or I am about the fact that it was this unexpected –“

“Steve. Getting into this situation was a team effort. I was there. So stop saying that like… you’ve dishonored me,” you huffed, looking into his eyes. “It was a joke. I just… It keeps coming and going, the fact that this is happening.”

He nodded, hopingly letting the topic go. You made your way back to the doorway and climbed over him, balancing the paper bag as you did. When you settled down on the floor again and leaned your back to the door to keep it out of the way, Steve was looking at you expectantly. You took the hint and dug into the back, realizing how little you’d actually managed to eat over the last few days. Something in there was smelling mouth-watering and smokey. You dug out two large cardboard salad boxes, two water bottles, and two smoothies, one yellow and one purple. You were about to ask which ones were yours when you noticed that on the lid of one of the boxes someone who had a round, feminine handwriting had written: I hope you feel better, honey! XO. Steve caught you looking at that.

“That’s not me, but they must’ve caught on.”

“Caught on?” you frowned at him.

You threw his salad box lid open, settling it down on the floor, and pushed a wooden fork from the bag into his free hand before digging into your food. Steve smiled like he’d gotten caught and wasn’t sorry the slightest.

“Your Salmon Cesar salad. I called and made sure they’re fresh-made and that they use pasteurized eggs for the dressing. I asked them to switch some of the romaine for spinach because it’s a good source of folate and iron, among other things. And the smoothie has mango and ginger in it, helps with the nausea, since you threw up earlier.”

Overbearing? A bit. But at least right now, his words were wowing a safety net under you. You weren’t the only one thinking about things anymore. If you slipped, if you forgot something, he was there to remember it, to catch you when you fell. Right now, the thought of closing your eyes and leaning back and letting him catch you was delightful, slowly dripping into your every tight-wound muscle and nudging open the knots.

“Have you done this before?” you asked.

“Contrary to popular belief, I can use Google,” he said, digging into his own salad with his free hand as he continued to press the doorframe with the other.

You took a sip of the smoothie and almost moaned at the taste, the freshness and the hint of bite from the ginger immediately turning into a craving for more. The pieces were starting to fall into place.

“So, you were reading up on these things. That’s why you were so quiet. I thought you were worried about the fortune that visit must’ve cost you.”

You hadn’t meant to bring the topic up again, but you had a feeling that Steve wasn’t going to let you reimburse him on the food, either, and you knew that while Suzie’s was a takeaway place, it certainly wasn’t the cheapest one. This was turning into a pattern, so you needed to talk this through before it solidified. And if you were going to co-parent, the money aspect would need to be discussed. Steve didn’t seem to agree, judging by his words:

“It was not the money. Sorry, if I made you worry. You don’t have to think about money. I’ve got you covered.”

You sighed, showing a forkful of salad into your mouth, and washing it down with water to gain energy to keep this conversation going. Steve’s stubbornness was something you’d seen mentioned in articles and books about him, and clearly, they hadn’t exaggerated that any more than they had his goodness.

“Steve, I want to do my part in covering the costs,” you said. “It’s my responsibility, too.”

He glanced at you from under his brows, and the teasing gleam in his eyes made you think about something very different than budget discussions. That exact look had been in his eyes half the Gala night.

“Are you letting me do a part of your job?” he slyly asked, getting an eye roll and a huff for a response.

“You know that’s not possible.”

He nodded.

“Then you’re going to let me do the one thing I can do to make this easier for you. You can’t share your burdens, so I’m definitely not sharing my way easier part in this. I am bankrolling this. End of discussion.”

Hint of Captain in that voice, or maybe not just a hint. You took a sip of your smoothie via the straw, maintaining eye contact from under your lashes. But flirting wasn’t going to get him to see your point, clearly, because the sight of that only made him puff up a bit more, his chin lifting.

“It’s my responsibility to take care of you.”

Fucking testosterone. But the combination of his low, authoritative voice and the position of his jaw didn’t go unnoticed by your body. In your shaken state, the promise of protection just radiating off him was drawing you in like no tomorrow. You needed to focus, so you sighed, lowering your gaze down to your salad to stop staring at him and thinking about kissing your way along his jawline from his neck to his lips.

“I just… Don’t want you to get in trouble because of it. That bill would’ve been pretty high even without including the Louboutin’s I threw up on.”

“I won’t get in trouble,” Steve said.

The tone was a warning which you didn’t heed.

“Are you saying you have that kind of money to just throw to things?”

“This is pretty important thing. Look, I don’t really like talking about money. Always feels like flaunting. But you don’t need to be worried,” he said. “I assure you don’t. I promise I can provide for you and the baby.”

It’s not like you didn’t believe him when he said it like that, with that hint of a fire in his eyes. That didn’t mean you were having this, especially when he seemed to be making it a pride thing. You considered snapping at him, but that wouldn’t help you get anywhere. So, keeping your tone calm, you explained your point:

“Considering all the private things you’ve heard and seen today, I think we’re past that point. I think that’s a pretty big aspect of the whole situation, and that’s why we need to talk about it. I need to know where we stand, so I can plan accordingly.”

That seemed to finally get through Steve’s thick skull, and he sighed in resignation. The glue had finally dried enough so he could let go of the door, and he sat up and leaned his back on the doorframe behind him. His fingers tapped the salad box he had taken into his lap.

“Alright, I see your point. If you insist, my take-home is around six. And considering that my housing is free, I’m certainly alright, and will be, even after a couple of medical bills. In addition to that, there’s a nest egg I got from selling the place in Red Hook. I got it before the ice – they had turned it into a museum but gave it back to me when I returned. The prices of that area have changed, let me tell you.”

You frowned, searching his face. Alright, the Red Hook apartment had probably raked in seven figures, which would be a very decent amount of money to have in anywhere but New York. But the other numbers weren’t very reassuring.

“Six? Six thousand a month is something like 72 grand a year. In New York, even with your housing paid, that's not –“

“Not six thousand a month,” Steve said, and he was clearly uncomfortable uttering the next words. “Six hundred a year. That’s because of Tony’s stupid joke about the Original Six. Honestly, it’s probably his way of offloading the guilt from the weapon money.”

Six hundred a year. Six hundred thousand dollars a year. Your head was spinning – it was money you couldn’t imagine having, at least just yet. Alright, then, maybe it was true he could afford to pay for your healthcare, and you made a mental note that if Tony was paying that kind of salaries, maybe you’d need to readjust the timeline you’d planned for overtaking him on the Fortune 500. Otherwise, the topic seemed too tender to be subjected to teasing, so you just let it go.

“Okay. Thanks for trusting me with that information. I’ll stop worrying, then.”

Steve smiled, and there was a new warmth in that. Somehow, you’d blown through all the walls keeping you from intimacy in hours spent together. The gala night had been a magic of its own but tonight… It was different. The wild emotional turmoil, the fear, the way he’d pulled you to surface when you had been about to drown. Handling a crisis together had accelerated the closeness, so sitting on the floor eating salad and fixing a door didn’t feel like a first date, in the best way possible. Steve was honest, and he was straightforward to the point of being blunt sometimes, and that put you at ease in a way you’d never felt. You could ask, and he would tell you, and you wouldn’t have to second-guess if the answer was true. That wasn’t something you were used to. It seemed like you weren’t the only one getting comfortable – Steve was eating his salad like nothing was out of the ordinary, practically whistling.

“I the glue has finished drying, so I’ll eat this and then I’ll apply the wood filler. I checked the shade of it before I left last time, so it should be alright,” he chattered.

This guy. You smiled at him, shaking your head a bit. Of course he would do something like that.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Steve said, and it was easy to see that he really was.

You nodded. Nothing was off the table tonight, and after his honesty, you didn’t even really mind talking about this, too. Somehow, you knew that dipping into this topic wouldn’t ruin the overall atmosphere of the night.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I scared you. I just…”

You shook your head and sighed:

“I don’t even know.”

It was hard to even recall the last five days. You knew there was no other option than that you had done things, gone to class, eaten, showered, but the memory was blank. Everything in between doing the tests and calling Steve was a corrupted file.

“You were in shock,” Steve said. “It’s okay. But you need to promise me that…”

His eyes met yours, and you could see the hint of the pain he’d been in over the last five days, the anguish of thinking God knows what had happened you.

“Just promise me that you’ll tell me what it is you’re going through. If you need space, I’ll give it to you, but… Please, just don’t disappear on me.”

You nodded. It was easy to promise that when it was all he was asking in return. It was only fair; you were certain that if you had just sent him a message telling you didn’t want to see him again, he wouldn’t have ever bothered you ever again. It wasn’t the fact that he had thought you weren’t interested anymore that had caused such pain. It was the fact that he thought you weren’t safe, and that it was somehow his fault.

“You know what, Steve, somehow I’ve spent my whole life worrying that things won’t go according to my plans, and now that they’re definitely not going that way, it’s… It’s less bad than I imagined. It was just the initial shock of it.”

Even if this was just the quiet in the eye of the storm, a small pocket of time in which you could focus on fixing the door and drinking your delicious smoothie, you’d take it. You pushed a piece of hair away from your face and sighed. You needed to draft a plan, a lot of plans. Steve nodded in understanding.

“I think that’s pretty human.”

“Honestly, I still can’t understand how you’ve been so… at ease with everything. From the start, I mean.”

He shrugged as he finished the food, putting the container down to the other side of the doorway to throw it away when he’d get up. He grabbed the wood filler and a small spatula from the toolbox and continued working. Considering how he had been treating your attempts to partake the entire night, you resigned to your task of eating, working as a door stopper, and staring at his arms moving under the button down. No complaints. None at all. Steve didn’t look away from his work as he talked:

“I’ve kind of learned to roll with the punches, so to say. A lot of things in my life didn’t go like I thought they would. You learn to deal with the curveballs of life when you live a life like mine. And as far as curveballs go, I’m not sure I even consider this one of those. It’s unexpected, yeah, but… not negative. Not in the end. Settling down into family life was always something I intended to do, and even though it seems to be happening a bit unexpectedly, that’s not a bad thing.”

Always something I intended to do.

That place in Brooklyn he had gotten before the ice and then sold after. That had been meant to be…

In your eyes flashed a disturbingly vivid image of one perfectly manicured hand reaching up and breaching the soil on Peggy Carter’s grave.

It’s not like you didn’t know who she was. Rumor had it that they’d practically been in love by the time he had gone into ice. The thought of him mentioning the appeal of star-crossed lovers made the smoothie in your mouth taste bitter like burnt coffee. Maybe that was the life he could’ve had. Maybe that was the life he would’ve wanted. Really wanted, and not been okay with.

Dark thoughts bubbling into surface, your overwrought emotions swinging from one place to another.

By the time Steve had finished applying the wood filler, she had fully risen from her grave, floating above it with an ethereal glow on her. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a man you’d known for what boiled down to two nights, and a woman who had passed years ago, but here you were. You’d expected a vindictive ghost in your mind’s eye, but Peggy was smiling when she spoke:

“The Steve I wrote about would never view people as consolation prizes.”

You probably needed to include booking an appointment with a psychiatrist in your planning because clearly, talking inside your head with the ghost of an almost-ex of the father of your future child was an indication of losing it. Badly. Agreeing with said ghost even more so.

You followed Steve’s hand as he run a finger along the edges of the hinge that still hanging from the door, inspecting for damage on the hinge itself.

“Do you ever think about it? The life you would’ve had if you hadn’t gone into ice?”

He could clearly hear the question in between those ones – do you ever think about her – and turned to look at you so you could see his eyes.

“I’ve entertained the thought sometimes, especially back when I was in therapy after returning from the ice. But it’s… It’s something akin to how you think about what turns your life would’ve taken if you had made different choices. More curiosity than regret. Similar to thinking what would’ve happened if I’d never met Erskine and gotten the serum.”

There was something convincing about the way Steve didn’t try to say he’d never thought about it. He wasn’t lying; he had thought about it, had thought about it enough to make his peace with the thought, and that meant you could, too.

The ghost in your head tilted her head and smiled in a very I-told-you-so manner before vanishing into thin air. You nodded her a thank you as she went. You hoped she’d be happy for Steve, if she was truly looking at you from some afterlife.

“I’ve read her books. She held you in high regard.”

There was something wistful in Steve’s eyes.

“Maybe she was looking at it through rose-colored glasses. I was a major pain in her ass multiple times, I can assure you that,” Steve laughed. “But I’m grateful that she did, and I was inspired by her, too. And I’m glad she got to live that kind of life, to do all the things she did.”

Steve turned to read the instructions on the wood filler, telling you that it would take about thirty minutes to dry before he could sand it down. You looked at him sitting on his knees there in your doorway, looking like he had been photoshopped in. Your messy book-filled apartment, the takeaway boxes you’d both just emptied and the half-fixed door as his backdrop, he stood out like a Rembrandt painting on the wall of a fast food restaurant. The slacks accentuated his thighs when he was sitting like that, and as he straightened his back after inspecting the wood filler, his shirt was tight across his chest. That was the man doing all this for you, assuring you he’s got you over and over again and putting his money where his mouth was. You had to squeeze your hand into a fist not to touch him. Even with the ghost gone, there was a need, a primal one burrowing deep in your reptile brain, to reach over and to lay claim with your fingers. That part asked the question that was not a question:

“I’ve heard rumors that you still carry her picture in your compass.”

Steve looked at you and there was something in his eyes you couldn’t decode at all.

“Yeah, I did that for a long time. But it was there more to inspire. In what would Peggy do sort of way.”

You smiled at that. One could probably pick a worse role model in life. Definitely. It’s not like you hadn’t multiple times asked yourself the question “What would Tony Stark do?” and been thoroughly disappointed in the answers.

“But I took it out,” he finished, and you realized the tense he had used in the earlier sentences.

“Oh?”

Steve was looking at you for a moment, tense like he thought this was something that needed to be addressed carefully, and just like before, you saw him reach a resolution within himself. You tried to still your heart, but it was no use. The certainty on his face had to mean something, and your brain was kicking itself into overdrive trying to guess what it was as he backed away from you into the living room. He sat down, leaning backwards and supporting himself with his palms pressed against the carpet behind his back.

“I need to tell you something,” he said as he crossed one shin over the other to sit more comfortably.

Never a good sign. Never ever a good sign, especially not combined with backing away. For some reason, you needed to get out of the bedroom, too, and you awkwardly slid on the floor to get into the living room, settling to rest your back against the same doorframe he’d leaned on just a moment ago. The light on this side was brighter, lifting the highlights of his hair. You hugged your knees to you, too anxious to look at him and staring the rose petals on your desk instead.

“Now that we’re getting it all out in the open, it seems. So, about the fact that I was quiet in the car. I was… thinking.”

You waited, every breath you took feeling more and more shallow. He wasn’t far away from you; you could’ve leaned forward and touched his knee, but he had backed away and you would respect that. This was where he would say this was all too weird, you were too intrusive, something like that, the fact that you were pregnant was making him feel all weirded out. This was the part where he told you that the Gala night had been a mistake, the weird spell catching him off guard and making him do things he regretted, or that you weren’t all that awesome now that you had spent some time together. This was where he would walk out, or not out, because he’d never do that now, but he’d tell you it was just duty, and it was best that –

You snapped your eyes at him, deciding it was better that you told him all those things before he could beat you to it, and every bad thought in your head stopped spinning.

Because your hypothesis of how this was going to go was disproven.

The glow in Steve’s eyes was accentuated by the gleam of tears, but he was smiling softly. So softly. As he looked at you, he did it with the same expression he’d had when he had stared at the screen in Dr. Brian’s office. That gaze just about hypnotized you. When he finally found the words, his voice was choked:

“I was just… in awe about it all. How… how much you trust me, it’s… something. Even though this situation is so sudden, and we’ve known for such a short time, you want to do this with me, I… I’m at a loss of words. And I’ll… I promise I try to be worthy of all that trust. I’ll try to be whatever you need.”

You tried to swallow the bit in your throat, but it wasn’t moving anywhere. He drew a shaky breath and seemed to gain a bit more composure as he continued:

“I understand you probably need time to adjust to everything and I don’t want you to think you owe me anything, but… I want you to know that I took that picture out of my compass on Sunday three weeks ago.”

Sunday three weeks ago. The morning after of your Gala night, when he’d left to his mission. No. Couldn’t be. As much as you wanted it to be, it couldn’t be, not after all this. But Steve was still talking:

“Keeping it there didn’t feel appropriate after…”

He trailed off, glancing down. You were waiting, almost wanting to reach your hand over to touch him but resisting it. If you were wrong about what he was saying…  

He was kidding. He had to be kidding, and yet you knew he would never joke about something like this, no matter how much he might tease you. For a fleeting moment you thought he wouldn’t say the rest of the words, but then his eyes met yours again and all the shakiness in his demeanor had been replaced by absolute certainty.

“After falling for someone else. Falling pretty damn hard, that is. And nothing about that has changed this week, or tonight.”

Full stop. Every single neuron of yours was firing up as your conscious brain was trying to understand, but they had no chance of ever even making it out of the gates before the primal part of you had already understood that this man who was turning out to be everything you’d ever dreamed of was yours to take.

You moved towards Steve so fast it probably broke the sound barrier, but he was still faster as he threw his arms around you, snatching you from halfway and pulling you into his lap to face him, landing you astride in his lap as your hands wrapped behind his head. The kiss was all claim, all teeth, raw and tasting like all the emotion of tonight combined into one mixture revealing a rich note after note after note in a way that was both too much and too little and it had your pulse thundering in your ears. But Steve was the undertone of all of it as he pulled you against his chest with two palms spread on your back, leaning in and making you arch yourself in response. His hand ran down the curve of your back and wrapped around your low back as the other rose up to cradle the back of your neck, making sure you weren’t going absolutely anywhere.

Wanted. Protected. Cared for. All of the things Steve had made you feel tonight were pouring over you, your blood throbbing at the thought of him stating all those things in a way that was a bit more carnal than the others. When you whined into the kiss, sinking deeper into his lap, he reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and met your eyes.

“It’s not just about this, you know, right?” he asked.

“Yes. I know. I do, Steve, and it’s not,” you whispered. “But just right now… I think I need this. I think we both do.”

You rolled your hips against his, agonizingly slow, and he let his eyes fall closed. He was hard, he was so hard and there were so many clothes in between him and your throbbing core. His warm hands were gliding over your body, almost tentatively, like he was confirming you were actually there. The signals he was sending were messing with each other, the soft caress, the hardness pressing into you and the fact that he didn’t kiss you interfering until it was an incomprehensible mess.

“Unless it’s too weird for you, now? Because I’m – “ you started.

He shook his head before you even said it.

“It’s not that, it’s just...” he looked at you with a sheepish grin. “Amongst all this, I forgot to buy more protection, so unless you have… Then we don’t.”

You sighed. For fuck’s sake, it had slipped your mind, too. You chewed your bottom lip and the sight of his eyes darkening at that had your heart beat a bit faster. Well, you could always make an awkward convenience store run, but… You breathed in. Considering today, having this discussion didn’t even qualify as awkward.

“I got tested after we broke up with Charlie and since then it’s only been you. And I can’t exactly get any more pregnant.”

Steve chuckled at that, pressing his face into your neck and inhaling deep. You tried to get a breath in, but he was mouthing the skin over your pulse point, making it really hard to focus on his words:

“Well. I’m immune to anything humans can catch, so if you’re fine with it, so am I.”

“I am,” you whispered.

For two heartbeats, Steve was quiet, and then he spoke in a low whisper:

“Then I’m going to take you to bed, because the combined scent of your skin and this fucking perfume has starred in my dreams and has had me waking rock hard every single morning of the mission.”

That was your cue to just let go of everything, of your cares and worries and conscious thoughts, because he was already kissing you again and there was nothing tentative about his touch, now. His hands were hungry and turning more possessive every second they spent running over your body like he was memorizing it. Or maybe he had done that already, maybe he was playing by the memory he’d had in his head during the whole mission after last night. The idea of him dreaming of you, dreaming dirty dreams of you, had you on the verge of spontaneous combustion and you let yourself arch in his touch, way too eager already, but it had been so so long since he had touched you the last time and a part of you had missed it every single second. He wasn’t wasting any time either, pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra before throwing it to the floor, too. His hands ran over your breasts as his tongue ran over your lower lip, every breath of his a bit more ragged than the last one.

“Steve, please,” you whined into the kiss, opening the buttons of his shirt to feel his skin.

You wanted to feel him, feel him entirely all over you, covering you and protecting you and having you. Sensing your need, Steve slid a hand down your pants and bit down a curse as you pushed your hips forward to ride his fingers. A whimper fell from your lips as his finger sunk inside you.

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to make it to bed,” he breathed.

And with that, he spun you underneath him, and the pajama bottoms joined your other clothes on the floor.

Delicious contrast. The hardwood under you and the softness of his lips on yours. The heat of his body settling on yours, the cool floor. The almost clothed body of his, the naked one of yours. Your brain was moving from one sensation from other, already hazy, already riding the high that was Steve’s touch. You hadn’t thought it possible to crave another person like this, like the addiction existed on a physical level, but as he filled you, it was like getting a hit you hadn’t realized you had been itching for the entire time he had been gone.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Steve whispered.

The tenderness of that sentence and the steel-hard grip he had of your hip. The way everything inside you was calm and on fire at the same time. Feeling him inside you without anything in between seemed to heighten every sensation, every roll of his hips being answered by one of yours as you wrapped your legs around his waist; eager, wanting, soaking, insatiable. And Steve rejoiced that feeling dripping off you as he drove himself inside you again and again, every thrust making the need in him feel a bit more dire.

“Steve, I…”

The desperate whine of yours and the low whisper of his. The empty whiteness of a peak was already building inside you, and every torturously slow drag of his hips had you inching closer. And god were you chasing that now, god did you want that when he had you in his hands, he had you safe and sound in his arms. Safe and sound and crumbling already, falling to pieces under his kisses all over your body.

“Shh. I’ve got you. Let go,” Steve whispered.

You let yourself get drowned. The peak exploded over you, and as it did, your throbbing core did Steve in, too. One last stuttering movement of his hips as he buried himself deep inside you and came whispering your name into your neck.

Somehow, your blessedly empty head was able to comprehend that Steve rolled to lie on his side, pulling you by your hip to face him. His forefinger was drawing shapes onto the skin of your hip as he stared at you with a smile that lit his whole face up. God, he was gorgeous. Trying to get your muscles to work, you snuggled up to him and pressed a small kiss to his lips before meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” you breathed out.

“Hi,” he whispered. “I’ve missed those eyes, star-stuff.”

The nickname made your heart flutter, especially when he said it that way, in this situation. You smirked at him.

“I’ve missed you, too. As an entity.”

Steve grinned and pressed a kiss to your forehead as you giggled at your own joke. Something about his touch had you feeling weightless again, like you were back floating on the dancefloor in his arms. You shuffled to be able to rest your head on your arm and yawned with the weight of your every relaxed muscle.

“Trust me, I’ve missed the entirety of you, too,” Steve said.

“You smell so good. I don’t know what it is,” you muttered, eyes already closed.

Despite that, you could feel his gaze on you, and his finger was still drawing large, calming circles onto your skin. You wanted to stay here, right here, naked on the floor with him, for the rest of your life. He pressed his face into your hair and whispered:

“I’m glad I do.”

Your conscious was slipping, the emotional rollercoaster that had kept you going the entire week despite getting barely any sleep drained out of you with the orgasm and having Steve close.

“Thanks for being here with me tonight, Steve,” you mumbled into his chest, and another yawn almost made you dislocate your jaw.

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” he said. “That was a long three weeks, star-stuff. I kept thinking about you. Sam and Bucky dragged me to Hell and back for having such an obvious crush.”

“They’re just jealous.”

Your words were so blurred together that they were barely comprehensible. Steve smiled at your relaxed, sleep-drugged state, something warm glowing in his chest at the knowledge that his presence made you feel this much at ease.

“Yeah, maybe. I think you should head to bed, honey, before you fall asleep here.”

“I don’t want to move,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to him. “Here is just fine. With you.”

Steve resigned and wrapped his arm around you, keeping you close as you drifted into sleep. He certainly didn’t mind that, not when this exact thing had been on his mind ever since he’d forced himself to pull away from your sleeping body on the Sunday morning after the Gala, when he had risen to make coffee for you.

It didn’t take long for you to be fast asleep, and after Steve was sure you were, he hauled you up to his arms and carried you to bed, tucking you under the covers and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You didn’t even stir when he moved the tools to the side and pulled the door closed, as much as he could with the lower hinge still broken.

It would be okay. It would all be okay. He would do everything in his power to make sure of that.

Steve (Fri, 07:14 PM): RTF Team stand down, code All Dressed Up, Nowhere to Go. There will be no mission tonight. She's okay.

Bucky (Fri, 07:14 PM): Ok. Glad to hear. Keep me updated.

Steve (Fri, 11:28 PM): Hey, jerk, I’m going to need your help tomorrow afternoon so don’t make any plans.

Bucky (Fri, 11:29 PM): Glad to hear my wishes and scheduled appointments matter to you. What’s it about? A mission?

Steve (Fri, 11:29 PM): The most important mission of my life.

Bucky (Fri, 11:30 PM): You know, punk, you can just say it’s about your lady. No need to be so overdramatic about it, Romeo. I’m glad she’s okay, but you didn’t tell me what made her turn a cold shoulder?

Steve (Fri, 11:31 PM): Long story. Will explain tomorrow.

Bucky (Fri, 11:31 PM): Alright. Is it going to be hard? Dangerous? Should I bring a gun? A few guns?

Steve (Fri, 11:32 PM): It’s going to be very dangerous. We’re going shopping.

Chapter Text

It was the first good night’s sleep you had gotten since your period had decided to go missing in action, and as you stirred awake next to Steve, you actually felt like maybe you could do this. You had no memory of being transferred from the floor to the bed, but you could only assume it had been the man still fast asleep next to you. Steve looked peaceful as ever, eyes shut and face relaxed, his golden hair messy from sleep. The sheet covering him had dropped down to his hipbones, and you let your eyes feast on his naked upper body. All that muscle was borderline ridiculous. Seriously, you would need to start a fundraiser for that Erskine’s statue. You rose to sit on the bed, pressing a hand on your bare stomach out of some weird instinct, despite knowing you were far from being at the point of anything in there being able to actually recognize the gesture.

You were pregnant, very much without planning for it, and against all odds the feeling resting on the top of it was that you couldn’t realize how you had gotten so lucky. The almost too perfect man in your bed was somehow yours. The man you had known for three weeks, even less than that if you considered the fact that he’d been off the grid, had become your port in this storm and the object of your unwavering trust. All of this was so weird. And yet, you couldn’t help smiling.

Wanting to let Steve sleep, you resisted the urge to run your hand over his abs and turned away. Maybe you should order some breakfast delivered in. That’d be a good way to do a little something for Steve, and it came with the practical upside of not having to drag yourself into the cafeteria and face the attention that would come from doing so with one Captain America. You would probably need to get on top of grocery shopping, too, because if Steve was going to be staying over every now and then, it made sense to cook for you two and not order delivery every time you got hungry. The fact that he certainly made good money didn’t mean you should be irresponsible with it, especially now that…

Now that you were what? In the family way, most certainly, but how exactly was that going to work was still something you needed to discuss. You drew a breath, focusing on the feeling of air flowing though your nose bridge. You had almost nine months to figure that out. Steve wouldn’t let you fall. He wouldn’t.

Calming down, you dropped your feet onto the floor, intending to get on top of ordering that breakfast, when a gentle but firm arm wrapped around your waist from behind.

“Don’t even think about it,” Steve whispered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

He pulled you back into bed, and you let your head fall back onto the pillow as he shuffled to his side and leaned his head to elbow to watch your face. It took one look into his blue, sleepy eyes for you to get filled with love, and you couldn’t resist the urge to press your lips against his. You could feel him melting into a smile as he kissed you back, his right arm wrapping around your waist to lift you against him on the bed. You were grinning when you broke the kiss.

“Can I get up now?” you teased.

“Got somewhere to be?” Steve asked.

You shook your head, and he grinned.

“Then it’s going to be a no, star-stuff. We missed the first proper morning after because of my stupid mission, so we’re going to have it now,” he said and leaned in for another kiss.  

Steve nibbled your bottom lip, and suddenly you didn’t mind if he kept you in this bed for the rest of your life. His touch was gentle – this wasn’t about sex, this was about him getting to stay there with you. Steve confirmed your suspicions as he rolled back onto his back and pulled you with him, guiding you to rest against him. His arm was behind your back, fingers caressing your skin and you practically melted into that. God, he was so warm and smelled so good, and breakfast could definitely wait.

“So, about that date,” Steve said.

He had folded his other arm under his head so that he could easily look at you. You raised an expectant eyebrow, and he continued:

“I still very much plan to take you on a proper first date but how do you feel about it now? You’ve been through a lot over the last week and…  If we go out, we’re going to be stared at. I have no problem with that, but I just want to be sure you can handle that now. Or if you would prefer to do something else instead?”

The considerateness he put into everything. You smiled at him to put him at ease. He was Captain America, yes, and that meant that you would probably one of these days stare at your own pictures on the pages of a magazine.

“I… I don’t mind the fact that you’re a public figure. I’ve never been shy. But… Not today, okay? I’m still adjusting to this baby thing. I’d still like to spend time with you today, but not in public.”

He nodded, hand moving up to play with hair, and a pleased hum left your lips on its own accord.

“Alright. I just wanted to make sure. I have something in the NY I need to take care of today, but if you want, I can fly us both there and you can wait at the Tower while I run my errands. You can stay overnight, or not. Or I can go alone and come back in the evening. Up to you.”

You faked a sad face, throwing your best puppy eyes at him.

“Can’t you just stay here?” you suggested, shuffling from the crook of his arm to lean your head onto his chest. “We could order food in and see who has more obnoxious quotes to drop into the conversation. What’s so important in NY, anyway? What’s more important than me and our little not photogenic creation?”

Steve knew you were just teasing him, but still, his eyes snapped directly into yours, and his voice had the tone of a vow as he spoke:

“Nothing.”

Dear God.

He smiled at your wide-open eyes and coaxed you up to get your lips onto his. Happily, you obliged, letting your hands wander on his shoulders. You could feel the grin on his face.

“I’m sorry, star-stuff. But it’s classified. I promise I’ll be back in the evening if you don’t want to come with me.”

You had coursework to do and plans to draft, and the thought of meeting Steve’s family felt just a bit intimidating right now. It had all been so fast. You knew he would understand, and when you said it out loud, Steve just nodded.

“Well, I don’t mind keeping you just for myself for a little while longer,” he said.

Before you could answer, Steve rolled around, landing you back on your back underneath him. You caught a glimpse of the carefree grin on his face before he kissed you again, and this time his grip on your hips was just a bit more demanding.

“I could get groceries delivered here and we could cook and watch a movie in the evening, when I come back?” Steve said.

You wanted to resist his urge to buy food for you, but he was already kissing his way down your chest, shuffling among the tangled sheets to settle down on you. And he had slept naked, too, and the feeling of his bare body against yours was causing all the thoughts in your head scatter.

“Sounds like a – Steve.”

He glanced up with laughter in his eyes and released the gentle grip his mouth had of your nipple. One of his hands was sliding up your thigh, and you moved the leg to get him to nestle even closer.

“You keep that up and I’m not letting you go anywhere,” you muttered.

Steve just smiled, and the darkness in his eyes made a shiver run down your spine as his hand pushed your leg up and his lips started trailing down your body again. He spoke directly onto your skin, raising goosebumps in his wake.

“Oh, don’t worry, honey, I have no intention to go anywhere before I’ve taken you apart completely.”

You let your eyes fall closed and melted into his touch.

Steve was still smiling when he dropped his duffle bag onto the hallway floor at his floor in the Tower. Or, nowadays, it was more or less the RTF Floor, since their entire Rapid Task Force Team more or less resided here, too. As was evident from the voice coming from the kitchen:

“Well, there’s our Romeo.”

Natasha’s smirk was full of knowledge, as always. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Sam and Bucky, and all of them had an expectant look on their faces. Steve grinned as he poured himself a cup of coffee and took the remaining free seat next to Bucky.

“What is this, an intervention? And if any of you had ever picked up a book, you’d know that’s not a very happy love story. Books, you know? Those square things with paper in between covers? I know the concept must be hard to grasp but try combining all your three shared braincells.”

Sam flipped him off.

“Oh no, we’re just looking to hear all about it. The logistics department might’ve tipped us off that you’re flying in,” Natasha said, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “And keeping secrets is bad for teamwork, you know. Like you always say.”

Steve huffed.

“I’m glad she’s okay. We all are,” Sam said. “So, what happened?”

Steve took a sip from his coffee, enjoying keeping them guessing more than he probably should have. After he’d told them last night that there’d be no mission, they all knew everything was okay. Especially after he’d stayed the night. So, he could enjoy the moment.

“Judging by that grin, she didn’t run for the hills despite your chronic double-texting,” Bucky teased. “Spit it out, lover boy.”

Bucky punched Steve’s arm, but he still wasn’t saying anything. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Come on, man. And when are we going to get to meet her?" Sam asked.

"When I can stop being embarrassed of you. So, I'm estimating..." Steve tilted his head like deep in thought. "Right around when Hell freezes over."

The reaction of the table was overly exaggerated shock.

"Go fuck yourself, Rogers," Natasha said.

“You’re the one to speak about embarrassment after arriving to Quinjet wearing last night’s party clothes,” Bucky said.

“And spending the majority of said mission daydreaming about your lady,” Sam said.  

“Considering all your walk of shames,” Steve glanced at Sam and turned to Bucky, “and yours, in the late 1930s, I would kindly suggest that both of you pick a bit lower horse to sit on. Nat at least has some class.”

Steve leaned back and took another sip of coffee like he wasn’t in a rush at all, feeling their curious gazes on him. They were all still somewhat scandalized that Steve had fallen so fast and so hard, and to be honest, it had been quite a while since he had had something barely to himself, something that didn’t concern the Avengers business. But it was time to get it out in the open:

“She didn’t turn a cold shoulder because she was mad at me. She… had gotten some news that were quite a shock.”

“Is she okay?” Natasha immediately asked, her face softer again despite all the teasing.

“Yeah. She will be. It’ll take a bit of adjusting for both of us, but it’ll all be okay. It wasn’t bad news, after all. Just big. Or small, as of this moment.”

Steve reached for his shirt pocket, but Natasha had already figured it out – he could see it from her eyebrows shooting up and her eyes opening wide. But she also wasn’t going to steal the moment from Steve, so she waited, and Steve shot her a thankful look.

Steve set the small, square photograph print on the table. Even though there was no way to tell the black dot inside the red circle on the print was a baby, the gray and black sector shape image was definitely recognizable. Sam frowned as he looked at it and said:

“That looks like those pictures my sister showed us when she was – “

Both Sam’s and Bucky’s eyes snapped at Steve, who just nodded, and there was that little something stuck in his throat again.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “That’s happening. It… It wasn’t exactly planned but it’s happening, and I think we’re going to be okay.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Sam was the first to speak:

“Oh, wow. You’re going to be a father.”

Steve nodded, lowering his gaze a bit, and breathing out. Father. The thought was still something he couldn’t believe was actually real. That the indeed not very photogenic black dot on Dr. Brian’s screen was going to become a baby during the upcoming months. Natasha reached her hand over the dining table they were all sitting at and squeezed his arm.

“How do you feel about it?”

Steve met her eyes with his and smiled when he saw that she already knew that answer, too. Still, he said it aloud:

“Happy.”

Bucky was definitely trying to look like there weren’t tears in his eyes. He gave Steve a couple of unnecessarily tough-guyish pats on the back.

“I’m happy for you, too. I know this is a big deal for you.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder in response, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes, too.

“Congratulations, buddy,” Sam said, smiling. “It suits you.”

“And we’ll be here for you, too,” Natasha said.

Steve nodded, squeezing her hand on top of his, and that something in his throat grew in size.

“Yeah, I know. I’m lucky to have you guys watch my six. Look, I’m probably going to spend quite a lot of time in Boston over the next few months as we figure all this out. I’ll be there for the VIP missions and for everything else as much as I can, but I think she needs me now more than you do.”

Bucky grinned.

“Yeah, no worries, we’ll just run an ad in the Times that we’re looking to hire a reckless dumbass, and in the meantime, we can pick up your slack. You heading back to Boston tonight?”

Steve nodded.

“I mostly came here to grab some stuff, and then I’ll go back. She’s… adjusting, like I said. I want to be there for her.”

Bucky shot a curious look, but Steve shook his head. Not yet. That he would share with everyone only after he’d shared the moment with you, first. The thought made him smile. It’d be okay, and he would make sure that you knew he was in it for real, that you knew where you stood and that you wouldn’t need to worry.

“I have to steal Bucky for a moment,” Steve grinned at Natasha. “I’m sorry. I know he hasn’t been home that long.”

“It’ll be fine,” she smiled. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“They? Do something stupid? Never,” Sam said as he picked up the photograph and examined it. “Unfortunately, little fella seems to take after their father. Let’s hope they’ll grow out of it.”

It was Steve’s turn to flip him off.

“Oh my gosh, Steve, this is so sudden!”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that joke isn’t any funnier now than it was the first sixteen times. What do you think?”

Bucky took the ring from Steve’s hand and lifted it up to examine it under the bright lights of the jewelry boutique. The minute they had stepped through the door, an eager clerk had guided them into a private showroom full of tasteful marble and antique-looking furniture. Normally, any kind of special treatment made Steve feel a bit awkward, but today he welcomed it – after all, the private showroom meant that they’d be away from the large windows of the store, and the peering eyes that might be on the street outside.

Bucky was on his fourth cappuccino and fifth croissant, but Steve’s glass was sitting barely touched on the side table. He stood in front of a solid marble counter on which the clerk had set down the display boxes he kept carrying back and forth from the main area of the store. Steve had stared at so many rings that he saw sparkles when he closed his eyes.

“Well?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed.

“Looks like a ring. Maybe you should’ve taken Nat with you instead?”

Steve chuckled.

“You let her know that you think that just because she’s a woman, she has an eye for engagement rings, and I have to put that job advertisement on Times. And write you an obituary.”

Steve took the ring back and placed it back onto the display box. It was a very beautiful, classic three-stone setting in platinum, with a 2.5-carat center stone. It would timeless and fit it with almost any outfit.

But he’d seen your dress. He’d remember the glow of the star chart on it for the rest of his life, the way it had sparkled when he’d spun you in his arms. He was going to get you a statement that’d go with a dress like that. He was going to get you something special.

“No, it’s not because Nat is a woman, it’s because she has an impeccable taste in jewelry. I can only tell you that it looks like a ring. Like the previous five hundred you’ve shown me.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but Bucky wasn’t exactly wrong. The boutique was one of the top rated in the New York for engagement rings, and on their website, they had boasted about frequently receiving international shoppers who flew in just for them. Somehow, that had gotten Steve to expect something… more. The diamonds were of excellent quality and came with some impressive sustainability certificates, but the overall design of the rings was very… unimaginative, erring on the safe side. And he wouldn’t show up with just any ring.

Steve picked up another ring with just one large blue princess-cut sapphire on it and an eternity band of small diamonds running around the band itself. Beautiful. Classic. Not quite it. While the roses had been a classic, too, and you had liked it, this was different. This was something you would wear on your finger every day for the rest of your life.

“Why didn’t you tell them, though?” Bucky asked.

“Four’s a crowd,” Steve said. “I can barely take your stupidity and focus on this at the same time. And… Somehow, it feels right? Not sharing this with anyone before I share it with her.”

“Glad to know I’m not someone.”

Bucky shook his head. Steve tilted the ring in his hand, examining it under the lights. A blue stone was perhaps a bit too… in the face, considering his colors, despite the sapphire reflecting light very beautifully.

“You’re here because we made that pact back in 1935. If either one of us ever needs to do the right thing for a girl, we have each other’s backs, remember” Steve smiled. “Though I suspect that pact might’ve been a bit one-sided back then. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t find yourself in that situation. Remember Frank and Virginia? I ran into their grandkid last year. She spoke so highly of their love, despite the circumstances under which they got married.”

Bucky grinned.

“Yeah. They were the first ones we knew that went through that ordeal, weren’t they? But for me, it wasn’t meant to be, I guess. My old man would’ve nailed me to a wall, if I had gotten someone pregnant, even more so if I hadn’t married her. ‘I didn’t raise a damn spineless wimp’, he always used to say when I was going out. ‘If you knock someone up, you better marry her or you got another thing coming.’”

Steve chuckled at the imitation of Mr. Barnes’ cranky voice, looking almost wistful for a second.

“My mother phrased it a bit differently. Something along the lines of Steve, I know you’ve grown to be an honorable man, so if something should happen with a lady, I trust that you’ll make an honest woman out of her.”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s shoulder, leaving behind a pile of croissant crumbles, which Steve wiped off from his shirt.

“What lady that might’ve been? Your imaginary one?”

Steve scoffed.

“Fuck off, Bucky. But yeah, she might’ve been a bit… optimistic about my dating life back then.”

Steve returned the sapphire ring back to the case, finally deciding against a colorful stone altogether. It might clash with some colors you liked to wear, and besides, a white diamond had the appeal of a classic. He wanted a classic, but just not the boring kind. Timeless but unique.

“But what can I say. Some things are worth the wait; I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiled.

Steve closed the jewelry box and searched for the clerk. The clerk was a man in his sixties, probably one of the senior employees of the store, and his expression had given away absolutely nothing when Steve had told him that he was shopping for an engagement ring. The only thing he had asked was whether he would like to look at ladies’ or gentlemen’s rings or perhaps the unisex ones. Currently, he was showing the highly honed customer service skill of fading into the background as Steve and Bucky talked, while still being ready to be of assistance. The moment Steve turned his eyes at him, he stepped closer, and Steve reminded himself to leave a particularly proper tip.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?”

“Everything you’ve showed me has been very beautiful, but I haven’t seen something that really speaks to me,” Steve said.

“Of course, Mr. Rogers. I understand. When you find the one, you know,” the clerk said. “Is there anything particular in your mind you might be looking for?”

Steve glanced over at the other rings on the counter in their respective display boxes. Nothing caught his eye.

“Just… something unique. Something that would really fit her personality. Timeless but unique. I know that’s a lot to ask.”

The clerk smiled with warmth that wasn’t just customer service.

“Not at all, Mr. Rogers. We’re here to help you find just the right one. Let me take these away and see if I can find something more interesting for you.”

The clerk vanished back into the main part of the store with the boxes and Steve sat down on a divan, taking a sip out of his latte, the ice of which had melted down. His fingers tapped the glass, and Bucky sighed.

“You know, it’s an option that you let her pick the ring herself after you propose.”

Steve shook his head.

“No, it’s not. I want her to know I’m serious about this, that I’ve put some thought to it. That this isn’t just something I’m doing because I feel like I have to. I need her to know that. I need to do this just right.”

Bucky stared at his friend for a moment, and his grin widened. Steve glanced back at him from under his brows.

“What?”

“You’re smitten, aren’t you? She’s really got you.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile as Bucky spread strawberry jam on yet another croissant.

“Yeah, I think I am. Yeah, she has. I’m not doing this just to do the right thing. I’m doing this for her. I don’t want her to have to worry about anything, least of all my commitment to this.”

Bucky stuffed the croissant into his mouth, and Steve was just about to make a snarky comment about how dealing with him had essentially prepped him for parenthood, when the clerk came back. This time, he was bearing only one display box, a closed wooden one about the size of a folded magazine. The previous ones had been classic white satin and blue velvet, with rows of rings sitting next to each other. The clerk smiled as he set the box down.

“I think you might find these interesting, Mr. Rogers. They’re from a smaller, up-and-coming jewelry artist who has her studio right here in SoHo. Her style has been described as a modern take on art deco.”

Steve nodded as he stepped closer to the counter. The clerk opened the box to show him the rings, and immediately, Steve knew he had been right.

“Oh wow,” Bucky said from behind Steve.

The rings were glittering like a sky full of stars, the cuts of the diamonds as impeccable as everything Steve had seen today, but still, every single one of the fifteen rings in the box was an eye-catcher.

“She only does one of each, giving every single one a name, and never reuses her designs. So, your lucky lady will have a piece of art on her finger. This is her latest collection, and it arrived just this morning. You’re the first one to take a look at these.”

Steve let his gaze roam over the rings, trying to shut out the overall dazzling impression of them out and focus on every single one individually.

His eyes came to a stop. The ring in the middle of the box, positioned like the crown jewel of the collection, was a shining star.

Steve reached his hand to gently lift it up from the pillow. The clerk smiled.

“Ah, the Stardust. A 2.75-carat flawless white diamond with an oval cut as the center stone, set in platinum, with a starburst halo of smaller white diamonds of various sizes, topped off with an eternity band. Certainly, a statement if I may say so, Sir.”

The oval center stone was breathtaking by itself, but what had caught Steve’s eye was the starburst halo of it. At the top and the bottom of the center stone, as well as on both sides where the band met the center stone, were four waterdrop-shaped diamonds. The pointed ends of them, together with the smaller diamonds set in between them, created something resembling a compass star to surround the ring. The small, dainty diamonds run along the whole band of the ring, around the whole finger. Eternity bands were said to symbolize love that never ended, and the thought made Steve smile.

The ring seemed to generate its own light, just like a real star, glittering in the bright lights of the boutique. It was absolutely brilliant, and it was just right.

“That’s the one, isn’t it?” Bucky said.

Steve’s smile lit up his whole face.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Chapter Text

When the doorbell rang, you felt an unwarranted flip in your stomach. Feeling nervous about Steve after all you’d been through yesterday – was it just yesterday? – was downright ridiculous, and yet it was there. You glanced at your appearance in the mirror for one last time, adjusted the tulle underskirt fluffing up your tea-length skirt and fixed the collar of your blouse. Had you overdressed? It was too late now, anyway, so you just checked the firetruck red lipstick hadn’t gotten stuck to your teeth and rushed to the door.

“Hi,” you said.

“Wow,” Steve said and then shook his head a bit. “I mean. Hi. And wow. You look great.”

“Come on in before someone sees you with roses behind my door,” you smiled, stepping aside to let him in.

He did so but was still staring. Blue certainly was your color, and you were well aware how beautifully this particular blouse fit you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered. “I had some cheesy line about these flowers and your beauty but… I’m sorry, I guess I forgot it, seeing you like that.”

You bit your lip, glancing at him from behind your eyelashes. Out of all people you’d ever met, Steve felt like someone you could actually read, and he wasn’t faking it. He was impressed by what he saw.

“That’s a better line,” you smiled. “But the flowers? What’s the occasion?”

There was something in his eyes for a passing second, and then he grinned:

“Do I need an occasion to buy you flowers? You seemed to appreciate the previous ones.”

Steve pushed the bouquet of red roses – of course they were – into your arms without further explanation and kissed your forehead before taking off his coat. Navy blazer, gray dress pants, crisp white shirt. You allowed yourself to stare at him for the four steps it needed him to reach your kitchenette.

“I didn’t take you for a blazer guy, especially for a cooking and movie night at home. I guess I feel underdressed now. Did I miss a memo of second date dress etiquette?”

Steve stopped for a moment, glancing your direction with a questioning look in his eyes.

“Second date?”

“Yeah? Or third, if you count the Gala night, I guess. Or… Yeah, I guess we just talked about spending time together so… this is not a date?” you guessed, fumbling with the paper that was wrapped around the roses.

Great. Mental note: work on people skills. Though that one had been there since kindergarten and a lot of good it had done, apparently. But Steve still smiled at you.

“Does this mean you consider our first date to be fixing a door together and eating delivery salad on the floor?”

You raised your eyebrows.

“We did other things on the floor than eat salad. More datey ones. And… As far as first dates go, that was great.”

“No, it wasn’t. First date, I mean. It was great. But it shouldn’t count for a date,” Steve said, his face heating up a bit at his slip-up.

You smiled a bit, trying your best to put him at ease. You understood what he meant, and you definitely weren’t the one to blame anyone for saying things that might come across wrong.

“Door fixing wasn’t bad, though. Honestly. Best date I’ve ever had,” you smiled, realizing the implications laid bare only after you’d already said it.

Luckily, the roses gave you an excuse to do something other than watch his reaction. You stepped into the kitchenette and opened the cabinet door, looking for the Ikea vase you had for flowers. You’d put it on the upper shelf again, climbing on a bar stool to save space for more frequently used things on lower level. After setting the roses on your counter, you tried in vain to reach for the vase, feeling Steve’s gaze in your back.

“I’m honestly concerned for your previous experiences if that was a proper date to you,” he said.

It was partially joke, and partially it wasn’t.

“Well, there might be a reason I don’t date that much,” you grimaced, tilting your head. “Didn’t date that much, I guess? I mean I don’t have anything bad to say about Charlie, he was always very kind to me but we just… when I got into MIT and he got into UCLA, we… kind of just shook hands and wished each other a happy life and didn’t even consider anything else. We tried again three years ago when he was in Boston for a short time but… I’m sorry, I’m babbling again, and this probably isn’t an appropriate topic.”

You had crossed so many thresholds with this man almost entirely without awkwardness, and now you were feeling like this, despite this one being the most normal of your interactions so far. Cooking and movie. Not that far off from the Netflix and Chill thing you had heard people mention. Though that one seemed to be just a code for hooking up.

“It’s okay. You’re not babbling. Or if you are, I don’t mind,” Steve smiled, opening the fridge door and catching a bell pepper that fell out of the stuffed to the brim appliance as he did. “I’m glad you had an amiable separation. I’d hate to know someone had hurt you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. We just weren’t the ones for each other, I guess, if such things even exist. And after him and before you, my experiences haven’t been… great,” you said, slipping past him to get a bar stool to stand on to get the vase down. “My last date before floor salad was listening to a guy blab about his research for two hours and then getting annoyed at me because engineering wasn’t feminine enough for him. I met him at a MIT mixer, so I really don’t know what he expected.”

Steve made an amused sound and grinned.

“Before me, huh?”

You avoided his gaze. He was about to say something, probably throw a teasing comment, but then he realized you were dragging the bar stool to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting down a vase for your lovely no occasion roses,” you said. “Which I don’t think I thanked you for. Thank you. They’re very pretty.”

You pushed the chair in front of the cabinet, and Steve shook his head. You stopped in front of him, glancing up into his disapproving eyes.

“No, you’re not. Do you know how many people get themselves killed that way?” he said.

You huffed. This was toeing the line between adorable and ridiculous.

“Well, I don’t, but I’m guessing you do. Close the fridge door if you’re not getting anything out. If you can, that is. Since someone ordered more groceries than I’ve seen over the course of my entire life. Who's going to eat all this food?”

Steve closed the fridge door despite all the food almost falling out of it. And your pantry was stocked, too. Fruits, vegetables, wholegrain bread, pre-natal vitamins, bottled water, juice, everything. You’d imagined Steve would buy a bag of food, perhaps – something that’d make you two a dinner, and then behind your door had been four delivery people with arms full of grocery bags.

“Well, I have a pretty impressive appetite. But yeah, I may have a skewed perception of grocery shopping after the Tower.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, trying to distract him from your sly movement towards the bar stool and your trophy of a vase.

“You do your own shopping?”

He landed a hand on the bar stool, preventing you from getting up on it, all the while not taking his eyes off yours. His smile was a sight, and this was clearly turning into some odd form of flirting. Steve seemed to swell under your gaze, facing your challenge and puffing up to show you that he could and would protect you, in addition to other things, from preventable household injuries.

“Well, not exactly. We tried. After it was Thor's week and there were six whole boars hanging from the kitchen ceiling, Tony just delegated it and now we only send the money and shopping lists over. And the personal shoppers strike off any boars. But there’s a lot of food always around.”

You laughed at the image, grabbing Steve’s hand from the bar stool and lifting it up to give his knuckles a kiss. He looked at you as you kept his hand in yours, running your fingers over the calloused skin of his palms left behind by his shield. You weren’t the only thing he had been protecting, certainly, but this was different, this was clearly pure instinct. The thought made you hum inside.

“Speaking of personal shoppers, the grocery delivery people were, apparently, 'following some very firm instructions of not letting me lift a finger', so I'm guessing that's going to be a thing, too?”

Again, that same face than with the salad: Steve knew he’d gotten caught and wasn’t sorry the slightest. You ran your lips over the edge of his palm and glanced into his eyes, smirking:

“I was partially afraid that you'd show up with a freshly hunted mammoth or something, with your provider instincts kicking up this much.”

Steve gently wrestled his hand back from you and placed his hands around the small of your back, pulling you close to him. His eyes were practically sparkling when your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Would've probably resulted in me getting banned from the Natural History Museum, and what kind of first date we'd have, then?”

“Didn’t we just go over this?” you laughed.

Another forehead kiss, but when he looked at you, something in his eyes was so soft that your heart skipped a beat. A part of you wanted to tease him about this, about being so worried about what was proper and what was not, but this was clearly important to him. And one didn’t make fun of truly important things, no matter the amount of teasing.

“But… I know a lot of things are happening a bit… out of the traditional order, but it would mean a lot to me if… If you could let me take you onto a proper first date. The whole nine yards. I had plans for us, you know. For when I came back.”

You ruffled the back of his hair, smiling. Alright. You could give this one to him, even though you were fine without it.

“Well, I hate good plans going to waste, so. Tonight’s just cooking and movie, then? And floor salad was just getting some things done together? First is yet to come,” you said.

Steve nodded.

“A lot of things are yet to come, and I have a feeling we’re going to be fine.”

It’s not like you didn’t agree.

It’s not like you didn’t realize that you had actually used the big L-word in your thoughts today. Steve was making you feel more loved than you had felt during the course of your entire miserable dating history. It was fast, it was crazy fast, absolutely unhinged, and yet still something in you wanted to close your eyes and let the stream take you where it pleased.

You needed to explore the real meanings of that thought. But right now, it was enough that Steve was standing by your side and helping you get through this. You could take a side portion of overbearing with it.

“Here’s to hoping. But I still need to get that vase down,” you said. “So, are you going to let go?”

“I was thinking I’ll help you get it down.”

“Not even you are that tall – STEVE!”

The speed of his caught you off guard, causing a mixture of scream and laughter to erupt from your throat. Over the span of approximately three seconds, he’d spun you around by your waist, crouched down behind you and gently pulled you back so that you’d lost your balance. Leaving you no other option than to fall to sit on his left shoulder, and then he had stood up, steadying you with his left hand on your waist and right one grabbing your thigh.

Stood up like there was no weight on him at all.

You thanked whoever had designed the Stark building for the high ceiling. Because you were sitting on his shoulder and partially on his arm, and you never wanted to get down, so getting a concussion would’ve really killed the mood. You glanced at Steve's upturned, smirking face and giggled.

“Think you can reach it now?” he said.

His arm didn’t even shake. Why would it have, considering the man was capable of stopping a helicopter by holding on to a railing? Still, the ease with which he handled you did a myriad of things to you, and he certainly wasn’t unaware of it, based on the cocky smile on him.

“I’m starting to think you just wanted to show off, Captain. Or an excuse to get handsy,” you muttered.

“Both?” he said. “Come on, gorgeous, get the vase and then we can start cooking.”

You grabbed the vase, now conveniently at the level of your hands, and handed it over to Steve, who put it on the counter before returning his hand to your thigh. He moved his arm so that you faced him when he guided you to slide down, slowing you down the entire way until your toes touched the floor.

“So, getting up on a chair is too dangerous for you but hauling me up in the air isn’t?” you laughed, trying to ignore the heat on your cheeks and the way your blood was coursing in your veins, now.

“I won’t let you fall,” Steve said. “I never will.”

With your meal pass paid and cafeteria food ranging from fulfilling your caloric needs to adequate to excellent, it had been a while since you had cooked in your apartment. You were certainly out of practice, and Steve was, in a way that seemed to be true to him and something you’d already grown to almost expect from him, yet again pulling all the stops. You had thought you’d cook something simple, tacos or something similar, but Steve had had other ideas, and since he’d already gone through the trouble of getting the ingredients, you had decided you might as well roll with it. A great decision, because the smell of seasoned roasting bell peppers and broccoli coming from the oven was truly delicious, and Steve stirring caramelized onion sauce for the steaks with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, blazer discarded, was something you could have watched for hours.

He had made polite conversation during cooking, telling you about his childhood in the 1930s and how scarce food had been every now and then, so he had wanted to learn to use it the best he could, and how, after the ice, cooking was one of the things that had still stayed the same and there was never a shortage of hungry people in the Avengers Tower. All of that had made him a great cook: it was clear from his certain movements around the kitchen, even an unfamiliar one that didn’t have that much equipment in it.

Steve pushed the sauce on the side of the burner to draw a bit and started looking for a frying pan, frowning when he found it.

“What?”

“I’m bringing my own next time,” he teased. “Non-sticks are certainly not the best for steaks.”

You rolled your eyes and poked him in the side, getting a deep hearty laugh out of him.

“Look at Mr. Fancy Frying Pan Enthusiast here. The non-stick has been perfectly fine for my fried ramen, since all my exquisite pans are still at the summer villa with my better porcelain. Didn’t I lament the hardships of finding good help last time we talked about kitchenware?” you teased. “Deal with it, Captain.”

“I shall, ma’am. How do you prefer your steak?”

You smiled.

“I prefer rare but I think we might be in the realm of well-done now,” you sighed.

You could see from Steve’s face that he made a mental note about that; both of the things. Apparently, he hadn’t either known or remembered that you couldn’t eat bloody meat anymore, and somehow… That was calming. That he didn’t think about your… situation all the time. That you could be something else, too. Maybe.

“One well-done coming up, then,” Steve said.

“I’m going to miss rare,” you muttered. “And coffee. And sushi.”

Before Steve had the chance to answer, you turned around and returned your attention back to the mashed potatoes you had had going on in a pot on the counter. It did seem like you were seriously out of practice, as was made apparent by the normally delicious combination of boiled potatoes, butter and whole milk having turned into something that resembled wallpaper adhesive.

“I don’t think the mashed potatoes are going to make it, sweetheart,” you grimaced, lifting some of the… mixture with the potato masher. “I don’t know what happened. I’m not usually this hopeless in the kitchen.”

Steve had turned around and was staring at you. For a second, you thought he was mad at you for ruining a part of the dinner, and then you realized the term of endearment that had fallen out of your mouth completely by its own accord and flushed.

“Too much?” you asked. “Sorry, I just –“

“No. Not too much,” he smiled. “If you’re comfortable with it, I am, too.”

Two days. Two days bordering on three. You had to be out of your mind, completely hormonal or all of the above. Steve must’ve noticed the abashed look on your face because he quickly changed the topic:

“There’s plenty of the vegetables, so we don’t necessarily need the mashed potatoes. Do you mind setting the table while I wrap this up?”

You gratefully took the excuse to hide the redness of your cheeks.

Steve had been right: it would be a full meal even without the mashed potatoes. You toasted with glasses of sparkling water over the tiny kitchen island serving double duty as a kitchen table and dug in. The food was phenomenal, the sauce complimenting the steak so well that you could almost forget it was a well-done one.

“Steve, this is great. You’re a really good cook.”

“I try my best,” he shrugged it off. “Bucky and Sam have grown too comfortable with my cooking. They keep criticizing the way I chiffonade. And that’s a lot coming from a couple of guys who need five-step instructions to boil water.”

You laughed, stealing a glance of his easy face and then the vase of roses you’d set down on the island next to the setting. The pile of books they’d replaced was sitting on the floor, now. You needed more bookshelves. And space. And in approximately nine months, you’d need another bedroom. You drew a breath. There was plenty of time to figure it out. There was.

“I don’t even know what that means,” you confessed.

“It’s a cutting technique. Very thin, identical strips is the end goal. Apparently mine are not identical enough for their ungrateful asses.”

You laughed. Steve had put the blazer back on, and you couldn’t help stealing glances at his wide shoulders in that. Was this how dating was supposed to feel? Though dating might be a heavy word to use at this point.

When Steve lifted his gaze, there was something serious in it, and you tried your best to not look like you’d gotten caught staring and focus on his words.

“I talked with my asset manager, and he said that the housing market is in a pretty good place right now,” Steve said. “It might be a good thing to move pretty fast and put it on rent for the time being. If the chosen location turns out to be inconvenient, the house will probably rake in more than the original buying price when sold.”

You nodded. You didn’t know he was interested in investing in real estate, but considering the money he took home, it was probably a good thing he was putting that money to work for him. You remembered reading somewhere that land was always a good investment, though you had no idea if that was true. Considering there wouldn’t be more of it before humanity became multi-planetary, it might be true. So, it seemed responsible. Very much like Steve. He continued:

“So, how’s your next weekend looking? We might take a look.”

Odd date idea, shopping for investment property, but what about this wasn’t odd.

“I don’t know anything about houses that are built on Earth, so I don’t know how valuable my input is, but sounds fun. Next weekend should work,” you said.

Steve looked at you with slight confusion, and you responded with an uneasy smile. What was going on?

“Of course, your input on this is valuable. Of course, it matters. I would never think otherwise.”

You smiled a little more easily and nodded. If he was holding your opinion in such high regard, then you’d give it to him, and finding more time to spend together would be great. You might even get to listen to his thoughts about architecture, and you were certain they’d be interesting.

Steve was still looking at you, and you realized it was probably your turn to make conversation:

“I still don’t have a sofa, but we could drag all the bedding to the rug in front of the tv and make a pillow fort or something to watch the movie in. Anything in mind?”

“Horror?” he immediately suggested.

“The rumors of you being an adrenaline junkie apparently ring true,” you laughed. “But sure, why not. I never got around to visiting theatre when the latest movie about that supernatural hunter couple came, and I think it’d be available to rent online. Sounds okay? Unless you’ve seen it already?”

“I actually haven’t, so it sounds really good.”
“On one condition: I can snuggle up to you when I get scared,” you said. “Because I scream.”

Steve’s smile had gotten warmer.

“I think I can handle that, honey.”

Honey. It had been on his lips yesterday and this morning when you’d made love. Had sex. Made love. You swallowed a bit, trying to calm your buzzing brain. So much was happening. You’d never in your wildest dreams imagined you’d one day fall for someone like this, not this fast, not this hard. Nothing about this situation was something you could’ve imagined doing, had someone told you three months ago it would be coming.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. This has been nice, Steve. The food was really good.”

He reached his hand over the island, and you slipped your palm into it, letting the relaxing warmth of his leak into every finger. You raised the glass of sparkling water to your lips with your free hand, trying to focus on it. It would be alright. It would. It had to be. You’d find a way to follow your dreams and still do this.

“Dessert? I saw some chocolate in that mountain of food, so we could eat that in front of the tv?” you asked.

Your fingers were still clenching the glass, and you knew that your voice didn’t sound nearly as casual as you would’ve liked it to.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Steve asked.

His thumb was running over your hand.

“Yeah. Just… Adjusting,” you finally answered.

“It’s going to be alright,” Steve assured. “I promise. In fact, I got something for you, something more than just words.”

Steve stood up with purpose and went round the kitchen island in three confident steps, stopping to stand in front of you.

“Steve, you don’t have to –“ you started as he was taking something out of his pocket.

But when he dropped down on one knee, all the things you had thought you would say just vanished.

This had to be a joke. This had to be some elaborate prank pulled on you. This was not happening. This was a dream. His shoelaces had gotten untied, and you had misunderstood everything.

But Steve had a ring, a ring, no, the ring. Because the ring in the small jewelry box in his hand shone so bright it was hard to look at it. It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life.

It was absolutely, entirely, completely, utterly way too much and way too fast. Way way way way too fast to be anything but an attempt to do the right thing.

And maybe that meant everything else had been that, too.

“Steve –“ you choked, trying to find the words from your dry throat.

The look in Steve’s eyes was that of a man who wasn’t second-guessing anything. Your throat got tighter when he spoke, his tone deep and calm:

“I promised to be there for you. I promised to make it okay. So, will you marry me?”

You searched his face, trying to find something to grab on, something to tell you that you were perceiving him all wrong, a feeling, but there was nothing. Just honesty. Honor.

Duty?

“Say something,” Steve said, very kindly. “If you don’t like the ring, I can get you something else. And we can keep the house on rent as long as we need.”

The house. Not investment property. The house. Your house. NEXT WEEKEND? You swallowed, once, twice, took a sip from the glass that was still in your shaking hand.

“How much money did you spend on that?” you managed to say.

Clearly, not the thing Steve had hoped you would say, but he didn’t let his face fall. Please be a human. Please let me see you’re a human. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say because if that’s a flawless 3-ish carat diamond as a center stone, that’s going to be fucking 30,000 dollars for just that stone alone.

“A month’s salary. Like a man should,” Steve said.

You drew a wavering breath, trying to ignore the tingling of your face. Jesus Christ. A dry sound left your mouth as you opened it:

“You know, that’s based on an advertising campaign from – “

“- the 1930s. Yes. I was there,” he said, but the laugh didn’t quite sound right.

Nothing about this was right.

He was offering you a ring. The ring. That had cost a month’s salary.

And alright. You weren’t bad at math. In fact, you were excellent at math, and that meant being very much aware of the fact that the literal super soldier who was currently down on one knee in your kitchen was currently down on one knee with a 50-thousand-dollar ring in his hand.

As if the diamond hadn’t already clued you in on that.

Passing out because of a proposal was probably a valid course of action, but the reasons you’d pass out probably wouldn’t be the usual ones. All of your combined assets weren’t worth nearly that much. You couldn’t imagine having that kind of money on your bank account and now he was expecting you to wear it on your hand.

Never mind the fact that it was an absolutely gorgeous thing.

Focus. He can return the ring. The ring is not the main thing here.

“I don’t… Steve, this isn’t… Now?” you managed.

Judging by his eyes, he still wasn’t sure what was causing you being this dumbfounded. It had been so great with him. You couldn’t deny it. The pet names, the jokes. But this was too soon, too much, too everything. And at the same time: not enough. Not love. Not the epitome of romance you’d always dreamed getting proposed to would be. This was Steve on a mission, fixing things, making things right.

“Didn’t you just say a lot of things are happening in the wrong order?”

“I didn’t say wrong. Out of traditional order, maybe. But there’s nothing non-traditional about this. This the right thing to do after you get a girl into this situation,” Steve said.

No malice in him, not an inkling. You bit your lip, trying to get some sort of order into your thoughts. Focus, focus, focus. Handle this gracefully because he isn’t doing this to hurt you, quite the opposite, just -

“Maybe I don’t want anyone to marry me out of duty.”

Yeah. That went great. Amazing choice. Jesus fuck, brain. It was the first time since he’d gotten on one knee that his face truly faltered. You almost started to apologize, but he regained his composure before you did and explained:

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do, because I honestly think that we would work great together. I really like you; I do. I want to make sure you don’t have to worry about this, at least.”

You tried to focus on that, and all you could hear was honor, duty, tradition, duty, honor. Steve was doing this out of his good heart but… You had also waited for your entire life to be in love, in a way all the poems were always talking about, and you’d finally caught a glimpse of that during the Gala night and now… This. You sniffled and breathed in in a futile attempt to keep your voice from quivering:

“Pregnancies can be volatile. What if in the end there is no baby and you’re stuck with me?” you whispered.

Steve shook his head, but you weren’t sure which thought the gesture was trying to drive away.

“Dr. Brian said there’s no reason to worry. And whatever happens, I… wouldn’t mind being married to you.”

Alright. He wouldn’t mind. Not exactly the stuff for romance novels. You were being ridiculous and ungrateful for everything he had done for you, and you didn’t give a damn. Because this was your life on the line, too.

“This is not the only way we can go about this,” you sighed. “And maybe that’s a discussion we should have.”

Steve’s eyes focused on you. You could easily catch what he was thinking, and it was at that moment you realized the duality of his thinking. He would never force you into anything, but… to him, a baby meant a marriage, and that was the long and short of it. Anything else hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“I thought you had decided that –“

You couldn’t do this. Your heart was racing, and a wave of nausea washed over you.

“I HAVE. I have decided that I’ll bring this baby to this world. But I haven’t decided on what else it means. We could co-parent or something or give the baby up for adoption. There are other options than getting married, especially when we’ve literally spent like two days together, Steve! We don’t even know each other and rushing into marriage and getting a house and spending fifty grand on a ring is bad idea to be done this early.”

You pushed the glass back on the island before your hand would finally fail you. You had already failed Steve, probably.

His face was completely expressionless as he nodded and got up, snapping the box close and stuffing it back into his pocket.

“I… I don’t want to give the baby up for adoption. No matter what. I can be a single parent if you don’t want to…” Steve trailed off and sighed. “You smiled when I said that I’d marry you. I just thought…”

Of course, he would. Of course, he was ready to drop everything and anything for this. The nausea was wallowing in your stomach, and your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke:

“I mean. Maybe. I don’t know. Not a day later. I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready for any of this,” you said, your voice breaking.

You wanted Steve to get mad at you, to shout at you for being so damn ungrateful, to be human but he was just there and kind and still gently smiling, even though he couldn’t mask the hurt in his eyes.

“What would you be ready for, then?” he asked. “Tell me what I can do.”

And you just couldn’t take it, not his endless understanding, not him endlessly being okay with this, which meant that maybe you should be feeling that way, too. And you weren’t. You were scared, despite not being alone anymore, scared to hell that you were pregnant after one night spent with this man who was very much a public figure and in nine months, someone would just hand you a baby in a hospital and trust that you kept it alive and dear God, shouldn’t they at least test you somehow before allowing you to be in charge of the upbringing of a human being. Something snapped.

“I don’t know, Steve, I don’t KNOW! I’ve known about the entire pregnancy for a WEEK. It’s not fair to expect me to have all the answers just because you do! I’m not a fucking superhero who can just handle everything!”

You pressed your face to your hands.

“Hey –“ Steve tried, stepping closer but stopping immediately as you, having caught the movement from the corner of your eye, raised a hand.

Tears were welling your eyes, but you wouldn’t cry in front of him, not again. There had been enough of that already. You forced the sobs to stay out of your voice:

“Could you give me space to think? Please.”

God, what a fucking mess this was. You couldn’t bear to look at Steve, but his sunken voice told you enough:

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, I just… I need a moment. You can decide whether you go or stay.”

You escaped to the bedroom, and Steve heard the sound of a door being closed. Fucking great job, Rogers. Astronomically amazing.

“Goddammit,” he muttered to himself.

What had gone wrong? It wasn’t the ring, because he’d caught the look that had flashed in your eyes before panic had overtaken them. He stood there, arms hanging on his sides and feeling like he’d taken a punch directly to the chest. You hadn’t said no but… You basically had.

Co-parenting. Giving the baby up for adoption.

He, honestly, hadn’t thought about those things. Not after you’d launched yourself into his arms and kissed him like that. He had assumed.

People like to assume, don’t they, his own words mocked him in his head. He should’ve talked about this. It was apparent he should’ve taken more time but… He had needed to tell you that you were safe, that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he would do everything and anything in his power to make it that way.

Just right now, it didn’t feel like there was much he could do.

Steve sat back down at the kitchen island, staring at the view to the river through the windows. It was phenomenal, just like he’d thought the first night here it would be. In the vibrant colors of the fall, it looked like something out of a storybook – something he wanted to paint. He could see it in his eye already, you with your back turned to him, that view opening in front of you as a backdrop. It would make a beautiful picture. If he ever managed to steer this ship that far, because right now, the sea certainly wasn’t calm. He couldn’t get this situation to make any sense alone.

So, he did what he always did when he couldn’t face things alone: he called in the team.

Steve placed the StarkPhone on the kitchen island and pressed a button that made the small camera drone detach from the upper edge of it and float into air in front of him. It scanned his iris before saying:

“Welcome, Captain Rogers. How can I be of assistance?”

“Establish a private communication channel for the RTF Team. Code: The Council of Elrond,” Steve sighed.

The phone beeped in response and projected above itself a screen similar to one his watch had when he had searched a doctor for you. Only difference was that the blue glow was toned down a lot, replicating true colors. Yesterday? Was it just yesterday? He minimized his own picture to get the pictures of Sam, Bucky and Nat appear bigger in front of him. He didn’t need to literally face his disappointment in himself, not right now.

Sam picked up almost immediately, appearing to be at the gym of the Tower. He frowned when he saw Steve.

“What’s up, Cap? Everything alright?”

“Just a sec,” Steve sighed.

Bucky took a while, and Natasha didn’t pick up at all. The reason became apparent when in addition to Bucky’s face, his bare chest appeared on the screen as he was leaning to the headboard of a bed. Natasha peeked into his picture, holding a sheet under her arms to preserve her modesty when she flicked the camera drone back to be able to lean to the headboard, too, and stay in the picture. Immediately, Bucky’s cheerful voice filled the channel:

“Well, when’s the wedding –“ he started and then caught a look of Steve’s face. “Oh shit.”

Natasha blinked, glancing at him and then at Steve’s kicked puppy dog of a face, rubbing her temple with two fingers.

“What wedding? Steve, please tell me you didn’t –“

Sam beat her to it, the 4K video quality of the call highlighting his flabbergasted face:

“Did you propose? NOW? Are you out of your mind?”

Steve just nodded and then shook his head.

“Yeah, I… It didn’t go well.”

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why you were in NY? To pick up a ring? Did it not occur to you to consult someone not from the Stone Age?” Sam sighed, shooting daggers at Bucky, who just lifted his hands up.

“Hey, it’s what should be done. Not my fault you lack morals,” he shot back.

“Considering you’re the one currently in the middle of some premarital sex, I would keep my mouth shut,” Sam grinned before turning his gaze back to Steve. “Hey, man. I know you were trying to do the right thing here but maybe not the best course of action this soon.”

Steve sighed.

“And here I thought it went so well, since she has now shut herself into the bedroom.”

“Maybe –“ Bucky started, but Natasha had recovered from the surprise:

“Stop.”

Natasha shot a blood-curdling look at Bucky, who for a moment looked visibly uncomfortable, and Sam grinned. Natasha spoke to Bucky, somehow managing to look intimidating as hell wearing only a sheet. Steve would’ve been proud of her if he hadn’t been feeling so down.

“You’re going to be very silent during this conversation because you’ve clearly done enough. I don’t know why I expected you two ancient dumbasses handle this any better. God almighty.”

She got up from the bed, holding the sheet in front of the camera before slipping out of the view and returning in an instant wearing a black t-shirt that was big enough to hang on her like a dress.

“That’s –“ Bucky started.

“Too bad. Consider it a very meek payment for me always having to pick up after you guys manage to turn a hard situation into an utter train wreck. Alright. Steve. Explain. Walk me through your thought process.”

Steve breathed in before he started:

“I thought that’d make it easier for her to handle this. If she didn’t have to worry about any of those things, security, money, stuff like that. To know that I’ve got her. The house would’ve been half in her name and –“

“WHAT HOUSE?” Sam interjected. “Are you serious? How many times have you gotten a hit to the head, Cap? One too many, methinks.”

Steve ignored him, because Natasha had on her face a look that meant she was either thinking Steve was adorable or trying to decide the best way to get rid of his body after murdering him.

“I just wanted to make sure she knows I’ll take care of her.”

Sam sighed:

“You know, after everything you told us you did for her yesterday, I doubt she’s worried about that.”

Steve’s head perked up, and he frowned at the camera, expecting Sam to continue. He did:

“I mean, this has to be quite a lot to handle. Unexpected. She’s probably overwhelmed enough without wedding planning or house hunting added into it.”

Natasha nodded in agreement, and Steve sighed, well aware of the exhaustion in his voice as he spoke:

“I don’t know what else to do. I just don’t know. I can’t do it for her, I can’t bear her burdens. I’m not the one who can’t eat half the things now. I don’t know what the hell else I could do. I even tried to convince her that it’s okay, even if something happens, that I’ll still be there and I wouldn’t mind being married to her anyway –“

Two simultaneous reactions, Sam sighing something that sounded like dear lord under his breath and Natasha pressing a palm onto her face.

“Steve. No,” the latter said. “She’s probably already a mess, dealing with this so unexpectedly and with the choice of when to do this taken away from her. She’s scared that this is changing everything in her life. She knows you’ll give her the security; she doesn’t need a ring or a promise of a great life or a house you can give her, she needs someone to help her figure out how she’ll still get to keep her life despite doing this.”

Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, and the realization made him cradle his forehead with his hands. The feeling of powerlessness had hit like a shockwave in his muscles, leaving an ache behind. All the feelings of disappointment and frustration were just pouring out of him, now:

“She has put so much trust in me, and now I can’t get right the only thing I could do. Of course, I want her to have her life. Of course, I want to help her have all that. Getting married when there’s a baby on the way just means it’s the backdrop, the safety net. Something to assure her that she can have those things, still, that I’ll give her anything and everything she needs to get through this. And I can’t do it right.”

Natasha was smiling as she enlarged the screen at her end with a fast gesture, and Steve didn’t understand why, but before he had time to ask, Sam spoke up:

“Did you, by any chance, tell all that to her before getting down on one knee?”

Steve shook his head, and Sam rolled his eyes. Alright, maybe that was deserved. Maybe he should’ve slowed down a bit, discussed this with you. But still.

“I just thought we’d have plenty of time to discuss it afterwards. The logistics. After I showed her that I’m serious, that I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”

“Usually, people have those discussions beforehand nowadays. It’s going to look bad otherwise. Despite coming from a good place, it’s going to look like you’re doing it because you have to,” Sam continued.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Natasha’s elbow hitting his ribs. He rubbed the spot with clearly exaggerated outrage at her deed but stayed silent.

Steve didn’t acknowledge their antics. On some other day, he might’ve had a snarky comment or three, but right now the only thing in his painfully throbbing head was the need to fix this, somehow. Over the last week, he’d already been scared that he had managed to ruin it all when you hadn’t answered his texts, and then after everything that had happened yesterday, he had wanted to make sure you didn’t have to worry.

But it wasn’t just that. Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to get his thoughts in line.

“I’m just so damn scared that I’ll fuck this up. That I’ll lose her, because baby or no baby, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this about anyone. And I can’t say that to her that because that’s going to sound fucking insane this early. It’s one thing to tell her I’ll be there for her and another thing altogether to say that I’m already halfway in love with her.”

On the screen, Sam shook his head.

“Way too early to tell her you’re falling in love but apparently a great time for a proposal. You know what, Steve, I’m not going to even comment on that.”

“I don’t know, Steve. That might be exactly what she needs to hear. That this isn’t about just the baby."

Something about Natasha’s voice made Steve lift his head. The smirk seemed so out of place in this discussion. It wouldn’t be the first time Natasha knew things she realistically shouldn’t have, and because of that Steve’s voice was simply curious when he asked:

“Why do you think that? You haven’t even met her.”

Natasha tilted her head, the smile on her face widening as her eyes focused on something behind Steve.

“Let’s just say I’m pretty good at reading expressions.”

Steve turned his head, glancing over his shoulder as a ray hope surfaced in him. You were leaning your shoulder to the bedroom doorway, hugging yourself, and despite the streaks of tears on your face, there was another gleam in your eyes, too. One that made his heart beat faster.

“I…” you started. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but the damn hinge is still broken because we got distracted and the door didn’t close properly and at first I thought you were talking to me and I just realized that I listened to a private conversation between the fucking Avengers and that probably means I broke a law or five.”

Steve was still staring at you, his heart beating. Had you heard everything? Probably. Did that mean…? You sighed deep, wiping your cheek with the sleeve of your blouse as you walked up to him to stand beside him. You bit your lip and kept hugging yourself with one hand, waving unsurely at the miniscule camera drone with the other.

“Yeah, hi. I’m sorry you all got dragged into this,” you breathed.

But they were all smiling.

“Definitely not the worst thing our dear dumbass of a Captain has dragged us into,” Sam said. “Nice to meet you, Juliet.”

“That’s not a very comforting point of comparison,” you shook your head, a small laugh taking over. “But. I mean. It’s been like three days so. That’s fair. God, everything about this is so fucking insane. And are you guys in bed together?”

Bucky shrugged and Natasha tilted her head, smirking. Leave it to the Black Widow to look like she had everything under control while being tangled in bedsheets, wearing nothing except for an oversized t-shirt. Leave it to her to decode everything you’d thought from your expressions from the other side of the room via a very futuristic video call. How was the phone even projecting the screen? The quality was insane.

What the hell had become of your life? Super Soldiers and international spy-assassins analyzing your love life and fifty grand rings and a baby in the span of what was theoretically three weeks but in essence boiled down to three days.

“Cute skirt,” Natasha smirked. “Blue’s definitely your color.”

“Nat,” Steve groaned.

“Just saying.”

“Can I talk now?” Bucky asked.

“Depends on if you’re going to keep being stupid,” Sam said.

Ignoring him, Bucky looked you directly in the eye, and there was something a bit wistful in his gaze mixed in with all the amusement.

“I’ve tried to keep that dumbass from making an idiot out of himself since approximately 1918 and it hasn’t worked out a lot of times. But I know him, and trust me, dollface, if you think he’s not already absolutely swept off his feet, you’re wrong. You should’ve seen him on the mission.”

Sam laughed at the comment and expanded on it:

“Yeah, you should’ve. Or heard. ‘Star-stuff this and star-stuff that and star-stuff said this and that and I don’t know if she’d like this restaurant more than that one and I hope she liked the roses and what kind of tuxedo should I wear at our wedding’ on and on and on. Toeing the line between adorable and absolutely disgusting.”

“Guys,” Steve groaned, burying his face into his hands.

You reached a trembling hand to touch Steve’s shoulder, and on the screen Natasha’s smirk widened as Steve turned his head towards you. There was red on his cheeks.

“Alright, guys, that’s our cue to leave. Goodnight, kids. Play nice.”

With that, she ended the call despite protests from Bucky and Sam, and you were again left alone with Steve.

He was waiting for you to speak, so you did:

“I’m sorry I made assumptions about your intentions,” you sighed. “Everything’s just been so fast and overwhelming and I… I feel like I’m insane for doing this and even more insane thinking we… That it could already be…”

“Love?” Steve suggested.

His voice was a low whisper. You bit your lip, trying to make sense of all this even though nothing was making sense.

“Yeah. But love at the first sight is an unproven ridiculous theory and these kinds of things don’t happen to me. I’ve never been in a place where what I feel like I want to do and what would be sensible are two different things. And I’m scared about that because there’s going to be a baby and I’m scared that maybe it’s going to mean all the normal milestones I’ve never gotten to experience with anyone are not going to be there, I mean, god, we haven’t even been on our first date. So when you…” you drew a breath, “asked me to marry you, I thought that it’s just duty and that everything else you’ve done and said over the last two days has been that, too, you telling me what you think I want to hear. And that was not very nice of me. But that’s a reasonable assumption, or it would be, if this was ordinary.”

You stopped your rambling, focusing your eyes into his. You swallowed hard when you realized it was the same intensive gaze that had been there during the gala night, and when you continued, your voice was barely a whisper:

"But nothing about this is ordinary. It feels like a force of nature.”

And when Steve kissed you, it felt like catharsis.

He was still sitting down and when he pulled you sideways into his lap, you should’ve been scared that you’d tumble over on the bar stool, but you wouldn’t, because he would never let you fall, and everything about his touch made the troubled waters inside you reach absolute stillness.

It was insane, improbable, against all odds, against your beliefs about how the world and emotions and people and everything worked, but right here in his arms you were ready to let him overturn all that. After all, all theories were always supposed to be developed further when new proof appeared.

It took a long time before Steve broke the kiss and even after that, he rested his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes. You drew in his calming scent and smiled. He did, too:

“I’m thinking there’s plenty of proof that love at the first sight exists.”

You swallowed.

“Yeah. I’m starting to think that, too. But I… I’m not ready for –“

He pressed a finger on your lips, smiling without a hint of bitterness in him.

“It’s alright. You’re right, and they were, too. We should’ve talked about things before I went there. I’m sorry, too.”

A shadow passed over his face, and you knew what he was thinking. You ran a hand through his hair before pressing your fingers to the back of his neck.

“When I said that thing about that the traditional way isn’t the only way we can go about this, I didn’t mean that we should take another way. Because they were right about something else, too. I trust you. I trust you’ll give me the security and hearing you saying all those other things makes me trust that, too.”

You could feel the effect of that sentence in the way tension left his body underneath you. His eyes fell closed, and they stayed closed for a moment as he breathed out in relief. You rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the words you knew you needed to say.

“And I think I really needed to see that despite everything, you’re human. That it’s okay for me to be human, too. Because this is a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah it is. But we’re going to be alright,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

Despite everything, or because of everything, you trusted that sentiment. Something in your chest was easing its grip as you breathed in an out in the same rhythm he did for a moment before saying:

“I want to do a lot of things in life with you, I think. Just… Not yet, alright? I’m not saying no, I’m saying… let’s wait a bit, alright?”

Steve looked back at you.

“I told you that the first night. That what we have going is worth the wait if that’s what you want. I haven’t changed my opinion,” he smiled.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck and focused on the way his hand holding you radiated warmth on your thigh. For a long moment, you both just stayed there, letting the world fall back into place. There was no rush.

One more thought wasn’t leaving you alone.

Your face was burning, and you couldn’t look at Steve when you mumbled, directly onto his skin:

“Can I… I know this is stupid but… Can I see that again?”

Steve chuckled and shuffled so that he could reach the jewelry box in his pocket, adjusting you carefully in his lap so that he wouldn’t drop you as he did. He held you with one arm wrapped around you, the palm spread on the outer side of your thigh, as he used his other hand to pry the box open. You leaned your head to his shoulder and took the sight in.

“It’s a star,” you said.

He smiled.

“Yeah, it is. The designer named it Stardust. She only does one of each, so it’s a piece of art.”

The way you breathed in at that made his smile turn a bit wider. But. Art or not, it was still absolutely insane sum of money to spend on a ring. But it was still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life, the glow on it something ethereal, the shape of it so unique and yet so timeless. Eternal.

“You put a lot of thought into choosing that, didn’t you?” you whispered.

Steve kissed the top of your head, blowing warm air into your hair. You could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, I did.”

“It’s probably the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you admitted.

Another kiss to your hair, and you snuggled a bit closer, feeling the smooth cashmere silk of his blazer against your cheek.

“It’s not the prettiest thing I’ve seen, but it’s up there,” Steve chuckled.

Your cheeks flushed at that. The ring was over the top, crazy, extraordinary. Much like everything else about this. And Steve had put so much thought into that. But no. You couldn’t even think...

“I still stand by my point that fifty grand for a ring is way too much,” you whispered.

“Do you want to know what I think is the point of that salary rule? Because it certainly isn’t to flaunt, at least not for me.”

You tore your eyes away from the ring and leaned back to see Steve’s fac, nodding. His smile was still soft, but there was another note to it, something deeper.

“It’s to show that you’re serious about what you’re asking. That it’s not something that’s done lightly; that there’s a component of real weight to it.”

As if you would’ve needed anything else than the look in his eyes to know that. That meant a lot more than the amount of money he’d spent, but… The ring was so pretty. So perfect. So you. By the smile that was creeping on Steve’s face, you were certain he knew what you were thinking.

“I can’t ask you to hold on to that. It’s way too expensive. When… If we progress to that stage, we’ll get something more… reasonable,” you said, cheeks burning.

You already knew the look that was now in Steve’s eyes, the teasing spark, and the half-cocky smirk that accompanied it. It was becoming very familiar, and it was yet again setting something in you alight. Steve pressed a small kiss in between your brows before whispering:

“Well, then it’s a good thing you don’t have to ask, because getting this thing engraved means I revoked my right to return it.”

Your throat choked, and you looked up into his eyes.

“You said you would get me something else if –“

He just grinned in response, and your heart was beating its way out of your chest. He was crazy. But so were you, apparently.

“I did. And I would’ve. I will, if you want, but I think you quite like this one.”

You shook your head but couldn’t help but smile. You could easily see that he was waiting for you to ask, and you had never been the one to not let your curiosity get better of you. That hadn’t changed.

“What engraving?”

Steve offered the box to you, and you reached for the ring without thinking, without managing to keep your shaking hand steady. Steve was watching your every move with that self-satisfied smirk on his face. Something about that smile told you that it wouldn’t be today’s date, or even the Gala night’s date, but something entirely different. God, you wanted to kiss him.

The ring was lighter than you had imagined, and when you lifted it off the velvet, the light hitting it made it look like the light was being generated inside it. You were certain there were supernovas less bright. You brought it closer, stopping to admire it for just a second before turning it so that you could make out the engraving inside.

Sic itur ad astra.

You knew very well what that meant. You knew it as well as Steve knew he had nailed it when he pressed a kiss your temple without his grin vanishing.

Thus one journeys to the stars.

You looked up at Steve, and he looked back. Before you could find the words, he did:

“I meant what I said about the backdrop. You want to reach for the stars, let’s reach for the stars.”

When you kissed him, it was with enough intensity to almost topple him over, and he laughed into the kiss as he steadied you, pulling you to sit astride in his lap. You let his hand on your butt to hold you upright as you carefully placed the ring back into the box. Steve snapped the box closed and pushed it back into his pocket before meeting your eyes again. When he spoke, a shiver shot down your spine:

“Because I think you’re going to get there one beautiful day, and when you do, I’m going to be standing next to you, and that ring is going to look very pretty on your finger.”

Nothing about this was ordinary.

And that just might mean your world was being turned upside down the best way possible. You smiled back at him before whispering:

“For too low they build, who build beneath the stars.”

Chapter Text

Despite some pretty effective jump scares that had made you squeal and bury your head into Steve’s shoulder, it wasn’t the earlier horror movie keeping you awake. Steve had been fast to fall asleep, and you hadn’t wanted to bother him, so you’d snuck back into the living room to get something done instead of tossing and turning next to him. Calling the last week a rollercoaster was probably the understatement of the century, and it was no wonder your head was buzzing like it was.

After three mugs of decaf coffee – that tasted a bit less like gasoline than the normal one did at the moment – your algorithm still wasn’t behaving, and you decided it was time to call quits, since you were growing tenser every minute and that probably would mean that you were going to end up with even more things to untangle in the morning. Sighing, you turned off the computer and straightened your back, debating whether or not you should return to bed to try fall asleep. The way your shoulders felt tense was an indicator that it would not happen, so it was probably pointless to get back there and frustrate yourself further.

Staring at your coursework had taken all the eagerness to read something out of you, and there was no housework to get tone – you and Steve had cleaned before you’d put the movie on, bumping into each other in the tiny kitchenette. Gaming was an option, but that wasn’t exactly an activity that would help you wind down. That left the pile of Blue-Ray disks stationed on the shelf underneath your TV, and without even thinking you connected your headset to the PlayStation and put in the first disk of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. It was not the book, but right now, you preferred the toned-down version of it lulling you into relaxing. As soon as Galadriel’s voice filled your headphones, it was starting to work, and you breathed out as you dragged the beanbag chair from the corner to in front of the tv, pushing your gaming chair to the side. The familiar feeling of the movie you’d watched over and over had a way of putting you at ease like nothing else.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something in your life now that might compare sometime in the future but not just yet.

You had barely made it from the battle of Last Alliance into Bilbo’s birthday party when said something appeared to stand in your bedroom doorway. Catching his shadow against the dark from the corner of your eye startled you bad enough for you to jump a bit, and his eyes immediately ran over you to check you were alright. Clearly a reflex, since he looked like he was still half asleep, blue Henley shirt unbuttoned and his checkered pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. He yawned, running a hand through his messy hair from back to front as you removed your headphones.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, voice raspy from sleep.

“Yeah,” you said. “Don’t worry. You can go back to sleep.”

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“It’s alright. I’m just tense. I’ll chill a bit and then come to bed,” you assured.

Steve nodded and made his way to the kitchenette, running himself a glass of water. As he was making his way back, his eyes caught the tv screen.

“Fellowship of the Ring?” Steve asked. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen that.”

You smiled. He had just woken up, in the middle of the night, but some selfish part of you wanted him to stay awake with you, let his presence calm your thoughts, too, like the movie did.

“Yeah. You’re welcome to join if you want to. I can transfer the sound to the tv. But I’m okay if you just want to go to bed. After all, it’s like 2 AM.”

Steve yawned. There was a soft smile on his face when he looked at you and then the tv.

“Living room sleepover?” he asked. “I can drag the bedding here and we can just watch it and fall asleep when we do.”

You glanced at the area. Since you had no sofa, only the beanbag chair and the gaming chair which both could be pushed near the kitchen island, there’d be plenty of room to spread the bedding here and to actually sleep on the carpet.

“Well, my standards are high since me and my cousins used to always build a blanket fort when we had a living room sleepover,” you laughed. “But alright.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, and the smile on him turned a bit wider.

“We could build a blanket fort. If you want. I haven’t done that since 1920s but… sounds fun.”

“It’s 2 AM,” you laughed. “We’re not going to… Or…?”

You met his eyes, and the warm gaze in them made you smile a bit wider. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he could go from barely awake to ready to spring into action in fractions of a second, but a blanket fort hardly qualified for a situation that needed that ability.

“Do you have somewhere to be tomorrow?” he asked.

You shook your head. Tomorrow, or technically today, was a Sunday. You had some studying to do, but you could do that at your own speed whichever time you wanted.

“How about you? Any bad guys you need to go punch?” you teased.

It was his turn to shake his head.

“Not tomorrow. Tony and I need to take care of something, and I’ll be gone from Monday evening to Thursday – not off the grid, though – but tomorrow I have nothing scheduled,” he said and grinned: “So, I’m free to be used as the muscle for our fort construction. I’ll leave the planning to the head engineer.”

You got up from the beanbag chair and rose to your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

“Go get the bedding, then. I’ll find some cord.”

It was more a canopy than a fort, and it certainly wouldn’t win any design awards, but for something that was put together in under ten minutes, it was pretty decent. You had tied a cord to your bookshelf and duct-taped another end into the hallway wall. A clean top sheet was thrown over it and fastened with clothespins, and from another end, it rested over the bar stools and was secured into place with piles of books. Looking for the cord, you had even come across some old fairy lights, and you’d put those to hang at the entrance of the tent/fort/canopy. Steve had brought out all the bedding, including the mattress, and spread them all out underneath the thing. It was ridiculous. It was one of the best things you’d ever done with a boyfriend.

“It’s good that I was the head engineer on this.”

Steve raised his brows in question.

“Well, it wouldn’t look good if this was the first thing you’d done as an architect in MIT. Might not be the best addition to your portfolio,” you grinned, getting a laugh in response.

Steve dived in and piled the pillows behind his back so that he could lean into them. He opened his arms and you smiled, accepting the invitation to sit down in between his spread legs. He wrapped a comforter around both of you so that his arms rested on top of yours, and he was nuzzling your hair.

“Ready?” you said.

“Yeah.”

You pressed play, letting Bilbo’s speech continue from the tv speakers instead of your headphones. Steve pressed his jaw on top of your head.

“So, how does your job even work,” you asked.

His thumbs caressed your skin. You hadn’t realized how cold you’d felt, having left your cardigan into the bedroom, but now that his warm skin was pressing against your bare forearms, you shivered. He pulled you a bit closer.

“Well, it really really depends. It’s pretty flexible. Until it isn’t,” he huffed. “I train some of the high-profile agents, and I’m also the Head Strategist for the Avengers. As in us, our team, but also I do a lot of mission planning for other teams.”

“There’s multiple teams?” you continued, seeing that he didn’t mind talking during the movie.

“Yeah. The Tower is an ecosystem nowadays. I guess you could call us freelance security for the world,” he said. “But I’m assuming you’re asking about the practicalities. I can be here a lot, when the world is not ending, and I can handle a lot of things remotely. I’m actually thinking I’ll get a place in Boston. For myself.”

He stressed the last word, and you chuckled. After the discussions you’d had today, you didn’t really assume he meant anything else, but it was nice of him to ensure that you knew that.

“After all, as I’m looking to start studying this month, it’ll be good to have a place here, too. And you can have your own space.”

You leaned back a bit, pressing a peck to his lips.

“Sounds like a good plan. You might even get a sofa. We could have more movie nights.”

“Yes. We could,” Steve said. “I have a list I’ve been trying to get through. Things that became big during my time in the ice.”

There wasn’t really anything to add to that, so you just shuffled a bit, sinking deeper into Steve’s lap as you felt his hands move up your arms and take a hold of your shoulders. His thumbs massaged your tense shoulders with a gentle touch, and you groaned, drawing out a gentle chuckle out of him. As you relaxed under his touch, it felt easy to talk about other things, too. Future things. There had already been plenty of that tonight but there was also still plenty to talk about, and here in your silly blanket fort in the quiet night, it felt like you were safe. Especially considering the man behind your back.

“You know, Steve, about that first date thing. I’m… feeling a bit overwhelmed by those expectations,” you said.

His movement stopped.

“Oh?”

You didn’t look at him.

“Yeah. It sounds so nice, everything you’ve talked about the Natural History Museum and New York but… It’s a bit much right now. Could we…? Could we do something a bit lower profile first? Until the dust settles and all that, because this baby is probably going to make front page news when they find out, and us being spotted together increases that chance.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking about your words. But it wasn’t a tense silence, and then he pressed a kiss to your neck.

“Alright. Let’s do something just for us, then. I’ll think of something. Next weekend still okay?”

You nodded.

“Next week is perfect.”

On screen, Frodo started his long journey to Rivendell and beyond. The speakers of your TV really weren’t that great, but even out of those, the soundtrack was amazing. Steve’s hands were relaxing all your muscles, and you really needed to recalibrate your thoughts about where your happy place was. The standards were definitely being raised.

“The team knows, then.”

“My team,” Steve confirmed. “The Rapid Task Force. I’ll tell the others over next week.”

You nodded, feeling something sting in the bottom of your stomach.

“I guess I don’t need to tell anyone before it hits the news.”

Steve stopped massaging your shoulders only to wrap his hands around you and pull you even flusher against his chest. With him there, the thought was more wistful than painful.

“My mother would’ve liked you,” he whispered.

“Mine would’ve liked you, too,” you said. “And my father, too. It’s been a long time and I don’t really think about it that much, but during all… this, I kind of wish they were here. My aunt’s family is nice enough, but it was… never the same. I guess I haven’t really had a family since my parents passed.”

Steve didn’t say anything, and that was probably better than some polite condolences would’ve been. Instead, he adjusted you so that you were resting halfway across his lap, halfway in it, and pressed little kisses all over your face – on your eyelids, on your brows, on your nose, on your cheeks. A message: I’m here. I’ll give you all of that. It might’ve been too early for either of you to say those words out aloud, but they were still there, clearly written underneath his touch.

A yawn almost made your jaw dislocate, and he smiled as he pressed one last kiss to your nose. Both of you laid down, shuffling so that you could rest against his chest and watch the movie from there. Even though you were more watching him – and that was fair, considering you’d spent more hours of your life with Frodo than you had with Steve. The thought was still a bit insane – a lot insane. Everything about this was so new, and yet everything that had went down had forged a bond that should’ve taken weeks, if not months, to form.

“Who would you be?” Steve asked.

You frowned, and he continued:

“In Lord of the Rings. Which character?”

A small laugh escaped your lips, and you pondered the question for a moment. There were many that were inspirational, but your thoughts kept returning to one in particular.

“Éowyn, I think. She overcame a lot. I like that about her.”

Steve nodded.

“For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her,” he whispered.

You shook your head and chuckled. That was still ridiculous.

“Anything you haven’t read and can’t quote from memory?” you teased. “How well-read are you exactly?”

He was stroking your back with his hand, long, slow movements that made you almost purr.

“Well. I spent a lot of time sick in bed during the 1920s and 1930s. Not much else to do, and considering the eidetic memory, I’d say reasonably.”

You lifted your head from his chest, leaning onto your elbow to meet his gaze.

“Wait. The eidetic memory. That was before the serum?” you asked.

He nodded, looking somewhat uncomfortable under your intensive gaze. But you could tell it was just the fact that he didn’t really like to draw attention to his abilities.

“That’s pretty unbelievable,” you said as you settled back down. “No wonder you’re like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, sounding mildly amused.

You let your finger run on his chest, tracking its movements with your eyes instead of looking up.

“Amazing,” you smiled.

“You’re flattering me.”

He pressed a kiss on top of your head, and while he wasn’t really accepting the compliment, you could almost feel him beaming. Clearly, you needed to tell that one to him a lot more in the future.

You yawned again, trying to focus on the movie but feeling your thoughts drift apart already as your eyelids were turning heavier. Something about this, this closeness, these ordinary conversations was something you didn’t want to let go of just yet, not even to surrender to sleep.

“Well. I don’t need to ask you who you’d be,” you whispered.

“How’s that?” Steve asked.

“You’re Aragorn. Clearly,” you said. “The book version. A leader. A good man. Older than you look. Spend long stretches of time in unknown places.”

“Is that so?” Steve kissed the top of your ear.

Something about his tone made you tilt your head again, and there was something glimmering in his eyes as he looked at you. You pressed against him as tight as you could, leaning into his warmth despite the comforter resting on top of you both. Sleep was really catching up to you, and you yawned again. In the soft glow of the tv and the fairy lights, Steve looked like something that shouldn’t be in this world. And that was all yours.

“You know, Aragorn fell in love with Arwen the first moment he saw her in Rivendell,” he murmured.

That thought stirred something in you as he pressed his hand over yours on his chest, weaving his fingers among yours. That thought stirred a lot. You pressed a kiss onto his jawline, feeling the faintest hint of a stubble.

“I do. And I also know that it took Arwen 29 years to decide he was worthy of her,” you smirked.

“I do hope it takes you a lot less,” he said, smiling against the skin of your temple.

There was no doubt about what else he was saying, too. Yeah. Yeah, okay. You swallowed and drew a long breath.

“Maybe you should’ve led with that one when you were down on one knee, and I might’ve said yes,” you said, tiredness and the atmosphere making things come out even more unfiltered than usual.

Steve chuckled.

“I’ll do better next time, then.”

You should’ve probably said something, but sleep was overtaking you, and with the steady beating of his heart against your ear, you fell into it.

Chapter Text

MONDAY

Monday came too fast and too early, like a wet rag to the face as it followed a blissful Sunday that had consisted of movies, food, talking and sex in a blanket fort.

It was way too early. Way, way, way too early to even think. And of course, Steve was already back from a 15-mile run that had probably barely made him break a sweat when you were shuffling around in the delicious-smelling sheets on the mattress still in your blanket fort.

You would’ve hated him if you didn’t love him.

Still yawning, you knocked on the bathroom door. Steve emerged in a second. His hair was wet, deeper shade of gold now, and waterdrops were trailing down his naked skin. He was naked, fully naked, and a snarky part of you reminded that people usually were that when they were taking a shower. Clearly, the caffeine withdrawals weren’t pleasant.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “It’s pretty early. Did I wake you when I came back from the run?”

You nodded, then shook your head, rubbing your face with the sleeve of his shirt you had slept in.

“You’re leaving soon and I…”

There was no way you were going to get the rest of that sentence out when Steve grabbed you by your hips and pulled you into a kiss and into the bathroom, backing away the five steps it needed in the small space for his back hit the shower wall. The warm water was cascading over both of you, his shirt on you getting soaked and clinging to your breasts. He glanced down and something about the sight of your curves covered by his shirt shook something in his core. His lips crashed back onto yours.

“You’re never wearing anything else to bed ever again,” he muttered into the kiss, turning around so that your back hit the wall.

His arm reached out to adjust the shower so that the water would keep you warm.

“I need you.”

Steve hauled you up against the wall, with his body covering as much of you as possible, his palms underneath your thighs. Your water-slippery skin posed no challenge to his grip, and it was clear this was a need, a need to protect, to stand there like a shield in between you and the world. You were trying to process his words as his mouth traced your jawline with kisses, his voice coming out of him as a ragged whisper.

“You have no idea how much. What you do to me. Especially now that…”

You could hear the rest of that sentence, and your back arched in anticipation as he supported your weight with one hand for a moment, unbuttoning the shirt as he spoke:

“It’s never been like this. It’s like something has shifted in me. It goes deeper than lust. Into something primal, something feral.”

You drew a breath as his hands shifted again to support you, and he let out a low growl as he realized there was no underwear underneath the shirt. Every small kiss he left on your skin had your nerve-endings going haywire.

“Give me your feral, then, Steve.”

Steve could see it from a mile away. Tony’s exaggerated nonchalance that cut extremely close to gloating was always a dead giveaway. He knew something and was waiting for Steve to ask him about it. So, Steve did, because otherwise this would go on for the entirety of the three-and-a-half-day national security conference they were attending. Tony wasn’t exactly a person who knew when to stop.

“Spit it out,” Steve said.

Tony put the Financial Times down on the table in the middle of them, turning his face to look out of the jet’s window. It was a Quinjet, still, only one that was a bit more posh and made to look more like a traditional private jet.

“Spit what out? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have something you want to make fun of. I know that look. Can we just get it over with?”

Tony took a sip of his champagne and smiled from behind the glass.

“Where’s the fun in that? And I know you’ve been having some fun lately. It’s my turn.”

Steve sighed. He had thought that he would tell Tony over this trip, but apparently, it was happening right now. He made a mental note to tell the rest of the team and his closest assistant, too, because after Tony knew, the rumors would spread like a wildfire at least in the higher circle. Steve would do his best to contain the knowledge there – to people working under some pretty insane non-disclosure agreements drafted by an army of lawyers.

“No, nothing. Your private Quinjet has been departing to Boston quite a lot lately,” Tony said.

Steve sighed.

“You know, I’m starting studies there. I need a place to live, have been meeting with realtors and all that. Not to mention, I should probably buy you a dictionary so that you could clear up your confusion considering word ‘private’.”

“No one uses dictionaries anymore, Cap.”

Not a lie. He had done that, among other things. He had devoted approximately one percent of his time in Boston to that. Tony was browsing a feed on his phone.

“Care to give me the realtor’s name? Seems like we could use someone like them in the A.I. Three days spent showing you apartments, the majority of which seem to be in the Stark Building. Interesting coincidence, certainly. I thought that was only for those who got my full ride.”

Tony turned his phone so that Steve could see the pictures posted with the hashtag #quinjet, a lot of them taken on the room of the Stark Building. The thing wasn’t exactly low-key, and it wouldn’t take long before someone would connect the dots. Tony continued like he didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. Steve sipped his coffee, letting Tony enjoy his drama.

“And that’s a pretty early time to go to apartment showings, too,” Tony continued, showing Steve a picture taken this morning in the middle of his run.

Steve was smiling brightly next to a young, military-looking guy in a MIT sweatshirt, the picture taken on the Campus. Someone was on my left this morning. Made getting up for a 0500 run worth it, the caption read. The guy had tagged Steve’s official account to the picture.

“He was very polite about it. Of course I took a picture with him,” Steve said.

Tony didn’t really care about the picture, or the guy.

“Speaking of full rides, have you seen our superstar from the Gala when you’ve been hanging out in the Stark Building? If you happen to see her, say hi for me. She hasn’t sent me a message yet. My feelings are hurt, perhaps irreparably.”

Tony pressed a hand over his arc reactor in a gesture of exaggerated shock.

“Take it up with your therapist,” Steve smirked. “Must be hard when a lady doesn’t have any eyes for you. At least she has taste.”

“Ohh, that’s cold, Cap, even coming from an Ice Statue such as yourself. Is your lady a tender subject? I hope she’s smart enough to return to her senses and get rid of you,” Tony teased right back.

Steve had carefully arranged his face into a neutral expression and waited until Tony took another sip of his champagne before dropping the bomb:

“I think we’re past that, considering the fact that she’s pregnant.”

Tony damn near dropped the glass he was holding. Some of the champagne he was drinking got into wrong pipe and as he coughed, he looked at Steve, who was sitting there with his coffee in his hand like the picture of innocence.

“Pregnant? Damn, Cap. I told you to chase that but you really went for it, did –“

He stopped dead in his tracks and kept looking at Steve, the realization dawning in his eyes. Steve still wasn’t commenting anything. Tony certainly wouldn’t need to be told where babies came from.

“You got back from that mission less than a week ago,” Tony said. “That’s… way too early to know. Which means…”

The grin on Tony’s face told Steve that he would not let this go any time in the foreseeable future. But let him tease him as much as he wanted.

“Cap, oh my God! The first night? The night of meeting her? Oh my, I’m scandalized. You were supposed to be the beacon of morals in our degenerated society, and there you go, unsafely sleeping with college girls on the night of meeting them,” Tony threw his hands up, spilling champagne on the cream leather of the seat. “That’s it, then. We’re done. There’s no hope for the righteous.”

Steve could feel the heat on his cheeks at Tony’s teasing, but his voice was dry:

“Yeah, because it’s not like she’s an adult who has agency about who she chooses to sleep or not sleep with.”

He didn’t mind being made fun of, but he also wasn’t one to kiss and tell. If Tony’s statement hadn’t painted you in an unflattering, reckless light, he wouldn’t have commented at all.

“For the record, we did use protection. I don’t know if you missed your sex ed –“

“Preferred the hands-on approach to that,” Tony interrupted.

“ – but those things aren’t a hundred percent certain. This is now the 0.01 percent. And that’s exactly one woman I’ve ever done that with. Ever.”

One corner of Tony’s mouth lifted but despite the attempt at a teasing grin, Steve could clearly see that the smile was in fact reaching Tony’s eyes. His reading of the expression was further established as Tony got up, fishing from his bar fridge another bottle – old, outrageously expensive whiskey. He dropped ice into two glasses before opening the bottle. Monday at 11 AM was really not a time to drink but this was a special occasion. So, Steve took the glass Tony gave and waited for him to sit back down.

“You know, Cap. It doesn’t surprise me the slightest that you’re the first one of us to start a family. I just imagined it’d be a… much more traditional way. A white picket fence somewhere, after marriage, after the whole thing. But I’m happy for you. I am.”

That was probably the longest speech Tony had ever given without throwing a joke or an insult. Steve raised his glass and tapped it against Tony’s.

The whiskey was good in the same way Ferrari was a car. Steve leaned back in his chair, waiting for Tony to say something, completely in peace. He had gotten a lot of thinking done over the run this morning and was in no rush to say or do anything. He knew you’d find your way, together.

“Any plans?” Tony said. “If you need a wedding car, I need an excuse I can give to Pepper to buy a new one.”

Steve’s mouth curled into a smile. He took another sip of the whiskey, letting the full, round profile of it fill his mind for a second before answering.

“We’re not getting married. Not yet.”

Tony shot him a suspicious look.

“You know, I’m starting to wonder if someone has figured out a way to make androids that look exactly like people they’re imitating, because the Cap I know would be reserving a wedding venue right now.”

“It’s not like it’s a joint decision, or anything,” Steve smirked.

“Still. You’re planning it, aren’t you?”

Steve was quiet for a moment. Sharing everything about it certainly didn’t seem right, even to someone like Tony. He compromised and dug the ring out of his jacket. Tony’s confusion gave way to satisfaction, and then his eyebrows shot up as Steve opened the box.

“I thought you didn’t like to flaunt,” Tony said. “That’s a pretty thing, though. Send me the name of the artist, I could get a piece for Pepper for the next time I inevitably fuck up.”

Steve chuckled to himself.

“I’m not flaunting. It is to show her that I’m serious.”

“A rock like that, and Martians can see that she’s taken. You’re a possessive man, Captain Rogers.”

The bright light made the ring look like a star again. It was a gorgeous thing, and the satisfaction he felt about getting it so right certainly wasn’t insignificant. Some sort of provider instinct in him was purring.

“She wasn’t ready to accept it yet, but we’ll figure it out. I… I do hope we get married in the future. It’ll provide stability and I would be honored to call her my wife. And not just… honored.”

There was a knowing look in Tony’s eyes. The ring had clearly told him how deep in exactly Steve was. But it wasn’t just teasing, not anymore, and suddenly Steve knew with absolute certainty that Tony would cry when he asked him to be the baby’s godfather. But that would be months down the line.

“I’m happy for you, Cap. I know this is big. And she… she seems to be a great one. A special one.”

Steve’s smile turned wider.

“Yes. That she is.”

WEDNESDAY

Usually, Steve found Tony’s exaggerated aversion to conferences childish. Usually, he was the one to lecture the others that as de facto faces of the Avengers, which had grown from a battle unit into a big player in global security, and not just mission-wise, they were expected to do this things, to rub shoulders and play nice. Usually, he found it easy to at least enjoy the food and find some interesting people to talk about their experiences. Usually, three days of talks and strategy discussions and networking dinners wasn’t something he minded. Not his favorite way to spend his time, but the hotels usually had great gyms.

Usually.

Tony would absolutely never let him live down the fact that he had been texting under the table during the Secretary of Defense’s speech.

To Steve’s defense, you had initiated the conversation. Not that you had any change of knowing the program of the conference – after all, a lot of people who were in charge of national security meant pretty extreme safety arrangements. His phone had vibrated in his pocket, and he had set it to notify him of your attempts of contacting him, and yours only.

Shifting in his seat in a way that was hopefully innocent looking enough, he got the phone out and was barely able to keep the smile out of his face as he read the message.

Starstuff (8:11 PM): I miss you, dear.

Steve (8:11 PM): I like that nickname. Everything ok?

Alright. One point assigned to it, then. Yeah. Just thought about you. How’s it going?

Steve had answered your texts in less-than-optimal conditions before. There was something thrilling about this being just his private thing for now.

 It’s ok. Not too much happening. Speeches. Boring. Wish I was there.

Are you texting me when you’re in the middle of something? Am I corrupting Captain America?

Yeah, let’s see them lecture said Captain America about something that could very well be a crisis of national security that needs to be handled.

I wish that you could fly down here. That we didn’t have responsibilities. Are you in the middle of something really important?

Steve was pretty certain a dinner which’s attendance list could double as “Who’s who in global security?” qualified as something really important. And he didn’t care one bit, and he wasn’t lying with his next text:

Not as important as you.

Aww. Is that your grand excuse when you need to take a break from your work? You’re going to tell them it’s a matter of national security when you slip away to cuddle your wife.

Girlfriend, I mean. 

No, your…? Lady. Though that makes me feel like some sort of Shakespearian character. Milord.

Steve couldn’t help smiling and that, and Tony turned a curious eye at him before he got his face under control.

Cuddling would certainly beat this. What are you up to, beautiful?

Taking a break from studying. I haven’t had the heart to take down the blanket fort.

A picture proving the previous statement true followed immediately. You had rolled over to your back, and an open book was on the mattress next to you. There was a wide smile on your face and an oversized blue button-down on your body. Something awoke in Steve.

Is that one of the shirts I left there?

Might be. 

It looks good on you. Extremely good.

It’s comfortable. Smells so good. It’s no match to having you in my bed, though.

Steve’s body certainly had a very clear opinion about the greatness of that hypothetical situation. He shifted in his seat to better shield the phone from Tony, who was sitting next to him. Tony was the only person who lacked enough manners to actually look, and also the last person Steve wanted to see this conversation.

Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind slipping home to spend a little time with you.

Sounds like a euphemism.

What if it was?

I’d say I’m kind of enjoying this ‘Corrupting Captain America’ thing.

Steve was not going to send explicit messages in the middle of the speech under the table, no matter how boring the speech was and how much his blood was already boiling at the mere thought of you. But he needed to take into account that this was not something that had been a part of your relationship earlier.

Seeing you in my shirt does a lot of things to me.

Did I mention the shirt is so comfortable I don’t have any underwear under it?

You’re going to kill me.

Am I?

Honey, I really miss you, but I need to know I’m reading this correctly. How explicit are you comfortable with?

I miss you too, in multiple ways. Give me all you’ve got.

Steve was certain he could actually feel the flood of hormones that sentence sent into his brain. A series of images, both those imagined and those he’d saved into his memory like treasures flashed across the eye of his mind. He shifted again, crossing a leg over another. He was not going to do this, and he was already typing.

Oh, I’m not sure you can handle all I’ve got. Not with the sounds you made for me in the shower before I left. You sounded pretty desperate, honey, and that was only after two times of getting you off.

Are you saying you want more of those out of me?

I’m saying that if I had my way, I’d tie your hands to a headboard and get you off until the only thing you remember is my name, and then I’d make you forget that one, too

Oh god.

Too much?

No. Keep talking.

If I was there now, that’s precisely what I would do. Take that shirt off you and keep you in bed until you can’t form a coherent thought. Maybe I’ll get a solid headboard for my apartment and do just that whenever I please.

Won’t you get tired of it?

Of you? Not going to happen, not with the way you whine my name when all your self-control leaves you. The way you light me on fire, it will probably take me days to get my fill of you when I get back. Of you on my mouth, on my fingers, on my cock, coming apart for me so beautifully. I can’t wait to take you to bed again.

You’re a liar, dear. We’ll never even make it out of the hallway when you get back.

Maybe not. Your place has high ceilings. I could have you high up against the wall, your thighs on my shoulders, my face in your sweet wet cunt until you stop thinking about anything except for me. Until you whine and writhe and say pretty please. Just like in the shower, only with you on my shoulders instead of me crouching down. I’ve been missing your taste, sweetheart.

I miss feeling you inside me.

I miss feeling you wrapped around my cock. Where’s your hand, right now?

I think you know.

Good. I want you to imagine that’s me touching you. I want you to come for me. I want you to remember how much I love it when you do that.

I need you. Real you. Here. It’s not the same.

I need you too, honey. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

The applause started from around Steve, and he dropped his phone screen down to his lap, joining it. He had absolutely no idea what the Secretary had said over the last fifteen minutes. Usually, he made a point to mentally jot down something to talk about when the mingling started but now his mind was going blank, all his blood residing in the raging hard-on in his pants. God, he couldn’t wait to get home

Tony leaned in.

“Everything alright?”

Steve’s face was giving away nothing.

“Yeah. My lady just needed me.”

THURSDAY

Longest three days of Steve’s life.

It had been bad enough on the mission after the first night you’d shared, but this was way worse. He needed to be there with you, right next to you, to make sure you were safe and sound and happy. And he needed to do much else, too. You had probably been right. You’d never make it out of the hallway.

He was desperately trying to focus on reading the final versions of the statements drafted in the conference, but it was just not happening. His foot was tapping the Quinjet’s floor. They’d fly down to the Tower and then he’d take his own Quinjet to Boston. He would be there before 8 PM. Not many hours now.

Tony’s voice was tight, as he was trying to focus on his own reading:

“Cap, could you at least pretend –“

Steve’s phone rang, and he grabbed it from the table so fast the laptop on his knees almost fell to the floor. Tony rolled his eyes as Steve answered:

“Hi, honey, I’m almost –“

“Steve!”

Your voice was thick with tears in a way that cut way too close to the way you’d sounded when you had first called him. Steve’s blood froze at the thought. He pushed the entirely forgotten laptop away from his lap and got up.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

On the other end of the line, you drew a long, shaky breath and sniffled.

“No, Steve, I’m fine and the baby is, too, but I… There’s something I can’t even… Oh god,” you said, your voice breaking again.

A flood of relief washed over Steve as he heard your first sentence, but clearly something was not right. Tony’s face had turned solemn, too, and he was already moving towards the cockpit of the jet.

“FRIDAY, turn off autopilot.”

Tony sat down in the pilot’s chair and grabbed the controls. As the course changed, the plane tilted underneath Steve, who was still waiting for you to stop sobbing for long enough for him to get some sort of grasp about the situation.

“Honey, it’s going to be alright. I promise. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. I promise,” he cooed.

“Can you just come here?”

Steve shot a look at Tony, who nodded from the pilot’s seat, pressing the buttons in preparation for switching into supersonic speed.

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

When Steve rushed from the roof into the stairwell, your incoherent sobs about everything being ruined and flood suddenly clicked into place. The stairwell was at this point more like a waterfall, and with people from fire department standing at the open doorway to the attic and agitatedly talking to someone who was probably a property manager, it wasn’t that hard to piece together what had happened. Despite the fact that it had taken him and Tony an hour to arrive, the flood was still pouring out of the attic door. The cold water was wallowing ankle-deep on the floor, and when Steve ran towards the stairs that would take him to your floor, he heard the fire department saying something about a shut off valve not co-operating. Didn’t matter. Only one flight of stairs down and then he’d be by your side.

The hallway was a chaos of people running back and forth, trying to salvage their belongings, but you were just standing there staring into your apartment through the open door, your back facing Steve, a backpack hanging with one strap on your shoulder. It was clear it wasn’t just the shock – your place had been directly underneath the attic, and it took Steve one look to realize there wouldn’t be much to salvage. But you were alright, and that was all that really mattered to him. He called your name as he leaped down the last stairs, rushing over to you. You didn’t have time to even finish turning towards him when he was already there, instinctively scooping you up into his arms and away from the cold water flooding the hallway. Only when he had done that, one of his arms landing behind your back and the other underneath your knees, he realized it wasn’t exactly a private situation. Steve found himself caring absolutely fuck all about it when you pressed into him, your face against his neck, and drew a wavering breath. When he felt you relax against him, something ancient flared in pride inside him. It made him straighten himself up just a bit more.

Steve was so warm and safe. The scent of his skin made it a bit easier for you to ground yourself. God, you were so happy he was there. Maybe it’d be alright with him there – this, too.

“I’m sorry I made you come here,” you mumbled into his neck. “I just didn’t know what –“

“Hey, honey, look at me,” he whispered into your hair.

You shuffled in his arms, leaning back so that you could see his face. His gaze was soft when he looked at you, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You never, never, never need to apologize for needing me, alright? Never,” he murmured. “I’m yours, alright?”

Despite the exhaustion and fear that had hit you when you had opened the apartment door and had been greeted by an aquarium, you couldn’t help but smile at that, and you nodded. Steve was still holding you like he had no intention to ever putting you down and at the moment, you didn’t see anything wrong with the idea. People were going back and forth, and you were drawing gazes – and the gazes started to linger even longer when Tony Stark descended the stairs and came to stand beside you. You lifted your head from Steve’s shoulder and nodded a greeting that felt oddly formal considering the situation. Steve hadn’t mentioned he’d be coming, too, but it made sense considering you’d caught him when they were on their way from the conference. The last time you’d seen him had been when you had threatened to come for his kingdom and his crown at the gala, and that felt like centuries ago.

Technically, he was something like a brother to Steve these days. That made him some sort of honorary uncle to your child. Tony didn’t seem to mind the water he was standing in, despite the shoes that probably cost more than your entire closet. Not that your closet was much of to talk about at the moment.

“Well, Starstuff, I wish we met again under conditions where it’d be more appropriate to tease you about being the first woman ever to make Captain Proper stray from his path of righteousness, but it’s still nice to see you again” he said, looking at you with a smile on his face.

“Oh, no, I just thought me being pregnant and homeless are the perfect conditions,” you muttered, and Steve’s chest moved with suffocated laugh underneath you.

Tony shot you an approving grin and then turned to look at Steve.

“I talked to the property manager upstairs. Frozen pipe burst in the attic and made the sprinkler system malfunction, and they had issues with the shut-off valve, too.”

Steve nodded, clearly registering the information but not really caring about it. He was still holding you up, and you knew you needed to really start dealing with this situation but just right now, you needed to stay in his warm embrace for a few moments more, and he certainly wasn’t rushing you to get down.

Not even when all three of you heard the unmistakable click of a phone’s camera shutter from behind you. You lifted your head enough to see over Steve’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of a guy your age you’d sometimes nodded a greeting to in the hallway. He had apparently been too excited about the photo opportunity to check if his phone was on silent and was now staring at you with horror on his face. Steve’s grip of you tightened, and Tony shot a look at Steve and walked over to the guy, who still had his phone up and pointed towards him.

“Hey kid, cool phone. Can I see it?” Tony said.

The guy’s face was a picture of shock at the fact that actual Tony Stark had just talked to him, and it was probably that shock that made him just hand over the phone. Tony held it for a microsecond and then just opened his hand, letting the phone dive into the ankle-deep water on the floor. He lifted his hand in front of his mouth in extremely poorly feigned shock.

“Whoops. Look at me being clumsy,” he said with a deadpan voice as he dug a card out of his suit jacket pocket. “Email my people, and they’ll send you a new one, one you can perhaps learn to use a bit more respectfully to prevent these kinds of accidents from happening in the future.”

You knew you shouldn’t, and still, you couldn’t help at raising your eyebrows at the guy over Steve’s shoulder. Tony caught you doing that as he turned around and smiled as he walked back up to you.

“I’ve called in the A.I. Catastrophe Relief Team,” Tony leaned in to say to Steve. “I’m assuming there are a lot of people who are going to need some help until the insurance dough starts rolling in. And it’ll legitimize us being here in a way that’ll take some eyes off your lady. It’s probably a vain hope at this point but I’m going to go and try to steal as much thunder as I can.”

Steve nodded a silent thank you as Tony started descending down the stairs, already talking on the phone.

“We should probably go inside and take look,” you sighed. “I was at the library, so I don’t know how bad it is. But I wasn’t there to save anything so I can only assume…”

You trailed off and swallowed. Steve nuzzled his face into your hair.

“It’s going to be alright. I’m here. We’ll start sorting this out,” he whispered. “I got you, honey.”

The knowledge of that was dripping into your every muscle as Steve stepped inside the apartment. He didn’t put you down before he could set you on a kitchen counter, managing to shut the door with one hand while holding you with ease that would’ve set you on fire in any other conditions, and didn’t exactly go unnoticed in these, either.

“Alright,” he whispered, turning to inspect the damage.

It didn’t take much inspecting, though, and you didn’t need his training in assessing situations to know that. The water was still ankle-deep on the floor, and more was currently seeping from the ceiling, even though they had managed to turn off the sprinklers. Everything you could see was soaked through, and your blanket fort still on the living room floor had collapsed under the weight of wet sheets. Your desktop computer sat so deep in water it probably would never recover, and the entirety of your book collection was probably ruined after the pages had soaked up so much water. That hurt probably more than anything else, until your eyes hit the jar you had kept Steve’s rose petals in and saw that they were floating in water, too.

The twinge of pain you felt at that pierced your chest and made a small whimper to escape your mouth. Steve snapped around immediately and cupped your face with his hands.

“It’s okay. I promise.”

You shook your head and bit your lip to keep from bursting to tears. Steve was doing his best, but there were some things even he couldn’t give you.

“No, it’s not. Everything is soaked. I have no place to go, no money, no anything. And it’s not just stuff, you know, it’s the memories, too. I’ve never lived anywhere else than here. I have no idea how long it’s going to take to dry this place and even if they manage that, I’m probably going to have to throw away so much stuff,” you shook your head, your voice tired. “And your shoes will be ruined.”

Steve glanced down at his feet. He ran too hot to be really bothered by the cold water he was standing in.

“I’ve seen worse,” he smiled. “Trust me. This isn’t the worst thing I’ve been ankles deep in.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his expression. Outside the window, four large Quinjets were landing almost silently on the lawn of the building, their lights piercing the darkening evening. Steve smiled as he looked at the sight, and before you could ask, he explained:

“We have a Catastrophe Relief Team. They’ll be handing out clothes and toiletries and stuff like that to help everyone to weather the storm, and I’m guessing someone is already contacting nearby hotels to arrange for some temporary shelter. And when it comes to long-term, this is Tony’s building, in every sense except for legally. He’ll be on top of this. You’ll be back home in no time.”

Alright. That made your chest feel a bit less tight. Temporary shelter. Clothing. Toiletries. And most importantly, someone else handling the situation.

You could see Steve was fighting with himself. The promises were dancing on his tongue, trying to get out, but after you had agreed to slow down, he wasn’t going to put you in that situation. But still, it was there, just underneath the reassurances he was giving you: just say the words and I’ll whisk you away and buy you a house and give you a ring and make sure you’ll never have to worry about ever again. It would’ve been insane, it would’ve, but you knew the last statement was already true, even without the others. For the first time in your life, you had someone you could call when things went south. A support network. You were still trying to wrap your head around that. It wouldn’t magically make everything okay, it wouldn’t replace the memories you had in this apartment, but it was a lot more than you had had just a month ago.

“Made it out of the hallway, huh?” you sighed.

Steve chuckled. His palm landed on your knee, his fingers brushing just barely underneath the hem of your skirt, and you had to stop yourself from instinctively letting your knees fall open. Three days was way too long without him, and his sultry words had never exactly left your head.

“Only because I’m expecting people will be in and out of here. And I’m not big on audiences in that regard,” Steve said.

Audience. The word made you reel your thoughts back in, and Steve seemed to know what you were thinking. Even though that one picture had been destroyed, it probably wasn’t the only one snapped of you two. So much for discreet then.

“Look, honey, I just… Acted on instinct. I needed to hold you. I’m sorry if –“

You pressed a finger to his lips and smiled.

“I’m glad you did. It was going to get out of eventually. And since apparently our first date is cursed, I don’t really care about when it does. If it’s going to be on the news, then so be it. I’ve been called worse things than Captain America’s Girlfriend.”

A gleam in Steve’s eyes at that, and a smile lighting up his face, and then you realized what you had just said.

Oh. Oh damn.

You couldn’t help but smiling at the ridiculousness of this all, the flooded apartment around you, Steve standing there in the water, you way too exhausted and pregnant to start really dealing with the situation, and somehow, your brain had for once in your miserable life found the right words to say.

“Does that mean we’re dating? That’s not too fast?” Steve nevertheless confirmed.

You made a wordless gesture towards your stomach, and he laughed again. The too fast train had left the station at lightspeed around four weeks ago, now.

“Alright, then, honey,” Steve chuckled. “Dating it is, then.”

For a second, you just looked at each other, stupid grins on your faces. Somewhere in the back of your head you realized that if you hadn’t been seeing him – dating – this would’ve probably still happened, and you would’ve had to face it alone. And now you didn’t need to. In a way, you would never be alone again and while it was certainly something that would need a bit of adjusting to, it was a good thought.

“I’ll go check if I can grab anything from the bathroom,” you said. “If anything can be salvaged, it’s going to be stuff in a cabinet that’s in the room with a drain.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You dropped down from the kitchen counter, shuddering as a new wave of cold water hit your already soaked boots.

“I can carry you if you want,” he whispered.

Some part of you wanted to say yes, really really wanted, but that would’ve been just ridiculous. You shook your head and smiled.

“I can handle it. It’s not going to be long.”

Steve nodded, and you made quick work of getting into the bathroom. The floor there was dry, since the room was a bit higher than the rest of the apartment, and the drains had been able to handle whatever had poured straight through the ceiling into it. Steve was on your heels, and you really had no objections to that as you started packing your toiletries into a small bag. He leaned to the doorway, watching you, and it was clear he was thinking about the last time you had been together in here.

“Despite everything, it’s really good to see you. I really missed you,” he said.

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that from the messages,” you smiled. “I missed you too, dear.”

Your hand wrapped around of that perfume bottle on the shelf, and you shot him a look that made his eyes darken. Keeping the eye contact, you slowly tilted your neck and sprayed just a hint onto the pulse point of your neck. In the small bathroom, the scent of it stayed floating in the air, and Steve took a step towards you, breathing deep in. Something about the situation made you crave his skin on you, and by this point, it really didn’t take that much to convince him.

Before you could reach your hand and pull Steve into a kiss, the door of your apartment slammed, and the water on the floor rippled as someone waded through it. Tony came to stand a few feet from you, and both of you turned your heads towards him. He raised his eyebrows as he saw you and Steve stand there close to each other.

“Well, Relief Team has it under control. There’s a hotel not far that gave us the accommodation almost free of charge since it’s off-season and the PR will be good for them. I talked with the dean, and she said that there’ll be temporary adjustments to ensure those who are going to go stay with family and friends can still participate in their studies,” Tony said, and then turned to look at you. “So, kid, which is it going to be?”

You furrowed your brow. Even leaving aside the head-spinning speed with which Tony had just swooped in and gotten everything under control, you couldn’t understand what he was going for. Not to mention that apparently a large portion of your brain cells were currently entertaining the thought of just slamming the bathroom door closed at Tony’s face and letting Steve haul you up on the wall.

“What do you mean, which is it going to be?” you said.

Tony looked at you like you’d just asked him if water was wet. He tilted his head.

“Are you going to stay at the hotel or are you going to come with us to the Tower?”

The Tower.

You could feel Steve tense next to you. It was cutting pretty close to all the discussions you had had about moving a bit slower but apparently, universe was against that plan. You could stay here. The hotel Tony mentioned was probably a nice place. It would be convenient for you.

But god, you really didn’t want to be alone.

“Since Wanda and Vis moved in together, his old apartment is empty. It’s just underneath the Original Six’s floors,” Tony said. “There’s plenty of room. Food in the Tower really beats the cafeteria food. Gym. Library. I’m sure I could find you lab space.”

Your mouth felt dry. Everything about that sounded so much better than staying at a hotel with a bag of toiletries. Steve was quiet – you knew he probably had no objections to this but still, you turned to him, raising your eyebrows.

“I’d love to have you that close,” Steve answered your wordless question. “But if it’s too much, I understand.”
It was. It was, if not too much, at least much. But it would also solve so many problems, starting from you no longer having a functional computer.

“I’m assuming this is not an offer that extends to everyone in the building?” you asked.

“They’re taken care of but no. This one’s for you, because of the circumstances. My PR will have my head impaled on the Tower roof if they find out that not only is one of my stipend receivers pregnant with my teammate’s baby but that I also left her on her own despite being aware of the situation. Not helping homeless pregnant ladies is really bad for your public image. And besides, this is all part of my clever plan of preventing you from starting a competing company by wooing you with my resources,” Tony said.

You smiled at him.

“You know, Tony, that’s a lot of words to say I’m a big softie and feel responsible for my stipend kids,” you teased.

Steve chuckled next to you, and Tony grinned a bit wider.

“Don’t let the public know I have a soul. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to convince them otherwise.”

“I won’t,” you said. “Since you’re apparently continuing to pay for my housing, I feel like I owe you that much.”

Alright. This was you learning to roll with the punches. Because having the actual Avengers in your corner was doing wonders to your confidence in things turning out alright. Steve reached over to grab your hand and squeeze it.

“Pack your bags, then, kid. We’re going home.”

Chapter Text

“Landing in five, lovebirds.”

Tony’s voice was full of grin as it came from the cockpit of the jet. A part of you wanted to think something clever to reply, but frankly, you were just beginning to process it all.

The Avengers Tower. A landmark in the New York City skyline – something that had become larger than life, a symbol, a phenomenon. It was a living, breathing ecosystem of steel and glass and stone and the most cutting-edge technology one could imagine – and then some. Something that truly never slept even by NYC standards.

And now, it was your home.

The Stark Industries & Avengers Initiative Internships were coveted enough in your field so that you were aware of the fact that no one lived here. No one except for the Avengers, high up in their private floors at the topmost floors of the Tower, though public information about those had always been scarce. You shuffled to your feet from Steve’s lap, making your way to the cockpit to look out of the front windows. Steve was right behind you, his hand resting on the small of your back in case you’d stumble – even as the Quinjet was flying more softly than anything you’d ever been on board of. The warm touch was a grounding one, and you leaned into it, trying to forget the cold feeling of your soaked shoes and stockings. You really should’ve let Steve carry you, in hindsight. During the short ride from your building to here, the exhaustion of relief had really starting to settle in – just like two weeks ago, the warm closeness of Steve combined with the feeling of no longer being alone to deal with all this had lulled you into a state that was halfway a coma.

Underneath you, the roof of the Avengers Tower was parting. It slid to the sides to reveal underneath a hangar that contained eight Quinjets. Two were a bit larger, presumably meant to be used by a bigger team and then there were the smaller ones, including the one you knew was Steve’s personal one – the one that had been parked on the roof of Stark Building way more than would’ve been discreet and pulled some social media attention towards itself. The rest of that particular cat would be out of the bag any moment now, but you would deal with it when you needed to. Right now, you just wanted to change out of your clothes, take a shower and crawl into bed, despite the fact that it was like 9 PM. Falling asleep in Steve’s arms sounded like the best plan you’d ever heard. Odd sensation of nausea was wallowing in the depths of the your stomach, even though you didn’t usually get airsick. Perhaps the ride on the Quinjet had caused it in its novelty.

“So, this is where I live,” Steve said, swallowing.

Was he… nervous? You glanced up to meet his eyes and yes, that was the impression you were getting. It did make sense, at least on some level, because this was the first time you were coming over. You were really doing things in a weird order, deciding to move in together before… No. It wasn’t moving in together. Not just yet – like Tony had said, you were going to have your own apartment. It was more close to having apartments in the same building. Neighbors. Yes. Neighbors that were expecting a baby born out of one night of passion and circling the topic of marriage in a way that was starting to have that same sense of inevitability that had been there during that night of passion, and one of them was a superhero.

It's not like your life had suddenly gotten weird, or anything.

“In the plane hangar?” you said. “You know, no wonder you were so keen on getting a house.”

That got a laugh out of Steve, and he pressed a kiss into your hair as Tony slowly guided the Quinjet into an empty space lined with white chalk paint, not unlike a parking spot. Above you, the roof slid back closed again. Your nervous hand straightened your skirt, and it suddenly dawned on you that yes, this was the first time you were coming over. Which meant the first time you would be meeting the friends of your boyfriend. Who also happened to be the Avengers. You breathed in deep. Alright. You had already seen Nat, Sam and Bucky in that transmission in your apartment. They had all been nice to you. There was no reason to except anything else. The Quinjet landed onto the concrete and Tony pressed a button to drop the back bridge down.

“Welcome to my humble dwellings,” he said to you, spinning around in the pilot seat. “It’s not much but it’s mine.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, grinning despite your tiredness. “But seriously, Tony. I… appreciate this.”

He waved his hand in dismissal, not looking at you.

“Hey, like I said, it’s good PR,” he shrugged.

You weren’t going to tease him about it more than you already had – he was doing a nice thing to you, one he had no obligation to do, and it would’ve been tactless to give him hard time about it. If he wanted to pretend he had selfish motives, you would let him.

Natasha Romanoff had been standing next to the landing space, positioned so that you hadn’t seen her when the roof had opened. So, as you stepped down the bridge with Steve on your heel, her presence startled you, even as there was a friendly smile on her face, and none of that probably was an accident. At least you thought she was looking friendly – the fact was, she could’ve been wearing a mask.

But something told you it was genuine.

You’d halfway expected to see her wearing in a black sheath dress, or something similar. Even after seeing her on the screen in Bucky’s shirt, it was hard to imagine there was a person behind the role of the Black Widow, behind all those deliberately sexy dresses and all that leather. But as she was standing there next to the landing pad, she was wearing a simple combo of jeans and a black t-shirt and a pair of sneakers instead of her trademark heels.  And she was smiling warmly as she took a look at you when you walked down the back bridge of the jet, probably assessing you in ways you could not imagine. She did give an almost motherly look to Steve when he stopped to stand beside you, his arm slipping around your waist, before she turned her attention back to you. Her voice was softer than you had expected.

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Natasha Romanoff.”

“I know who you are,” you breathed, taking her extended hand and introducing yourself.

After giving your hand a surprisingly tender squeeze, Natasha shot Steve a look.

“I thought she wasn’t the one to get star-struck,” she smiled.

“Oh I’m not star-struck. I’m meeting the friends of my boyfriend. That’s way more scary,” you said.

You could practically feel Steve beaming at the word. He leaned in to press a kiss onto your temple. Natasha smiled at the two of you. Alright. She was nice. Intimidating, but nice.

Other than her, the hangar was empty. You suspected that a lot of things in this building were getting done via some honestly awesomely cutting-edge tech, lessening the need for maintenance people and thus the security risks. And the Tower had been covered in enough news and documents that you had a basic understanding of how it worked – the upper levels were the tower-dwelling Avengers’ private space, divided into apartments and some communal space. Beneath those, the social spaces, home to Tony’s parties and other social occasions, and then downwards from that the offices and training spaces of the agents and researchers working in the Tower, in addition to the medical center, and closest to the street level, the cafeterias, restaurants, press conference rooms. 

“Well, so far, I like you,” she said, then growing a bit more apologetic as she turned towards Steve. “A conference call from Director Pike from the Office for Interstellar Outreach is waiting for you in main briefing room.”

You could feel Steve tensing underneath your hand.

“Something that’s making Director Pike miss Admiral Pike’s Friday night grilling? I do not like the sound of this,” Steve grimaced.

“I know,” Natasha said. “Some possibly extraterrestrial, possibly Avengers-level activity in Davao City.”

Steve sighed, turning to look at you.

“Like I said. I’m off until I aren’t, honey. I’m sorry. I really need to take this. Leah is our primary government contact and if she’s calling me about this, it’s something I need to address.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “I get it. I do.”

Despite the fact that Natasha’s gaze was making you hyperaware of yourself, you rose to your tiptoes to press a kiss onto Steve’s jawline. Some of the tension left his body, but you could feel there was still some left. You filed a mental note to talk about this, because really, it was starting to feel like you could talk about anything.

“I’ll get settled in the meantime, if you can just point me to the right direction,” you muttered.

All three Avengers around you chuckled a bit, and you realized what the issue was before they said it. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s been kind of a sudden,” Tony said from behind you. “We have… security issues we have to consider, and we don’t exactly have a security clearance category for accidentally knocked up partners of the Avengers – don’t give me that look, Capsicle – ready to roll so you’re going to have to go through some background checks. I’ll get –“

“Those can wait,” Natasha said. “I’ve got you covered – temporary visitor pass you can use in the elevator and as a keycard to Vision’s old apartment, which has temporarily been taken out of the main FRIDAY network, so your requests will be going through human approval. I imagine you’ve had a long enough day as it is, so we’ll deal with the rest of the security stuff and get your biometrics into the systems tomorrow, if that’s okay with you?”

You wanted to hug her, but there was a possibility any unprompted physical contact might result in you getting a knife into your ribcage, so instead, you just smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. That sounds really great. Thank you, Natasha.”

“Nat is fine,” she said, smiling. “I can take you under my wing and walk you to the apartment, so your boyfriend can actually let go of you and go take that very important call.”

Steve threw his hands up in resignation, but there was a grin on his face.

“Seriously, thanks, Nat,” he said before turning to look at you. “You sure you’re okay? It’s been a –“

“Steve. Go,” you smiled. “I’ve got it.”

You weren’t so sure of that, but Natasha wasn’t apparently going to take the call with Steve, and you had excellent reason to suspect she did got it. Judging by what she’d just said about the visitor pass and taking you under her wing, you had every reason to trust her. Steve trusted her, clearly – it was obvious from the grateful look he had given her.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Steve said to you and kissed your forehead before starting to make his way towards the row of elevator doors on the other side of the hangar in long, commanding strides.

How could someone have such an attractive walk? Oh lucky, lucky you.

Tony snapped his fingers in front of your face, drawing your attention back to his grinning face. In his hand was hanging your backpack, which you had apparently left in the Quinjet. God, your head was all over the place today. You seriously hoped it was just the stress and hassle of the day and not the infamous pregnancy brain – hopefully that one was still few more months down the road, if it was real in the first place. You’d have to figure out if it was. You’d have to figure out so many things. But right now, Tony was talking, and you needed to focus on that.

“It’s not very polite to leave your belongings to be carried by other people,” he said in obvious humor. “If you’re going to be parenting, you need to get a better grip.”

You scoffed.

“Luckily for your old bones, I did pack lightly,” you said, reaching to grab the backpack.

“Hey!” he pressed a palm onto his chest in feigned sock.

“You started it,” Natasha grinned at him. “How’s that one saying… Oh, don’t dish it if you can’t take it.”

You weighed the backpack in your hands. It contained only the textbooks you’d had with you at the library and some of your skincare and personal hygiene products, and that specific perfume Steve loved so much. Everything else had been soaked to the point of there really not being a point to taking it with you, so in your hands was the extension of your earthly belongings at the moment. You would need to get on top of this; this was Manhattan, after all, so you weren’t too worried about finding a store that you could purchase some underwear and clothing from to tide you over until you could return to get your stuff. Now that you thought of it, it would’ve made sense for you to take some of the clothes with you and just dried them here but honestly, you’d been too overwhelmed to think about that when you had been leaving. How long would it take to dry a building? Would your belongings be all moldy and disgusting when you returned? When could you return, in the first place? Did you need to fill some forms? An insurance claim?

You breathed in. Alright. That all could wait. But there was some wavering in your breath that made both Natasha and Tony turn to look at you with caring looks in their eyes. Tony was the first to speak:

“Alright, Nat’s got it covered from here so I’m going to go see how Pepper has been getting by without me. We can find you a lab space tomorrow, and I’ll have some goodies sent over to your place to help you tide this over,” he said.

“Tony, there’s no need –“

“Shush,” he said, waving his hand. “I will. That’s the end of it. My roof, my rules.”

Without giving you a chance to oppose the plan further, he started making his way towards the elevators, too, leaving you to stand there with Natasha. She looked at you expectantly.

“Ready?” she said.

You nodded, not sure if you actually were, but you didn’t have a lot of choice. It’s not like you could stay in the plane hangar.

You had to admit you had envisioned your first visit to Avengers Tower being something quite different – before meeting Steve, you had imagined the only reason you’d eventually be here would be a business meeting with Tony. And then, after meeting Steve and the whole baby thing happening, you’d imagined arriving for a party or team dinner, dressed to the nines and smiling on Steve’s arm. Not… this. As the elevator doors slid open in front of you, you resisted the urge to sigh at the tired face in the mirror. Natasha spun to stand next to you with a precise movement.

“So, this is one of the six private elevators that can reach every floor of the Tower. When we get you settled here, it’ll respond to your voice and other biometrics, but until then, use this.”

The card she took out of her jean pocket and handed to you didn’t look like much. It was the size of a credit card, but a bit translucent and slightly glowing in blueish light even as the screen was off.

“Do you have everything you need or do we need to make a stop somewhere?” Natasha asked.

You weighed the backpack in your hand. Honestly, you just wanted to crawl into bed, but you didn’t even have clean undergarments, let alone any sleepwear.

“I think I’ll make a quick store run,” you sighed. “Everything was soaked so I didn’t really bring much anything, so I need some clothes until I get mine back.”

One corner of Natasha’s mouth climbed up. The elevator doors slid closed in front of you.

“FRIDAY, take us to 58^th floor,” she said.

“Right away, Ms. Romanoff.”

The elevator was moving so smoothly you wouldn’t have realized it was moving at all without looking at the rapidly decreasing floor numbers on the screen.

“We have a 24-hour service for clothes right on site. Primarily it’s used for mission-wear but getting to use it for other purposes is one of the perks of the job,” Natasha explained. “There are always brand-new basic clothing available in multiple sizes, in case an agent needs to rush to a mission. There are more logistics to global security than one would think.”

You huffed a laugh. Certainly; you couldn’t even imagine. But something was telling you that you were going to get a crash course into it during your time here – at least to the non-classified parts of it. The elevator made a muted ding as it hit the right floor, and Natasha smirked at you.

“And while were there, you can leave your measurements. Once the public realizes what’s happening with you and Steve, every single paparazzi worth their salt will try to get a picture, and let me tell you, tailored clothing helps a lot when it comes to looking good in candid photos.”

Apparently, being a force of nature ran in the Avengers family. Not half an hour later, you were back in the elevator with Natasha, having left your measurements to the very helpful clerk of the clothes service and gotten a small suitcase full of clothes to go. The selection of the department, looking like a clothes’ store with the racks upon racks of things except for the fact that it was actually organized to help you find what you were looking for, had pleasantly surprised you. It was nothing crazy; just a couple of basic dresses, blouses and skirts, a pair of boots and a pair of flats and undergarments to tide you over until you had the energy to think about your apartment. You hadn’t intended to take even that much, but Natasha had very unceremoniously walked a few steps ahead of you and piled things onto your arms with a scarily accurate eye for measurements. She told FRIDAY to take you to 73^rd floor.

“There were just the so-called original six of us when Tony did most of the remodeling, after the Battle of New York – and that’s why we have our own floors. Tony has offered the same chance to anyone who’s joined ever since but no one has taken up the offer.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, revealing a small lobby with three doors – one on both of sides of the lobby and one at the end of it. The walls were comforting blueish-grey, and the shining stone floor was spotless.

“Wanda and Vision moved to her place one floor down and combined it with another, empty apartment to get more space, so the place that was previously his is now yours. Sam and Bucky live just across the hall in their respective apartments, when they’re not bothering Steve or me, which is rarely,” Natasha grinned.

You glanced the doors on both sides. Sam’s on the right was plastered with photographs, some of them showing his family and others showing the Avengers in various situations, from formal events to gathering around a billiard table. Bucky’s just had a very large dagger struck into it about two inches deep, judging by the curvature of the blade. You pointed towards it with a slightly concerned facial expression, and Natasha’s grin widened.

“And that was the last time he exchanged all of Sam’s photos for pictures of himself.”

You chuckled at the thought as you and Natasha made your way towards your door. It was odd, walking around this backdrop of power, home to some of the most influential and superhuman people on Earth. But at the same time, they were human, too, and you weren’t exactly sure why that surprised you after Steve.

“I know you’re probably overwhelmed enough as it is, so I have very firmly told them that they should stay away from your door tonight,” Natasha said. “But if you need the headache that comes with dealing with them, just ask FRIDAY to alert them and they’ll trip over each other running to meet Steve’s lady. Entirely up to you.”
“And how do I do that, in case I do?” you said.

“There’s a tablet mounted into the wall next to the door. You can use it to control FRIDAY; by default, FRIDAY’s voice recognition is turned off in private dwellings. You can turn it back on from the tablet, but some of us don’t like the thought of it being there and listening.”

It did seem like bit of a weird thing in your private space. But it could certainly be handy, if half the things said about it in the hallways of your school were true. Luckily, you didn’t need to decide that right now. Next to the door there was a glass pad, and you dug the keycard back out to press it on the surface of it. The door unlocked with an unceremonious click, and Natasha made no move to step inside.

You turned to look at her, forcing a smile out of your exhausted body.

“Thank you, Nat. I appreciate your help,” you said. “It’s great to not have to deal with all this alone.”

The gentle smile on Natasha’s face was something you couldn’t have imagined her wearing before meeting her, but now, it was there and just like in the hangar, you were sure it was a genuine one.

“You’ll never be alone.”

The relief at her words made you breathe out.

“Do you want some company?” she asked. “Steve probably won’t be long but… In case you don’t want to be alone, I’ve got nothing important to do.”

You considered her words for a second. On one level, the offer was appealing, since her company would probably keep your thoughts in line and besides that, she was appearing to be a genuinely a nice person, the kind you hoped to be friends with at some point in the future. On another level, you were absolutely wrecked.  

“I think I want a shower,” you groaned. “Not that –“

“I get it,” Natasha interrupted you. “It’s been a long day. We can have a sleepover some other time.”

You chuckled at the mental image of you and Natasha in matching pajamas, wearing those really stereotypical white clay face masks and braiding each other’s hair. She tilted her head.

“Take care, prodigy,” she smiled. “Anything you need, just tell FRIDAY.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Prodigy?”

“Tony,” she said, like it explained everything.

And it did. Tony was, after all, old enough to be your father and he had called you kid for the better part of the gala night. You’d take prodigy over it any day – he didn’t seem like the type that’d just say things like that.

“I will. And thank you, Natasha.”

“Don’t mention it.”

When the door of the room – or apartment, more like it, closed behind you, you swallowed hard as you set both the suitcase and your backpack on the floor next to door. The main living area of the apartment was shaped like letter L, with the long side of it stretching to your right and containing a kitchenette and a dining table. In the furthest corner on your right was a small entertainment area with a sitting group and a wall-mounted television. No desk; you’d have to sort that out, unless there were some communal study areas in the Tower. Those were kind of nice; the productive mood of them always seeping underneath your skin, too. You breathed in and out as you shed your coat and shoes next to the door. The marble floor felt cold underneath your wet-stocking-covered soles. Everything in the room was fancy, fancier than the apartment you had back in Stark Building, gleaming polished stone, spotless stainless steel kitchen appliances, tasteful muted grays and natural whites and a view to Manhattan from the windows next to the entertainment area. Fancier than any hotel room the other residents of your building were currently residing in would’ve been, so you needed to be grateful for this. But something was stinging in your eyes as you grabbed your travel cosmetic case from the backpack and walked towards the door in front of you, which you assumed was hiding a bedroom.

Your hunch was proven right; a simple bedroom with a dresser and another door leading to a small bathroom. You resisted the siren song of the large bed with white bedsheets and headed to the bathroom, which continued the fancy-but-impersonal alignment of the rest of the apartment. It had probably been returned to some type of neutral state when Vision had moved out – if Vision had been one for personal trinkets in the first place. You could ask him, when you ran into him. Someone had set a kit of basic skincare and hygiene supplies onto the bathroom counter and hung a white, fluffy bathrobe next to it. You’d manage. You would. It would be better after a shower – that’d make you stop feeling weird and cold and exhausted, even as you didn’t really want to think about anything related to plumbing.

Shower did help, at least a bit, the familiar scent of your favorite shower cream bringing some comfort and the hot water soothing your goosebumped skin. But as you changed the bathrobe for a white satin robe and fresh undergarments that were not yours, the effect seemed to fade. You couldn’t quite stop the wet sob that escaped your throat as you sat down on the edge of the bed and buried your face into your hands, trying to breathe and tell yourself it was all okay. Honestly. There was no reason to be behaving like this, when you had a very fancy roof over your head and the Avengers in your corner. You should’ve been ecstatic.

But despite the sensible voice in your head, you weren’t feeling particularly ecstatic.

It wasn’t until you heard the click of the door again that you lifted your head. Steve was moving quietly, but definitely not as quietly as he could’ve, considering you were able to hear him enter. As you heard his soft steps in the hallway, you tried your best to wipe away your tears, but there was no hiding your feelings from this man. Not when he peeked through the doorway with such perception, still probably a bit on edge from you calling him for help.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry I just barged in. I didn’t want to wake you in case you were already sleeping.”

“It’s alright,” you said.

The smile you gave him wasn’t entirely genuine but it wasn’t entirely fake, either. Just seeing him stand there at the doorway was making the tight band welded around your chest loosen up a little.

“You don’t really seem alright,” he said.

Let me fix it. You adored that about him, hell, you’d let your entire weight fall upon that today as you’d called him, but it was starting to dawn on you that you needed to thread somewhat carefully around that tendency. Because it wasn’t just you who was going through all these changes.

“Just a lot to process,” you said. “Turning from the old me into Captain America’s pregnant girlfriend living in the Avenger’s Tower in less than two months.”

Steve chuckled at that, though you definitely didn’t miss the pleased expression at your title. He stepped fully through the door and like pulled by an invisible force, you stood up and stepped into his arms. As you breathed the comforting scent of his cologne deep in, the feeling of that warm coat wrapped around you was right back. Steve’s palm stroked your back, and he sighed.

“I… didn’t plan your first time here being like this but…”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” you sighed, smiling tiredly even though he couldn’t see your face. “We’ll be alright.”

Steve pulled you tighter to him and let his forehead rest on your hair and god, being hugged by him still felt like being engulfed in the physical manifestation of the word safe. He stayed there for a few moments, breathing in the scent of your conditioner from your wet hair.

“This is hard,” he sighed.

The confession had slipped out of him almost by its own, and he could feel you tense in his arms. You let your hands rest on the soft fabric of Steve’s blazer as you tilted your upper body backwards, glancing up to him in question. Alarmed by the sudden openness that had escaped him, he was looking at you and searching your eyes.

“The situation?” you asked, your eyes flickering downwards.

He shook his head so fast it was almost hard to see the movement. Alright. Not the would-be-baby. Something else, then. He cleared his throat before cupping your face with his hands and there was something pained in his eyes.

“I want you to have all these perfect moments. I want you to know how lucky and honored I feel to be here with you and… I keep messing up. I can’t give you all that.”

“Steve…” you whispered. “You’re not messing up. At least not consistently. And besides, we’re both going to mess up. This is new. But you’ve always been there for me when I’ve asked. We’ll be alright.”

And I love you. It flickered there on the tip of your tongue but not tonight. Not on a day like this. Because yes, he was not lying about the moments and that desire to give them wasn’t one-sided. You were not entirely sure he didn’t see the words you swallowed from your gaze, not with the way his face softened.

“I know. Because I’ve got more than I could’ve asked for,” he murmured. “How could it not?”

You were looking at him, trying to comprehend the fact that he was looking at you and saying things like that with the same tone someone else would’ve used to make an offhanded comment about how nice you looked today. God, you wanted to be all that for him, and even as you needed to thread carefully with his tendency to fix things, that streak in him ran deep, primeval, fundamental in him and it wasn’t just about you, it was also about him feeling like what he was doing mattered. And you knew just what to ask.

“Steve, I… I could use some company tonight. Could I sleep at your place? Just for the night.”

It would’ve been a lie to say there wasn’t heat in his gaze as he nodded, but it was softer than how you’d imagined his homecoming – that had turned into a lot more complicated one than you’d anticipated – to be. But it was a hazy happiness, a mixture of love and gratification.

“Of course. As long as you want to,” he said before his face turned serious and his posture straightened a fraction more. “And you know, if you’re not comfortable with cohabiting before –“

“Steve,” you said. “I’m just sleeping over for one night. We don’t need to get married for that.”

Considering that you hadn’t unpacked yet, it didn’t take you many minutes to be ready to go again. You considered, for a second, getting properly dressed but Steve assured you the elevator would be private, and so would be the hallway, so you hadn’t bothered to change out of the satin robe. It didn’t exactly match Steve’s blazer and slacks, but you were not questioning either of the statements, especially as it was Natasha who had told Bucky and Sam to give you time to adjust and seek them out. Even in all her kindness, she was terrifying, and you were certain all members of Steve’s team shared your sentiment. The elevator was indeed empty when it opened in front of you.

“FRIDAY –“ Steve started as you stepped in and he set down your suitcase.

“Wait,” you said, digging out of the backpack the card Natasha had given to you. “I should test this so that if you have to go save the world overnight, I won’t starve to death in your place if it doesn’t work.”

He didn’t seem to find the joke all that funny, since that serious crease appeared in between his eyebrows. You ran two fingers over it and smiled, the thought of getting to burrow into bedsheets that smelled like Steve, in his arms instead of alone in that not-home was lightening your mood already.

“Alright,” he said.

You pressed the card against the reader in the elevator panel and it buzzed slightly.

“FRIDAY, Captain Roger’s floor, please.”

“Right away, Mrs. Rogers,” the AI said, the tone perfectly nonchalant.

All the color drained from Steve’s face and you snapped to look at him before returning your gaze to the card still pressed against the panel. His eyes were as wide as tea plates.

“That’s… That’s not my doing,” Steve choked. “I swear, I…”

An undignified snort escaped you, and that broke the dam as all the emotion of today spilled over, sending you to a hysterical fit of giggles that showed no sign of stopping until the elevator stopped and opened. It didn’t matter, because Steve was smiling, too.

There wasn’t much space in this hallway, just the enough for a few people to get out of all the six elevators stopping here, and the only door that you saw in the walls was the one right in front of you, bearing a large printed poster. You swallowed the rest of your laughter,

“Is that the Declaration of Independence?” you asked.

“Yeah. Bucky thought it was hilarious,” Steve sighed.

“It’s kind of funny,” you said.

“Please don’t ever let Bucky know that,” Steve said as you reached your card for the pad next to the door.

“Access granted: Mrs. Rogers,” Friday stated, almost sending you into another fit of laughter as the door clicked open.

You managed to get away with just another snort, luckily, because the curiosity to see Steve’s living space overtook your attention.

Living space didn’t cut it, though. Penthouse was a more appropriate word, even though this wasn’t the top floor.

The floor underneath your feet was warm, light hardwood, brightening up the already colossal space, just like the soft-white walls. The floor plan was hugging the elevator lobby on three sides, making the layout of the apartment similar to the shape of a letter C, only with sharp corners. From the door you stepped right into the combined living room – dining room – kitchen; the main space of the room opening on your left, since you had entered from the rightish end of the wall. The hallway, if you could call it that was a small one, just a row of closets with mirror doors against the wall on your right side, and a guest bathroom door.

You made your way towards the main area, passing a grey sitting group on your left. Steve had put thought into the place; that much was clear. The bright hardwood was being complimented by the dark walnut shades of the long dining table set underneath a colossal window looking into the city at the furthest corner from the door, and the heavy, dark granite of the kitchen countertops. And what a kitchen – the island looked like an actual island ahead you, with a rack of pots and pans hanging above it. It was supplemented with a row of cabinets and countertops in the shape of a letter L in the corner behind it, a colossus of a stainless steel fridge-freezer combination and a bunch of kitchen appliances. On the wall between the kitchen and the dining area there was a wall garden exhaling a lovely aroma of fresh herbs into the room, and you spotted a glass cabinet functioning as an indoor greenhouse from the corner behind the dining table, even as you couldn’t make out what it was holding.

The entertainment area next to you contained two huge sofa’s and three armchairs, with a coffee table holding a bunch of thick, art-related books in the center. A surprisingly genuine-looking artificial fireplace was there against the wall next to the front door, made of whitish-grey natural rocks, and above it sat a decently-sized, but not huge, TV mounted to the wall. Everything was really tying together, from the soft, large white rugs to the floor to the dark wood kitchen cabinets to the tastefully chosen large, dark green plants here and there, to the bright lighting that made everything pop up but wasn’t jarring. It was a home; a warm place with lots of natural shades and despite the size, a cozy atmosphere. No wonder the team hang out here.

“The windows have safety mechanisms built into them. No one can see in,” Steve said.

You nodded. That was great. It would’ve been a shame to hide the view, and the light that was probably flowing in during daytime. Now, it was just the endless lights of the city that never slept.

“It looks beautiful,” you said.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well. I was in post-ice therapy when Tony was renovating the place and the therapist strongly suggested I make it an actual home and… Tony, in usual Tony fashion, turned up into eleven everything I requested. And after that, I’ve added my own touches.”

“It’s beautiful,” you repeated.

You walked to the center of the great room and then around the corner next to the entertainment area to see where the space would continue. The wide corridor was holding two doors on the right and a heavy, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf made from dark wood ran the entirety of the other wall, stuffed to the brim. One of the doors had another security lock next to it, so presumably that was Steve’s home office, but the other didn’t. The door was slightly ajar, and you could peek inside to see a glimpse of an atelier as you walked past, with a fresh canvas resting on an easel and art supplies scattered on top of a large worktable. Both of the rooms probably had a view outside. Steve was on your heel, carrying the suitcase and your backpack, not rushing you as you took your time to take it all in. You stopped to regard an oil painting hanging in between the two doors; a woman in an old-fashioned dress standing underneath a tree in what you assumed was Central Park decades ago. She was standing with her back to the viewer, holding her hat and looking up to the sky. It was a phenomenal work of art, so lifelike and yet done with a stroke of a paintbrush that, you suspected, was unique to Steve Rogers only.

“Is that someone you know?” you asked.

A stupid prickle of jealousy in your heart; even if the woman was someone from Steve’s past, she was long dead by now. And besides, there was no one in universe that would’ve posed a threat for you, because nothing and no one could turn Steve Rogers into that person. Still, looking at her simple elegance, you wondered.

“That’s my mother,” Steve said softly.

“Oh.”

“It reminds me of where I come from. A piece of an old home in the new one,” he explained. “We didn’t have much back then but we made these lovely trips to Central Park, when I was in the health for it, and bought some snacks from the vendors, if we could afford it.”

There was a wistful tone in his voice, and for a moment you felt utterly stupid for the jealousy. Something sat tight in your throat, even as you swallowed. You could’ve used a mother in this situation.

“I wish I could’ve met her.”

“I wish that, too. But past is past,” Steve said. “My life is here, now.”

He looked you directly into the eye as he said that, and that didn’t ease the tightness of your throat one bit.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said, reaching to touch his arm before turning around and continuing to the end of the hallway.

The apartment made another left turn there, leading you to the end of the C-shape. There was a small reading nook on your right underneath the window, with a cozy armchair, a lamp and a pile of books resting on a side table. In front of you was a closed door and on your left another. There was no indication of the purpose of the rooms. Behind you, Steve cleared his throat.

“I got two bedrooms. The small one in front of you is usually used by someone from the team crashing here when they’re too tired or drunk to take the elevator three floors down,” Steve said. “I can sleep there and give you the master, if you want to? If you’re not comfortable –“

“Steve, I’m sleeping in your bed with you and you’re going to have to kick me out if you don’t want me to,” you murmured. “Are you afraid I’ll get pregnant if we share a bed?”

He huffed a laugh, but as you turned to look at him, there was something else in that demeanor of his, too. He shifted his weight and smiled at you, but there was something, something you didn’t quite understand until…

“Steve,” you said, as softly as you could. “Am I the first romantic conquest you’ve brought here?”

He grimaced at your choice of word.

“You’re not a conquest. But yes. The security is a nightmare and I’m not the type for flings and it’s never… gotten to that stage otherwise.”

You breathed in. He wasn’t completely out of the loop when it came to interacting with romantic prospects – and hey, who you yourself were to talk about that? But this was new to him, too. Letting you into his life like this, into his home, into his bed. To meet his teammates. You’d been handed that privilege with the nonchalance of him knowing it was right with you, but even then, the fact that you were the first one here explained a lot of things.

“This is new to both of us, then” you said.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve said, and his smile was back to that relaxed one that had been there earlier in the elevator.

Speaking of that.

You gestured towards the master bedroom door and grinned.

“So, does that door require me to be Mrs. Rogers to enter, too?” you said, halfway laughing.

The thing was really not that funny but it was hitting that inexplicable the right place with your already wrought nerves, where you just couldn’t contain your laughter. Steve scoffed as you regained your composure.

“So the thought of being my wife is that hilarious of a joke to you,” he teased. “One of these days you’re going to really hurt my feelings.”

“Stop proposing and I’ll stop laughing about it,” you said.

And there it was again, the steely determination of a Captain in his eyes as he smiled with the patience of a man who knew he would get what he wanted in the end.

“Oh, I will. Once you say yes.”

And maybe he was not wrong about that, judging by the way the thought made your heart race. He knew exactly what he was doing, and in perfect nonchalance, he stepped past you, brushing your forehead with his lips as he did. The charming bastard.

“But it’s just a door,” he said, pushing it open.

The bedroom had darker shades than the rest of the apartment. The hardwood was dark here, and it was mostly covered by soft, dark grey rugs, and the wall above the bed was made of natural stone. There wasn’t much in the room: it contained only an absolutely gigantic bed on a raised platform about the height of your knee, with wide stairs leading to it and a nightstand on both sides of it and a row of large, dark sliding doors presumably hiding Steve’s clothes. The sheets were a muted, cozy grey too, and everything in that bed looked so soft and inviting and fluffy that you couldn’t help feeling you wanted to build a nest there and never leave. Everything in the room was built for calm, to be a safe haven. Even the lighting was soft, and there was no window outside, at least visible. 

Steve shut the door behind you and slid the closet doors open to put his blazer back. It didn’t exactly do a lot to your feeling that you were severely underdressed in your satin robe that ended above the knee, but at least the color matched – Steve was a gorgeous sight in his crisp white button down and his dark grey slacks, the outfit tailored to match and highlight his proportions. There was something domestic about this scene, coming home after a long day and watching him hang his clothes up. It felt like something that should’ve come way down the line, and your thoughts circled back to his words earlier. You dug your feet into the warm, thick rug underneath you.

“Steve?” you whispered.

He turned around in response, smiling as he was unbuttoning his shirt.

“Does it make you regretful?” you asked.

Your words made him stop mid-movement and you weren’t exactly sure if you’d had crossed some line here but it was impossible to not think about it. He was looking at you with an investigative gaze, the smile tighter now.

“What exactly?” he asked.

You swallowed. Well, you had started this discussion so you couldn’t leave him hanging.

“I didn’t realize that I was the first one here. That means you don’t have a lot of those moments you mentioned, either, not with anyone and with this happening,” you gestured towards your stomach, “things are going to be weird. And out of order. And some things we’re just going to miss altogether and I don’t mind it but I just wonder if –“

He stepped closer, cupping your face and suffocating every worried thought you had meant to utter onto his lips. It was the first kiss since he’d gotten back and you had imagined it to be heat and frenzy but instead, what was in his touch was warmth and reverence. Steve held your jaw for a long time with the gentlest of hands, nibbling your lips like he was trying to memorize every atom of your face and you went for him, pressing yourself against his body. When he finally let go, you were positively dizzy, and the look of utter love in his eyes definitely wasn’t helping you arrange your thoughts. His thumb caressed your cheek, and he was speaking softly:

“We’ll get a lot of those moments, just in weird order. We might not get some moments but we’ll get other moments in their stead,” he said. “And frankly, everything I’ve ever wanted has been to have someone I love and who loves me on my side, to have a family, and I’m getting that with someone like you so I don’t really give a damn about having to trade some of the moments for that. The only reason I care is because I want you to have those. I want to give you those.”

Before you got your thoughts in line enough to answer, Steve dropped down to rest on one knee, but he wasn’t there to ask a question. Instead, his hands slid down the satin of your robe to rest on the curve of your back as he pressed his forehead against your stomach. There was nothing there telling on your tiny secret just yet, save for some light bloating that could’ve really been anything. But Steve’s demeanor was the one of a man that was kneeling in front of an altar, and when the words left his mouth, they were a pledge of allegiance so unwavering a chill ran down your spine.

“I need you both to know that I will do anything for you.”

He would, and you knew that without a shred of doubt. He would give you anything you would dare to ask, he would burn down the entire world, he would tear apart aliens and warlords and gods to keep you safe, he would

give

up

the shield.

You would never ask that of him. But should you, he would drop it to the ground without hesitating for a second, because this, this, you, had so peremptorily and adamantly shifted where his loyalties laid, binding you together in a way that transcended everything imaginable.

“Steve,” you whispered, your voice choked from the amount of emotion in your chest.

He looked up and that steel, that absolute certainty and veneration in his eyes made you forget whatever it was you had been meaning to say next. He spoke instead.

“You’re giving me this. It’s only fair I give you everything.”

You needed to stop; to breathe, to fully comprehend the weight of his statement, everything he was saying, the power he was placing into your hands. Flick of your finger, and he’d fetch you the Moon, no, a star from the sky, a constellation from the edges of the universe. You looked into the devotion in his eyes, and somehow you managed the words even as your mouth was turning dry with desire:

“I want you.”

Steve shot up with incomprehensible speed, and as he did, his movement was in perfect control, his hands so thoroughly gentle as he grabbed the back of your thighs and hauled you up for the few steps it took him to reach the platform. He let you down onto the bed while kissing you, and yes, the bed was exactly as soft and comfortable as it had looked like, but your exhaustion had perished in the fire that had overtaken you at Steve’s touch, at his devotion to you.

“I’m yours,” he rasped against your skin, pressing kisses everywhere on your neck and chest.

“And I’m yours,” you managed before gasping his name as he tore the robe off you and threw it aside.

Then, his lips back on your body as he trailed kisses down, stopping only to slide your underwear off your legs and kneel down between your legs. The impatient whine you gave him as he took his time to travel up your leg with more kisses made him chuckle against your skin.

“I made you a promise, didn’t I? To keep you in bed until you can’t remember anything except for my name and then I’ll make you forget that one, too,” he whispered. “I’m a man of my word.”

He was. By the time he got up, you weren’t entirely sure who you were anymore, except for happy and drowning in pleasure and wanton in need. But even if you forgot your name and his, you would never forget who he was. Because when you stopped him from nestling between your legs and instead pushed him onto his back on the bed, climbing on top of him and cherishing that surprised lustful glee in his eyes, he went without resisting. And when you rode him, the gentle rocks of your hips looking to find the exact way to ruin him, the words were falling from his lips like a mantra.

I’m yours.

I’m yours.

I’m yours.

Chapter Text

Happy. Content. Warm.

Steve opened his eyes and smiled. It was like a glowing, soft morning sun in his chest, humming happily as he, as careful as he could, slipped out from underneath your warm body and pressed a kiss onto your forehead. You didn’t even stir, and there was no reason to not let you sleep, especially after the whirlwind of the previous day. He looked at your sleepy figure amongst his sheets, his bed, his home, and that ancient something in him flared in pride again. He’d given you a home when you had needed one, he’d sheltered you from the world the best he could, and you were there, safe and sound with him.

Both of you.

The thought made him swallow as he walked to the bathroom to wash his face. In nine months, there would be a baby. His thoughts snapped back to what you had said last night in the relaxed afterglow of having made love, halfway in sleep already. That second bedroom would make a great nursery. And really, the Tower wouldn’t be the worst place to raise children – he himself had insisted on 24/7 childcare facilities right there on site to support the employees that were balancing work and family life. But there’d be time to talk about all that, because he wasn’t even certain you realized what was there hidden in that sentence. You would talk about it, when it became a bit more topical, and he would not send someone to pick up paint samples and furniture catalogues.

Careful not to disturb you, he got dressed and made his way to the elevators, instructing FRIDAY to take him to the communal kitchen. If you woke up while he was gone, you’d be smart enough to either figure it out or ask FRIDAY, and if he made it back before, all the better. The real pregnancy symptoms were still a week or two away, and there was no reason he couldn’t spoil you with a breakfast in bed when you could still stomach all that. He needed to get his kitchen stocked after the absence, and with attention to your nutritional needs, too. Iron, fiber, protein, he ran the list in his head as the elevator arrived to the communal kitchen, maybe a full breakfast spread, with oatmeal and fruit and eggs –

“What is it?”

The communal kitchen covered almost a whole floor of the Tower and now it was bathing in soft morning light flowing in from the large windows. It was all steel and glass and white marble, courtesy of Tony, with two kitchen islands bordering on continents at the center. There were multiple areas to sit in, including a comfortable, smaller breakfast area and a huge dining table made of glass, around which three fourths of the Cap Quartet had now huddled with their hoodies, breakfasts and coffees. It had taken him one look at the faces of Natasha, Sam and Bucky to realize something was going on. There was a pile of newspapers spread across the huge dining table, and a couple of StarkPads open with news sites, too. There were two options.

“Davao City or me?” Steve asked before anyone could answer his previous question, already making his way towards the coffee maker.

“You,” Bucky grimaced. “And your little secret. Which, apparently, is no longer a secret.”

Steve’s blood turned cold. It was not possible. The media could not have found out this fast. He had fully expected the news about your relationship to hit the papers any day now, and that would’ve been alright. But all this, out, so fast, when Steve knew you were still yourself very much trying to adjust to this situation, and in all honesty, so was he. The fact that this was the best thing that had ever happened to him didn’t mean that it wasn’t a lot happening fast. He put the coffee pot back onto the heater plate and breathed in deep before making his way to the table.

CAPTAIN DAD-MERICA? the front page headline of the topmost paper screamed. Underneath was a picture Steve had never seen before, but he knew all too well when it had been taken. He really should’ve been more careful about that; Dr. Brian’s clinic was one frequented by celebrities, and of course, there were people who made their questionable livelihood by selling photos of people public for some reason found interesting. You and Steve were just stepping out of the clinic, and the picture showed in all too raw detail the emotional rollercoaster you had been on, from the messy hair and the baggy sweatshirt to the puffiness of your blood-shot eyes. And on the top of that, his own face next to you had a solemn expression that had been brought on entirely by the fact that he had been in such a deep, awe-struck thought, but the lead paragraph of the article certainly wasn’t interpreting it that way. Captain Steve Rogers, better known by his heroic alias Captain America, appears to be in the family way, and it’s not looking like the road is too smooth. Rogers was seen leaving the clinic of celebrity OB-GYN Dr. Brian two weeks ago with a young woman the sources close to couple confirm to be Rogers’ girlfriend, at least now… The, at least externally, Not Exhilaratingly Happy Couple is reportedly expecting a baby together. Why we’ve never seen Future Mrs. Rogers before now certainly raises questions about the timeline of their relationship, but one thing is for sure – we’ll be keeping an eye out for a diamond.

The other headlines weren’t any less sordid. Every single piece of paper that had the audacity to call itself a magazine had something to say about your and Steve’s relationship and the upcoming baby, and most of them were having a field day to the detriment of your honor. Most of it was bordering on slander but steering just clear, pretending to ask innocent questions about the fact that you were a Stark Foundation Stipend Receiver and the fact that no one had ever seen you and Steve together before now. Even the more respectable newspapers were running short pieces about the rumored pregnancy, albeit that their tone was much less mocking. Every word he looked at made his blood boil hotter until he could feel a vein pulsating on his temple. His hands were squeezing the backrest of the chair in front of him until he could feel the support structure under the white leather dent. He breathed in, very deliberately feeling the air flowing into his body and  one by one, releasing his fingers from the back of the chair. His teammates were all staring at him, and Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“Since when have you cared –“

“Since they started talking about her,” Steve spat before breathing in. “I need to fix this.”

Natasha reached a hand to rest on Steve’s arm. Her eyes looked up to him.

“I think what you need to do is get a publicist. I don’t think getting suited up and going on a rampage to some media houses is going to help here. You need to calm down.”

She was right. She often was. She was right, she was right, and a rational part of Steve’s brain definitely knew that but there was another part of him, another that wanted to ensure that no one would ever dare to say anything even remotely hurtful to you again, and he didn’t give a damn if it meant he had to burn the whole country down to achieve that. But no. There was no compromising on the freedom of press, no matter how ugly the side-effects of it occasionally got. His eyes raked helplessly over the pile of jeering on top of the table, and a small part of him appreciated the fact that the team had made sure he would have all the information, no matter how much it made him hurt. But to him, it was part of the job, and for you, it would be a different story, everything being so fresh and raw just yet and you had already been through so much over the last few weeks and you didn’t need this.

“I need to fix this,” he repeated.

“Steve, if you’re going to go and propose to her now, I’m going to dropkick you in the face,” Sam said without lifting his gaze from the screen he was tapping. “Both legal and PR want to talk to you, by the way. The messages came with the morning team briefing.”

Steve stopped his gaze from jumping from one offensive word to the next and forced himself to focus. He kept his hands leaning on the table and let his gaze rake over the newspapers spread again. He picked up one with that damned paparazzi picture of leaving Dr. Brian’s clinic, you staring blindly ahead, his arm around your shoulder. CAPTAIN AMERICA ASTRAY - ILLEGITIMATE CHILD ON THE WAY? the headline screamed. Next to it was another – READ ALL ABOUT CAPTAIN AMERICA’S SECRET BABY MAMA – making some thoroughly disgusting implications about the reason you’d gotten the Stark Foundation full ride: TONY STARK MATCHMAKING? For the love of god, you had gotten the stipend during the time which Steve had still been presumed dead, but even the implication of Tony being the one to arrange something like that for him, with someone barely out of high school, no less, and him accepting it was making his stomach turn in disgust. ONE WAY TO ENSURE A JOB AT THE AVENGERS INITIATIVE the third one said, showcasing the same photo with your non-existent belly circled with a red circle.

“They’re trying to shame her for this like it didn’t require the participation of two people to produce a pregnancy out of wedlock. She doesn’t deserve to be the subject of this talk. This is the very reason –“

“Steve,” your voice interrupted from behind him. “It’s fine.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, turning over to see you wearing just thick thighs and his shirt that reached down almost to your knees, stepping out of the elevator. It had arrived quietly onto the floor as his focus had been too much on the papers. His shirt. Something about that sight, and the fact that you were yawning as you made your way to the coffee machine made his heartbeat calm down just a bit.

“Honey, I –“

“Steve. It’s fine,” you repeated.

He swallowed. Both Sam and Bucky were peeking from behind his back to get a look at you, but you didn’t seem to even notice as you stared at the spaceship grade coffee machine for a few seconds before figuring out how to get espresso out of it and heat the milk for a latte. The small amount of caffeine wouldn’t be dangerous to the baby, Steve knew that, and he definitely trusted your judgement. You had drank barely any coffee lately, even the decaf one he got you, stating that the taste was like jet fuel.

You took the glass, and made your way over to the table, leaning your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Natasha was seated next to him, her hand resting on Steve’s arm in a calming gesture. On the opposite side of the table, Sam and Bucky were looking at you like you were a particularly interesting museum exhibit. Coffee first, introductions later. Steve’s arm wrapped around your waist, and you could feel the tenseness in him even from that small touch. You peeked at the papers on the table with curious eyes. Oh, they certainly were having a field day.

“I’m not sure you should read those,” Bucky said. “No offense or anything but –“

“I already did, or at least skimmed online. They got pretty creative, didn’t they? I woke up to 502 missed calls,” you grinned before taking a sip of your coffee. 

Steve looked at your nonchalant face in confusion. He was clearly trying to put together a puzzle but was missing some pieces.

“Don’t get me wrong, honey, I’m happy if it doesn’t upset you but… You’re not upset?”

You shook your head.

“It’s just trash media. If I had a fat ring on my finger –“

“– which I’ll give you right this second if – OW!”

Steve lifted his leg to rub his shin, making Nat draw her hand back, and shot a glance at Sam, who looked like a picture of innocence. You smiled a bit but didn’t let their shenanigans interrupt you.

“– they’d just drag me for speedrunning my way into marrying you. You know the truth. The rest of them don’t really matter to me.”

You turned your gaze up to see Steve’s face, and there it was again, that expression of wonder you’d seen glimpses of.  The glow in his eyes made you breathe in deep, and all that media frenzy you’d woken up to hadn’t made the earth feel shaky underneath your feet but this was hitting damn close to achieving that. You rose to your tiptoes to press a peck onto his cheek, not sure how he was feeling about public displays of affection in front of his teammates, and his expression melted into a smile as he turned towards you.

“I know,” he swallowed, his thumb brushing your cheek. “And I’m so happy to hear you’re okay.”

And I love you. Oh, for sure, right there, right in between his lines and in that look in his eyes.

For a second, you couldn’t do anything except for look into his eyes, and then here was a very pointed cough from the table next to you. You turned around to look at Sam, who was grinning.

“Some of us are trying to keep their breakfast down here,” he said, gesturing towards his bowl of granola and yogurt with honey.

That actually looked pretty delicious. Your stomach grumbled just the tiniest bit, and Steve immediately looked at you.

“Want me to make you a bowl of that?”

Ignoring the exaggerated face of feigned disgust Bucky pulled at that, you considered for a second telling Steve that you were pregnant, not incorporeal and could open a couple of cabinet doors yourself. But it was clearly still bugging him that he couldn’t really do anything about the way the press was talking about you. You could let him have this.

“That sounds nice, dear. Thank you,” you said before finally seating yourself to a chair that Steve, of course, got out for you.

“Nine months of that and I’m moving out,” Sam muttered under his breath.

Why was everyone assuming you would be staying here until the baby came? It couldn’t take that long before your apartment would be fixed. You shrugged it off as you grabbed a couple of papers from the table. It was an odd feeling, being talked like this. And you really wished that you would’ve worn something else in the first pictures taken of you and Steve, because that finals week look wasn’t really screaming that you had your life together. Still, you couldn’t help at chuckle at the more creative word choices they’d used of you.

As Steve came back and set the bowl, and a glass of orange juice, and a bowl of blueberries onto the table next to you, you lifted your head to find three Avengers studying you and really, if they were that bad at being covert about having stared you, you hoped that they left the undercover missions for someone else. Bucky dropped his fork onto the plate of pancakes he’d been sharing with Natasha and crossed his hands on the table.

“So. I’d ask how you guys met but we heard that guy fawning over the story in all the gooey detail approximately 86 times during the mission,” he grinned. “But it’s nice to meet you, finally.”

He glared at Steve, who lifted his hands up.

“Nice to meet you, too. All of you,” you said before digging into the food.

The granola was delicious, mouth-wateringly so, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this hungry just after waking up. Steve had snuck to the kitchen at night to get you some snacks, but clearly that hadn’t been enough. It had been a busy day yesterday.  

“Like I said, if I didn’t have to be so embarrassed of you, this would’ve happened a lot earlier,” Steve grinned.

“How much earlier could that actually have been?” Sam teased him. “I mean, as the whole America has now found out, you didn’t exactly hit the brakes, Romeo.”

“Seriously, that is not as romantic as you are trying to make it out to be,” Steve snarked back. “You’ll find out once you learn to read.”

“Ooohhh,” Natasha laughed, but her eyes landed on you.

She was assessing you, for sure, throwing all of Black Widow into it and you would be lying if that wasn’t at least a bit intimidating. If you hadn’t met her yesterday, you would’ve been slightly terrified of her, but you’d seen her rush to support both you and Steve, despite the fact that she barely knew you. But she knew Steve, and trusted his judgement.

“We were just talking that it might be a good idea for you guys to get a specific publicist to deal with this. Choose the right outlet for an interview and things like that. It’ll make dealing with the media much easier, if you give them something – makes them leave the rest of it alone.”

You didn’t miss the look she gave Bucky at that, or Sam’s mumbled  ohmygodtherestwoofthem. She was probably right.

Steve had fixed himself some toast and was eating it with his left hand, his right on the back of your chair. You’d missed this simple closeness while he’d been away in the conference, the calming presence of his. It was really, really hard to care about a few tabloids leering at you when the news of that had hit you while you’d been snuggling in silk sheets smelling deliciously like Steve.

“I don’t know, I kind of want to see how egregious they can get,” you chuckled. “I mean did you see the one where they speculated on the fact that I was Tony’s illegitimate daughter? Or the one that called me out for Eve’s sins – A Robotic Snake in the Garden was the headline, I think. Of course, they’d call me out on the engineering thing. That’s a man’s job after all. How could my measly woman brain ever do that? I think they’d be happy I’m pregnant now; perhaps I should’ve gone to that clinic barefoot, too.”

You took a sip of your coffee, and browsed through the papers on the table.

“Oh, this one’s funny. ‘Talk about age gap – the college girl who got pregnant with Captain America’s baby.’ Oh I just love the way they outline the agency here,” you laughed, reading it aloud. “’Last night, America was shocked to learn the secret of its national icon. The news about Tony Stark’s stipend receiver having fallen pregnant with the First Avenger’s baby took the nation by storm, leaving many to wonder why they’ve been so shady about it. Is there a secret plot at play? After all, it doesn’t really seem to fit the image of our honorable Captain to not showcase his future family, not to mention start one with someone who he has not wed. Considering the rumors of Steve Rogers being the sole heir of Stark’s fortune in case of his unfortunate passing, could this young lady have secured her ticket straight to the upper crust?’ So, when are we planning on murdering Tony, dear? And I just think fell pregnant is such a great way to describe that. There’s no way you could’ve ever done anything that would’ve resulted in a baby. Must’ve been a divine intervention.”

You dropped the paper back onto the table, laughing.

“And oh, did you see the CAPTAIN AMERICA TO SAVE A SINGLE MOTHER FROM SHAME that discussed at length the fact that you were forced into pretending it’s your child because you’re so honorable you couldn’t leave me to such a horrible fate as to having a child on my own when I was, according to them, too much of a harlot to keep track of who I slept with. Who even says harlot anymore?” you laughed, turning to look at Steve and grinning. “Because they all know you’d never sleep with anyone on the first night. That’s just not you, is it? Never happens.”

That’s when your realized everyone was staring at you, with expressions you couldn’t quite decipher, save for Steve who was clearly absolutely beaming with pride. But Sam, Bucky and Nat were looking at you for a few seconds before Bucky let out an undignified snort that instantly erupted into full, rumbling laughter coming from somewhere deep within his chest and spread to Sam. Steve was grinning from ear to ear, and when Bucky finally calmed down, he just shook his head. Natasha stayed more collected than them, but she was letting you see her amusement.

“Well. I’m not surprised, punk. Not at all. Just saying that if you don’t marry her, I will,” Bucky says, slamming his hands onto the table.

“Ahem,” Natasha said, but the grin didn’t disappear from her face, either.

Steve didn’t answer him, but his arm shifted from the back of your chair onto your shoulder, and there was a pleased gleam in his eyes as he regarded Bucky:

“In your dreams, jerk.”

You turned towards Sam:

“What is it with these 1910’s types and proposing?”

He shrugged, shaking his head at the shenanigans of the table.

“You tell me; you’re much further on that track than I am. But that level of territorial makes the leak make much more sense,” he laughed, nodding towards Steve’s arm on your shoulders.

You frowned in question, and Sam threw one of the papers in front of you in response. You let your eyes scan over it until you realized what he was talking about. Steve’s interest had piqued, too, and he leaned in to look, so you just read aloud:

“Sources close to the couple cite Rogers acting extremely territorial and jealous over his partner, to the point of attacking another guest at the gala. The claim has not been confirmed,” you read aloud, chuckling. “Oh my, those sources do sound suspiciously like Jackson. He’d be delusional enough to claim being close. Though I do remember you being all up on his face, so perhaps that counts.”

“Apparently he learned nothing from that,” Steve gritted his teeth.

“Take the testosterone down a notch,” Natasha said, patting his upper arm. “The PR has enough to deal with without you going full Terminator on this situation.”

It wasn’t the first time Jackson had made implications such as this. It wouldn’t be the last time, for sure. If he was in contact with some trashy media, he would have a field day paying back all the imagined and real slights on his honor you’d given him over the years. It felt like you should’ve cared more about all of it, but Jackson, like anyone else, didn’t really know who you were. They didn’t know the reality of the situation, and thus it was like it was with anyone babbling on about things they didn’t know anything about – their input was essentially worthless. What was going on between you and Steve was for you two, and you two only, and anyone else’s opinion based on false presumptions didn’t really matter.  Steve was measuring you with his eyes – you were certain that at this point, he would and did believe you when you said you were okay, but he was also clearly in some type of protection override. And the thought definitely wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Before you had time to address the matter, or rather tell him that you could talk about it later, the elevator stopped to the kitchen floor again. As the doors opened, Tony stepped out like he was making the grand entrance on his wedding day, with a large bag made of bright red, gleaming paper in his hand. There were no wishes of good morning. Instead, he waved his hand in a dramatic gesture and proclaimed:

“So, what’s this talk about my future godchild already making front page news? I have to say, the little one takes after me.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“Your godchild?”

That was probably a thing you should add to the list of discussions you and Steve should have in the future. Months down the line, for sure. Maybe you could have a bit of fun with this, even. But really, you were definitely not unaware that  both you and the eventual baby could do a lot worse in terms of people around you. A lot, lot, lot worse. Tony dropped his bag onto the table in front of you without stopping, coursing straight through towards the coffee pot. You peeked into the bag and swallowed at the realization that it contained a laptop, a tablet, a phone and a smartwatch, and you’d kept up with the industry enough to recognize top-of-the-line StarkTech used by AI, too. They were all in their boxes, clearly brand new and straight out of some Tower reserve, and the fact was that you couldn’t put a price onto this stuff because it simply wasn’t commercially available.

“Tony, I can’t take this.”

He didn’t even look at you. Instead, he simply grabbed his coffee and waltzed out of the kitchen, the elevator door closing behind him. You weren’t sure he’d stood still any longer than it had taken him to pour the coffee mug. The only thing that told you he’d even heard your words was the nonchalant statement just before the doors closed:

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have given you nothing.”

After you realized that staring helplessly at the closed elevator doors was not going to help, you looked into the bag and back up around the table.

“Is he always like –“

“Yes,” four voices answered in unison.

“We should go out,” you said to Steve as you were back in the elevator, heading towards Steve’s floor again.

He turned to look at you and lifted an expectant eyebrow. The thought had begun to brew in your head as you’d half-listened to Sam and Bucky debate whether The Shining or American Psycho was a better movie and Nat and Steve discussing the PR situation. They had, of course, asked for your input on the subject but there wasn’t much you could add, especially when their plan of appointing one of the Public Relations Assistants to draft a short and matter-of-factly press release on the situation sounded great.

“A date?” he asked.

You smiled in response.

“More like ‘I need to pick some things up because everything I own ended up smitten by Poseidon’ kind of going out but there’s no reason we can’t make a day out of it. If you want to?”

Steve blew out a breath as the elevator stopped. You flashed your keycard – reminding yourself that you should really get that Mrs. Rogers thing fixed, and also move your stuff back to your apartment – to let you through the front door.  

“Don’t get me wrong,” he began once you were behind the closed door, and you couldn’t help chuckling.

“Good start, Captain.”

God, that easy grin on him, lighting up his whole face. You’d take all the tabloids trying to guess how exactly you’d managed to land this, because you had, in fact, landed this. Just not like they thought.

“I would love to show you off,” he said. “But it’s intense out there. You heard Nat – the whole block is packed with media. I mean, it’s going to be cameras flashing as soon as we hit the main lobby, because apparently, there are reporters glued to the windows downstairs. I can get everything delivered here if you’re not ready to face… that side of dating me.”

He grimaced, and you reached out to take his hand in between yours. There was a soft look in his eyes as you pulled the hand up and kissed his fingertips.

“I know that I was worried about that, but that… seems like a long time ago. And I know it wasn’t because nothing concerning us was a long time ago,” you huffed a laugh, and Steve joined you. “But now that it’s out, I see no reason to hide here. I have nothing to hide, and I want them to know that I don’t give a damn about what they have to say about us. I can take the press, because I’ve got you by my side.”

And I love you. You didn’t say it out loud, again. But Steve heard it, and even if he didn’t, everything else you said would’ve been plenty enough to make his breath catch. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, and then he just leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Well then. I need to get a few things done in my office but they shouldn’t take longer than an hour.”

“Perfect. That’ll give me plenty of time to put together a look that’s a bit less finals week and bit more America’s sweetheart,” you grinned.  

And oh, you had a plan. Natasha hadn’t been wrong about the fact that blue was your color, and she’d thrown the dress onto your arms last night without second-guessing. It was a statement in your situation, with the navy color on it, but the silhouette was also very flattering on you, and the length and neckline made it hard to accidentally show any more skin than you wanted to. It looked good on you, no doubt, and since the attention of the public would certainly be centered on your stomach area, you were glad the dress hid the slight, odd bloating. A touch of makeup, your favorite hairstyle and red, red, red lips, because after all, you weren’t going to be made into some eternally-smiling, austere ornament on Steve’s arm.

“You look amazing,” Steve said as he stepped into the bedroom. “I called us a car.”

His eyes narrowed, darkening at the sight of his brown leather jacket on you. You’d seen it in his closet, and thrown it on your dress in spur of the moment, coaxed by the look in his eyes you’d definitely not missed when he’d seen you enter the kitchen in his shirt.

“That’s the point, dear,” you smiled. “I want to make you proud.”

“You do,” Steve said. “It’s amazing how well you’re handling all this. I know it can be a bit much.”

You smirked, running a hand over your stomach as Steve turned to the closet, throwing a blazer onto his ever-present blue button-down shirt and slacks. Not that you complained about that sight. Oh no. Everything about this was a bit much. More than a bit, starting from falling head over heels and followed by accidental baby and a 50-thousand-dollar ring that was waiting for you to say yes, and you ending up at the Tower.

“I’m pregnant with Captain America’s baby. I have him, and Tony Stark, and Natasha Romanoff in my corner. What are a couple of reporters going to be able to do about it? Write mean things when they wish they could be me?”

“You look gorgeous, did I mention already?” he hummed as he stepped back close to you, cupping your face with his hands and pulling you in for a kiss. “You’re going to knock them all out.”

You smiled as he let your mouth go, and his hands slid over your upper arms, over the butter-smooth leather of the jacket. It was the same gleam in his eyes that had clearly been there when you’d stepped into the kitchen in his shirt, but it was a brilliant glow now.

“I’m not going to lie, I really love the idea of getting to go out with you on my arm,” he murmured. “But you know, we can escape this if you want. Out of the Tower. There are options, safehouses, Tony has a villa in the French countryside, and Director Pike has reached out to me to invite us to their house if we need a break. I’m tempted to say yes just for the cooking.”

You chuckled. There was certain appeal in the thought of just leaving everything behind for a few days or weeks, but you also had a life outside of all that was happening within the realm of Steve. You had to sort things out, starting from this shopping trip and proceeding with figuring out the lab situation. If the tech Tony had given you was a tell about the overall situation, you’d do just fine.

“It’s the best choice to go out with our heads held high. No coveting. No explaining,” you smiled, squeezing his hand. “But it was kind of you, and them, to ask. Maybe we could go some other time.”

Steve nodded.

“I think you’d like Pike’s Point. It’s certainly impressive; I’ve been there a couple of times,” he said before melting into a smile. “She said you’d probably say that, though. Her ability to be five steps ahead is bordering on witchcraft.”

Certainly, if she was able to say that before having even met you. Interesting. Before you had a chance to say anything further, Steve reached a hand into his pocket.

“And I’ve got something that’ll go magnificently with that coat,” he said.

A blue, small velvet box in his hand. You looked at it and were just about to ask if he’d gone deaf recently or if he was just very dense, but as you glanced up, the grin on his face told you this was something else, and his next words confirmed that:

“It’s not what you think,” he said, snapping the box open. “Look, I know you don’t care and I don’t really care, either, but I really want everyone to know that we’re in this together.”

On the satin pillow of the box rested his dog tags. The silver-colored metal of them gave off a faint glow in the bedroom lights. You ran your fingers over the carving of his name and swallowed, your heart beating against your ribcage. It was a gesture, a grand one, and the thought of wearing his name around your neck, especially when it was carved onto something that represented such a large part of his identity… It made you consider that it would be perfectly fine to go shopping tomorrow and spend this day in the sea of bedsheets behind you wearing nothing except the dog tags. You forced the thought down and looked up to meet his gaze.

“Are you sure?”

Steve was looking at you with the expression of a man who second-guessed nothing, and his voice dropped a few notes lower:

“Absolutely. I want them to know that if they cross you, they cross me.”

Oh good god. You drew in a heavy breath, trying to ignore the lick of a fire in your belly. Yes. There was appeal in this thought. It wasn’t an engagement ring but…

It was something that would, even at the first glance, tell people to back off. It was a piece of jewelry that was a physical manifestation of the fact that you were his.

A pleased ripple shot down your back, and you smiled. It took only a nod from you to make Steve take the tags out of the box and put the box away, his eyes hot on you. As he carefully put the chain over your head and the dog tags made a soft clink as they settled slightly below your breasts, that heat flashed into an inferno. You found yourself being yanked into a kiss, a hard, long claiming kiss, his hands buried in your hair and his body leaning over yours like he was trying to shield you from the world, and everything in you glowed in response. Yes. This. This is how it is supposed to be.

It felt like you were still catching your breath as you and Steve stood in the elevator heading downstairs, both of you facing the door side by side. You took a breath in and out, deliberately focusing on it.

“Are you nervous?” Steve asked.

You reached to take his hand in yours and squeezed it. He smiled, and wrapped your hand just a bit more tighter into his.

“Never with you.”

And with that, the elevator doors flew open, and you stepped into the limelight.

Chapter Text

Had anyone told you two months ago that your next trip to a department store would be an occasion of which everyone and their mother wanted a picture, you would’ve told the person to get their head checked. But the sudden attention on you had definitely a lot to do with one Steve Rogers  beaming by your side and the fact that you were making your way towards a black SUV the driver had parked in front of the main Avengers Tower entrance. No wonder the cameras were flashing.

You weren’t entirely sure if beaming really covered it, though. Steve was absolutely radiant with pride, but also something else, something primal enough for everyone to part in front of you. You’d seen footage of celebrities running from the paparazzi, and a part of you had been mentally preparing for everyone to be all up on your face. But instead, while the cameras were flashing like a thunderstorm, everyone kept their distance. They wouldn’t dare, not with Steve standing in all his glory next to you, his shoulders drawn back and his head held high, every cell in his body focused on keeping you safe from everything. It took one glance at him for everyone to realize that he would not tolerate anyone making you even slightly uncomfortable, let alone threatened. It really wouldn’t have been necessary for you to be wearing his clothes and his tags for everyone to understand that if they crossed you, they crossed him, but you certainly didn’t mind. His palm did not leave your back until you were next to the car, and the touch kept you grounded to what mattered in the thunder of photoflashes.

You were his. He was yours.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered into the kiss he pressed onto your temple as you were getting into the car, and the sound of cameras all around you grew from a thunder into a hurricane.

“I know,” you smiled, leaning onto his shoulder.

And the full Captain mode, the distilled warrior he was letting people see, was definitely one of the hottest things you had ever seen, and judging by the smile that was on his face once you were behind the darkened windows of the car after you’d made it out of the Tower, he knew exactly where your head was.

“Are you sure that’s everything?”

You peeked into the basket resting on Steve’s arm, because of course he was absolutely refusing to let you carry it. It had been almost peaceful inside the store, since the paparazzi couldn’t follow you into a private business. Of course, there was the occasional more or less covert cellphone camera pointed at you, snapping a picture that’d no doubt be on some tabloid site before you made it back to the Tower, but people had still been keeping their distance as you’d wandered around the store.

“I think so, yeah,” you said. “It’s not really reasonable to buy all this stuff until I know how much of mine is salvageable, especially since the AI has me so well covered. And you, too.”

Steve straightened up at that, and you couldn’t help smiling as you looked up at his face. There was no one else in this world you would’ve even thought about going through this with, but with him, with that reverence and dedication and love, love that was still unsaid but that was very much there, it was slowly starting to feel like this was right. Definitely not the way had anticipated things were going to go down with you two, but not wrong, either. Just… fast. Out of order.

“Anything you need –“ Steve started.

“Oh, no, you’re not paying for this,” you said, turning your gaze back to the items in the basket.

A couple of pieces of lingerie that felt more like you than the stuff available in the clothing service, a couple of makeup items to replace the ones that had been on the counter instead of in the bathroom cabinet and had consequently been soaked beyond saving, and one of the textbooks you didn’t have as a digital version. There was a library in the Tower, too, but the book had been on clearance since there was a new edition coming out soon, which meant it didn’t cost the usual arm and a leg. You’d also picked up a cheap travel hair dryer, since the one you had back in your flooded home was probably not in any way safe to use even after drying it out, and a flowy blue maxi dress that had been 70% off and had brought a very nice smile onto Steve’s face. It was way less stuff than you had thought you’d need to buy, since you’d been able to fall into the safety net of the AI, and you were so grateful on behalf of both your poor bank account and the hassle it saved you.

“Honey –“ Steve started.

“I’m literally living under your roof, Steve. And I just bet you’re not letting me put my credit card into that order-in system of FRIDAY in addition to yours,” you glanced up and the look on his face told that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d let you do that. “So you’re getting to do plenty of providing. I know it’s important to you. But it’s also important to me to know I’m still my own person.”

He sighed, but there was a smile on his face as he leaned in to press a kiss onto your forehead. A woman with two children in tow smiled at you as she passed you with her cart.

“Alright. I get it. But let me buy you lunch once we’re done here?”

Oh, making sure you were fed was definitely going to be a thing for him, and you could let him have it. It was kind of nice, actually, to have someone with an eidetic memory to remember all the insane food restrictions of the pregnancy. You stifled a yawn, thinking you could really go for another coffee if it wasn’t for the baby, who certainly didn’t need to become a caffeine addict before it was even born.

“Okay. I will,” you smiled. “And hey, I need new prenatal vitamins. I forgot to take those with me from the old apartment. I think there’s a pharmacy somewhere in here?”

Steve turned his head, locating the sign hanging from the roof indicating the location of the pharmacy and pointed it out to you. Practical. While it was fun to be out with Steve, you couldn’t wait to get to lunch and sit down for a while. The flash of the cameras had given you a small headache, and apparently all the fatigue of yesterday hadn’t completely vanished even after you’d gotten proper sleep.

The in-store pharmacy was decently crowded, just like the store – no surprise, considering it was Saturday afternoon – but even as it were, a pharmacist made her way to you almost immediately as you stepped in.

“Good afternoon. Can I help you with anything today, ma’am? Sir?”

There was a neutral smile on her face, the same she probably gave to everyone when she was wearing her white coat. God, you loved the uncaring poker face of customer service workers. Steve could’ve rolled in in a full suit instead of in a very nice overcoat, and her script wouldn’t have flinched.

“Yes, thank you, I need a prenatal vitamin, please,” you said.

A few people close to you turned to look at you in curiosity, even as you’d kept your voice politely low, and Steve took a step closer to you. The pharmacist nodded, her tight curls moving with her head.

“We have an excellent selection. Any particular brand in your mind? How far along are you?”

You should really know the answer to this question; it had been there in the material Dr. Brian had given you, but the way they calculated pregnancies was apparently based on your period and not the date of conception. You looked up at Steve’s face.

“Five weeks? Just turning into sixth week? Isn’t that right?”

Steve nodded, and you squeezed his hand as an expression of gratitude. You should probably get some kind of app or something to track this, since it was definitely information you should be on top of. There was a lot of that these days, and the headache seemed to be getting worse. You hadn’t had time to set up your new StarkPhone yet, but you could do that this evening. Tomorrow you had to get some schoolwork done, since the teaching would continue normally, though remotely, on Monday even with the flood situation – after all, that affected only a small part of students. The due date Dr. Brian had calculated for you was in the end of June, giving you time to finish the semester and graduate before the baby would be here, and you definitely needed to utilize that. The pharmacist nodded, and her voice drew your scattered focus back:

“Alright, then. This way, please.”

You nodded along as she explained to you what you needed – Steve had already done some research on this, considering he’d gotten you the first bottle, but it never hurt to get additional expertise. Steve’s hand slipped around your waist as you both listened to the pharmacist talk about the essential minerals and vitamins the supplement contained.

“ – the folic acid –“ she stopped talking, peeking behind you. “Excuse me, sir, you can’t photograph in here. Please put away your phone, or I’ll have to call security to escort you out.”

You turned your head to see a middle-aged man begrudgingly lower the phone that he had been pointing towards you. Steve’s grip on your waist tightened, and the disappointed look he gave the guy made him literally wither behind the shelf he was standing. Steve didn’t dwell on it, but instead pressed another kiss into your hair. The pharmacist smiled.

“My apologies for that.”

“Definitely not your fault,” Steve said, and you nodded along. “Thank you for intervening.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling.

It didn’t surprise you at all when you left with the same bottle of vitamins Steve had gotten you earlier, which was apparently also the most expensive one on the shelf, even as you suspected majority of the price difference was the name brand. You let Steve pay at the register of the pharmacy, deciding that it was not worth it to fight his argument that it was technically a food item, and smiled at his attempt to leave a hefty tip, which the pharmacist promptly refused.

“There’s a real nice café near Central Park,” Steve said as another AI-owned SUV had rolled up to pick you up. “Or do you want something more substantial?”

You settled into the leather seat and tried to make sense of your body’s signals. You weren’t really that hungry, but more in the pre-hunger state of being aware of the fact that you should eat soon. There was slight queasiness present, and your head was still aching a bit. It was probably a good idea to eat something, and the café probably had a salad you could stomach.

“That sounds good,” you smiled, reaching for Steve’s hand.

“We could leave your purchases to the car and take a walk in the park after lunch?” he suggested, lifting your hand up to give it a kiss. “You can take my coat; I’ll be fine in that leather jacket.”

That sounded great, and an anticipatory smile curled your lips up. Some fresh air, in a coat that smelled like Steve. Central Park in late October, the leaves in full glory off the fall on a sunny day. And considering what Steve had said about the trips of his youth with his mother, it was lovely that he wanted to take you to a place that was obviously important to him. You wouldn’t rob something like that from him, even as you weren’t feeling entirely perfect. Five weeks. That could be reasonable for some pregnancy symptoms to really begin to show; most of the articles you’d read on the subject had said it really began on the sixth but there was variation. And you were almost into the sixth.

Steve gave the driver the address, and you leaned back as the car rolled into the traffic. It wouldn’t be a long trip, which was good because you could feel yourself get a bit carsick. Steve heard you swallow heavily, and his eyes were immediately on you.

“We can go home, too?” he murmured. “Order something in?”

You shook your head. Really, you’d felt worse during your PMS symptoms, and it was a beautiful day – a crisp, cold fall day with no clouds in the sky. It would be a gorgeous weather to go for a walk, and honestly, it would be good for you both to do something that wasn’t directly related to the pregnancy, especially in the eye of the media storm. To nurture the connection that had led to this.

“No. It’ll be nice,” you replied. “But actually, maybe we could grab something light to go and take that walk in the park? I could really go for one of those mango smoothies, and I’m not that hungry.”

Steve leaned in to press a kiss onto your forehead. You’d need to have a conversation about what public displays of affection you were comfortable with, since your relationship was going to be very, well, public, but that was something best done in the safety of your home. Steve checked his messages from his watch as the car rolled slowly ahead in the weekend traffic, heading towards the Central Park. He’d explained you earlier that the cars were an AI security measure, available 24/7 to be dispatched from the Tower, with drivers that went through more intensive background checks than people working in the White House. Something told you that Steve’s attitude towards such pampering had probably gone through a fundamental change over the last couple of days. The warm glow of being protected hummed in your chest.

“The PR would like to arrange a meeting for tomorrow, so we can discuss further press strategy. They’re not happy we’re out,” Steve said, grinning.

You answered his smile. There was a distinct glimmer in his eyes, and you were certain this wasn’t the first time he’d caused the department gray hair.

“I hope you’re not getting in trouble for it,” you teased.

“You wanted to go out. I don’t care about anyone else’s opinion,” he said.

There it was again, that intensity in his eyes that told you he’d do anything and everything for you. Your fingers brushed over the dog tags on you, and his gaze dropped down, going over the swell of your breasts almost as if he was caressing you with his eyes.

“Steve?” you said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so proud to have you by my side for this,” you whispered. And I love you.   

There was a glimmer in his eyes, now entirely different. His voice was low and husky as he replied:

“There’s no place I’d rather be.”

Luckily, the café Steve had had in mind did pickup of pre-orders, so you could wait in the car in the park parking lot while he ran quickly inside to grab the drinks. Mango smoothie with ginger for you and an iced americano for him. He thanked Noah for the ride as he held the car door open for you, balancing the small cardboard holder of the drinks in his other hand. You gave him a beaming smile as you got up from your seat before pressing a kiss to his cheek, and god, he wanted to kiss you until your knees gave, or his did, he wanted to take you back to the Tower and take everything but those dog tags off your body. Actually, that was precisely what he would do when you’d get home.

You shook his jacket off your shoulders, throwing it onto his arm for him to put on, and slipped into the wool coat he was holding up with his free hand. As you buttoned it up, there was another, warmer glance exchanged, as both of you were thinking back to the gala night. How had he gotten so lucky? By some miracle, you were his, in more ways than just one. Next summer, he’d be a father. He’d have a family. He’d have someone by his side, someone he’d one day call his wife and the mother of his children, someone both brilliant and beautiful. The thought filled him with so much awe his throat felt choked. Even now, even as people were turning to look at you, you slipped your hand into the crook of his arm like it was the most obvious thing in the world and took the drink.

Steve had never been a complicated man. He was a product of simpler times; not better, not in many ways, but simpler. He prided himself in his spine and his set of principles, but at the same time, those had always been a fundamental part of him, something that had just always been there. He couldn’t really take credit for being a good person for choosing to follow those morals, since there had never been any other option. But even considering that, his head had never in his life been clearer than it was now, as every tether holding his world in place lead to you. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you, nothing, everything in his head distilled down into two thoughts stemming from something older than time. Provide. Protect. And god, was he happy to do that.

“Do you just want to walk around?” he asked after a while.

You took another voracious sip of your smoothie and thought for a bit as Steve put his cup into a recycling bin by the path. It seemed like the fresh air and getting some sugar into your system was starting to make you feel better, and Noah had managed to lose the paparazzi into the traffic, too. They’d no doubt turn up eventually, but it would be harder to find you from the park, and for now, you could enjoy a moment of much-needed normalcy. The distinct desire to go break some necks over the things that had been said about you hadn’t completely faded from his head, but you’d taken it all better than he could’ve ever imagined, hoped, asked for.

“Is the place from your painting still somewhere in here?”

Steve smiled.

“The tree isn’t. But it’s there by the lake. Want to walk there?”

You nodded, letting your head drop against his shoulder as he returned to your side, and his thoughts snapped into the velvet box in the pocket of his blazer. It was a gorgeous day, and the lake was beautiful, and he wanted to lay everything in the world at your feet, starting with the promise to love you and cherish you until his dying breath.

The clear blue sky and the fall sun had given other people the idea to visit the park. It wasn’t terribly cold yet, so a few brave people had spread out last picnics of the fall onto the grass. As you passed the playground, Steve could feel his lips curl up at the gleeful sounds of the children, some of which clearly recognized him despite the lack of the suit and the shield. This had definitely not been how he’d planned this phase of his life to begin, but even as it wasn’t, that didn’t mean he wanted it any less. It was just fast, not wrong.

You looked gorgeous in the sun as you made your way deeper into the park, almost glowing despite the earlier tiredness, and Steve wasn’t quite sure he’d ever seen anything as beautiful as you. That damn red lipstick as your mouth closed around the straw of your drink you were now sipping slower. The silence was comfortable; both of you enjoying the sun and the fresh air and the simple closeness. It wasn’t the whole nine yards he’d wanted you to have back during the gala night – still did – but it still made something hum in him.

“There were sheep there when I was a kid,” he said, nodding towards the meadow on which people were lounging.

“Really?” you smiled.

“Yeah. All the way until 1934,” he said, smiling.

He still remembered the hot summer days and the coolness amongst the trees of the park, his mother’s weary smile turning a bit lighter as they’d walked in here. He was just about to tell you that, when a cheerful, small voice called from his side:

“Hey Cap, catch!”

He turned around, well in time to catch the frisbee the someone had thrown at him. It had gone a bit to the side, but he could easily reach out in time to catch it, letting go of you in the process. The easy, gleeful laugh that left your mouth was music to his ears, and oh, he definitely needed to take you down to the training hall and do a bit of showing off with the real deal. His fingers snapped around the frisbee, automatically registering the balance of it as he prepared to throw it back. Before his gaze found the owner of the frisbee amongst the families spread out on the grass, she was running towards him – a young girl around the age of five, her presumed father running after her a few steps back. Behind himself, Steve heard you shift to stand on his side as he turned towards the girl, who had stopped to stand in front of him. Her eyes were bright as she looked up at him.

“Hey there. This yours?” Steve said, extending the frisbee to the girl.

“Yeah!”

“Good throw,” Steve said, nodding in encouragement as the girl took the toy from him.

That was the moment her flustered father caught up to her, landing his hands on her small shoulders and shooting an apologetic look to Steve before addressing his girl.

“Emma, you can’t run off like that,” he said, clearly more startled than angry.

That made sense, considering the park was full of people, some of them on roller skates or scooters or bikes, and a child running from the meadow to the path could easily lead to a collision. Emma’s father turned back towards Steve and you and smiled sheepishly.

“Captain Rogers, Mrs. Rogers, I’m so sorry.”

Steve heard you chuckle, but neither of you really bothered to correct him. No need to fluster him further.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Steve said, but even as his voice was warm, the man didn’t seem to be completely assured.

“I know there’s a lot going on –“ he started, but was interrupted by his daughter.

“Are you friends with Black Widow?” Emma’s voice piped up. “Can you tell her she’s so cool and I want to be like her when I grow up?”

Smiling, Steve squatted down to meet the girl at eye level and nodded.

“Yes, we’re friends,” he said. “I’ll make sure to tell her that. She’ll be very happy to hear that.”

They were drawing attention, and Steve knew he needed to move on soon to keep you away from the swarm of kids, which were usually quite alright, and parents, which much more often weren’t. There had been enough attention on both of you, and he really didn’t want to deflect well-meaning but unnecessarily nosy questions about your very public relationship situation.  

“Can you sign my frisbee?” Emma asked, and Steve chuckled, reaching for the sharpie he kept in the inner pocket of every coat.

“Of course.”

Emma’s father shifted his weight, glancing towards a blanket on which another man sat and waited, his eyes blown open in surprise. As Steve signed the frisbee, the other man turned his attention towards his child.

“Okay, Emma, Captain Rogers has been very kind to you today, so you should thank him, and then we’ll leave him alone, okay?” he said.

Emma hugged the freshly autographed frisbee against herself and nodded in agreement. Her small face was full of genuine joy, and even as Steve knew it would definitely not always be a walk in the park to be a parent, a not-so-small part of him absolutely couldn’t wait seeing the smile on the face of his own child.

“Thank you, Captain Rogers!” she said, her voice brimming with excitement.

“You’re welcome, Emma. Be good.”

Emma’s father thanked him, too, before ushering his child away. Steve didn’t rush up, instead letting his gaze pass over the families on the meadow.

“It’s a bit surreal to think –“

That’s how far he got, before the unmistakable sound of a flimsy takeaway cup hitting the pavement next to him made his blood turn into ice.

It could’ve been you being clumsy, but something instinctual told him with terrifying clarity that it wasn’t. He didn’t think; he didn’t have time to, before he was already shooting up from his crouched position and turning towards you. In an instant, he’d shifted into full combat mode, alert, ready, every synapse in his body not firing up but already running on lightspeed. When he finished turning, he took everything in in one-hundredth of a second, your slightly crouched-over posture, the pained expression on your face, the open horror in your eyes as they met yours, and something else, something he almost couldn’t bear seeing but it was there, right there in front of his eyes, painting a picture his hyperalert brain immediately filled in.

The hand that had dropped the cup, the palm of which you had now pressed against your stomach.

No, no, no, please, God, no. Please, no.

It had been two seconds since the cup had dropped. He caught you just as another cramp, stronger than the previous one tore through you. You slumped against him, feeble enough that you would’ve collapsed down had his arm not been around you.

“Steve,” you whimpered, looking up, eyes blown out.

Intermittent cramping is to be expected, as is nausea, as is a headache and feeling fatigued, his brain was running, but this was clearly none of that, you were obviously in serious pain and had Dr. Brian been wrong, was this an ectopic pregnancy, was this something else, he could lose you, he could lose you, he could lose not just the baby but you. Even as his fear was choking him, even as his name was leaving your lips, he was already talking to the StarkWatch ever-present on his wrist, the voice control not requiring him to take either his gaze or his arm off you.

“This is Captain Rogers speaking on the emergency channel,” he said, and he was entirely certain he’d never addressed the dispatch with such an urgent tone, “I’m going to need the air ambulance Quinjet dispatched to my location, and I’m going to need it now!”

He barely heard the mission dispatch center confirm his request, because his full attention was back on you, his palm gently running over your cheek, the cold sweat that had appeared out of nowhere sending more horror-filled thoughts into his head.

“Steve?” you whimpered again, grimacing with another cramp, and, as gently as he could, he kneeled down, helping you down too so you could collapse against his chest.

Some of the people were stopping and staring, phones were being pulled out, cameras were flashing, and he didn’t give a fuck, he didn’t even see anything but your eyes looking up at him as he cradled your face.

“It’s going to be okay, honey, it’s going to be okay. I promise, I promise it’s going to be okay, I’m going to make it okay,” he cooed, and it was a prayer, not a promise but what else could he say. “You’re safe, I’m going to keep you safe, I’m always going to keep you safe.”

There were tears falling down your face onto his fingers, and you curled up into a ball on the pavement, huddling closer to him even as all the strength had drained from your limbs. Steve knew it had been forty-five seconds since the cup had fallen but where the fuck was that Quinjet?

“I’m sorry,” you managed, another cramp making you shiver as your head lolled in his hands.

His eyes were blown out and he wanted to pull you closer, lift you into his lap away from the hard pavement but when there was something wrong with you moving you further could be a bad idea and it was so early so so early and had he been getting his hopes up and he could survive that you both could make it through that but if he lost you now it would break him into pieces, please god universe whoever, I’ll do anything –

“There’s no need to be sorry, baby, absolutely nothing, it’s going to be okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay.”

And that was the last thing you heard before next cramp sank its teeth deep into you, and with that, the whiteness took over, pushing you off the edge of consciousness.

Chapter Text

Floating.

You were floating. A weightless ghost in the vast emptiness of the space, seared by the raw, blinding light of the stars around you. The pain tore its way into you, spreading outwards from your stomach into every part of the body, pulsating along the beat of your heart.

In the distance, a light brighter than the others, a star crumbling to turn into a supernova. You reached for it like it was a hearth, despite the way it was radiating an ability to wipe you off the face of the Earth. A longing for the warmth of the soft flames to take away the pain filled you.

As you flew across the sky, every vein of yours was filled with liquid fire that should’ve turned you into a pile of ash but didn’t. You were made of harsh light, too, after all, entirely composed by it, and the stars did recognize their own, didn’t they? You reached for the light, gentle and deadly, and it spoke in a low whisper as its fire wrapped around you.

“You’re safe, I’m going to keep you safe, I’m always going to keep you safe.”

“This is Ambulance Quinjet 1 approaching,” the pilot said into the comms. “Requesting landing permission directly into emergency hangar.”

“All clear, AQ1. Opening the wall now. Proceed to land into Slot 1.”

Steve didn’t need to see what was happening to know — the Medical Department of the tower covered its own floor and was situated right above the research laboratories in the middle of the tower, and one of the outer walls slid smoothly to the side to allow for the small medical emergency Quinjets to land directly into the department. That saved precious seconds when it was the most needed, and right now, Steve was grateful for the level of medical expertise available around the clock in the Tower. It killed him that there was nothing he could do — you were still spasming with the cramps even though your consciousness was in and out. He was kneeling on the floor next to the stretcher the paramedics had positioned you on, holding your hand even though you were unconscious, and praying. Praying for the first time since the ice, even though he didn’t know who or what he was hoping would answer. The muted pleas were falling from his lips as he was pressing your hand he was holding against his forehead. Please.

“Captain Rogers, we need to — “

“I understand,” he replied to the paramedic, straightening up and letting your hand go as the Quinjet dove into the landing space, even as his every cell was screaming that he shouldn’t be anywhere but right next to you.

He stepped back as much as he could in the cramped conditions of the small Quinjet, letting the two paramedics prepare the stretcher to be moved the moment the plane hit the ground. The nauseating, cold fear he couldn’t remember ever feeling was swimming in his stomach as he watched your eyes snap open, and your mouth draw a chocked gasp. A whimper left your lips, and then you were out again, and he knew in the depths of his soul that he would’ve handed the entire AI database over to HYDRA if that meant you would be okay.

The back bridge of the Quinjet dropped, and the paramedics were already running out with the stretcher, Steve right behind their footsteps. Seeing the brisk walk and the blindingly platinum-blonde braid of the doctor that came to meet them made him breathe just the tiniest bit easier — if he had to deal with this, he was glad to have Dr. Carolina Vinterberg in his team. He could distinctly recall Dr. Vinterberg’s words from the interview: I think dying should be optional. Tony, with his obsession of hiring the best, had salivated over the thought of getting one of the biggest names of acute care surgery to take the reins of AI’s Medical Department, and Dr. Vinterberg had gladly accepted the research opportunities and the non-insignificant paycheck. And she had been worth every penny, and Steve prayed that this would not be the day she swayed away from her track record. Please.

Dr. Vinterberg spun on her heels to hurry down the corridor towards the wards, and the nurses that had followed on her footsteps took over the stretcher from the paramedics. She watched your face carefully for a few seconds, registering, calculating, before she consulted the StarkPad in her hands, connected directly to the wireless sensors the paramedics had fastened onto your chest, inner wrists and your temples. Steve tilted his head to see over Dr. Vinterberg’s shoulder, and the rapidly flashing graphs on the StarkPad were all in the red. Please.

She didn’t say anything Steve, which was not unlike her — her attention was completely in the medical problem in front of her, and her brow furrowed above her ice-blue eyes in a manner that had the cold fingers around Steve’s heart tighten their grip. She didn’t take her eyes off the device as she spoke:

“I don’t have Mrs. Rogers’ complete medical history at hand, but this data is not pointing towards anything obvious.”

“She’s not…” Steve swallowed.

“She’s listed as Mrs. Rogers on the data in AI system,” Dr. Vinterberg stated with a tone that ended the line of discussion.

Bucky had once speculated that Dr. Vinterberg didn’t actually see humans, she just saw a cluster of different anatomical structures, either working as they should or being in need of a repair, and Steve thought the assessment could very well be accurate. But even if she saw her patients as machines in need of a repair or further engineering, that didn’t make her any less phenomenally good at her job, and right now, Steve was very thankful for the composure with which she was handling the situation.

“Fifth week?”

Steve confirmed that, and that’s when the stretcher pierced through the swing doors into the emergency ward, and Steve realized that it must’ve been less than a minute after the Quinjet had landed. Something about the ever-calm manner of Dr. Vinterberg had made it seem like a longer time, or perhaps it was just the metallic taste of panic in his mouth that made the time all stretchy, his brain running five thousand thoughts a second, the what ifs and the possibilities and the guilt, the blame he was placing on himself for somehow not stopping this.

Dr. Vinterberg had always run a tight ship and that wasn’t going to change today. As soon as she stepped through the door, right behind the stretcher, she was rapping orders with the same calm, authoritative voice she always spoke with. The room was buzzing with people, and it was obvious everyone that could be spared had been called here, and Steve tried to tell himself that it was a good sign, but it was also a sign that they were anticipating needing this many people. Even with all the people, the room wasn’t crowded, not with the wide space around him, the shining floors and the diagnostic equipments right there, almost comforting with their clinical appearance. Anything short of surgery could be done right in this room.

“Mrs. Rogers’ vitals are all over the place but she’s not in immediate danger, so we have a bit of time to find out what’s going on. Use that. Mitch, Fleetwood, Sato, Pryor, get her onto the bed. Carlyle, alert Cho and tell her I want her on this. Sandalls, get a blood sample from Captain Rogers and Tinsley, get one from Mrs. Rogers and send those into lab right now. I want a full gene profile of both, and the human chorionic gonadotropin levels and the complete toxicant presence profile of Mrs. Rogers’ blood done an hour ago. Garcia, ping Sergeant Barnes from the waiting room to here, and Arrowsmith, take a look at this data and tell me what it reminds you of. Theudhar, put your skills to use and get me a proper ultrasonograph; I want to see where we stand with the embryogenesis and the presence of a heartbeat.”

The nurses and the doctors in the room were rushing to transfer you from the stretcher to a proper hospital bed, one filled with all the diagnostic tech the AI had developed over the years, and Steve flinched as he saw another cramp tear through you with the movement of the transfer and getting your jacket off. Before he could step forward, Nurse Sandalls headed towards him with a blood sample kit, and he shrugged the blazer off and rolled up his sleeve without even consciously thinking, his eyes on you, and the endless please please please please hammering its way through his skull.  Dr. Theudhar, Vinterberg’s right hand, had leaned his impressive form over your bed and was now running a wireless sensor over your dress-covered stomach. A distant part of Steve’s head recognized that to be the ultrasound diagnostic device Tony and Bruce had been working on.

“There’s no heartbeat?” Steve whispered, to no one in particular.

The sensors should pick that up, right? Right? Nurse Sandalls gave him an empathetic look as his hands worked to sterilize Steve’s arm.

“It’s normal, Captain Rogers. It’s very early. We’re just turning into the stage where the heart of the embryo starting to beat. We simply might not be there yet.”

It’s very early. He knew that, every cell of his body knew that, and he’d read enough to know how volatile… He didn’t allow himself to finish the thought, even as the needle pierced his skin to take a blood sample, and he felt nothing. You were tossing and turning on the bed like captured in a nightmare, muttering incoherent words that turned into high-pitched wails as one of the nurses took the blood sample, and every single muscle in Steve’s body tensed. It took every drop of his self-control not to rip his arm off Sandall’s hand and run to your side and —

What, then? What could he do? The only person he could blame for this was himself. He swallowed the bile in his throat as the time was stretching again into inconceivable vortexes, like in the fever nightmares of his youth. The hurried sounds of the room and the gentle beeps of the machines around you faded away. Every drop of Steve’s exemplary focus snapped onto Dr. Theudhar and Dr. Vinterberg talking in low voices next to your bed, the eyes of both up at the screens.  One of the screens was showing a grey-black image similar to the one Steve had looked at Dr. Brian’s office, and the black dot wasn’t any more photogenic than it had been. But it was there, and that had to mean something? Thousand questions flooded his mind, but he didn’t want to interrupt any trains of thoughts. Now that the nurse had gotten the blood sample, you’d quieted down again, rustling on the bed still but no longer tossing with the cramps, even as there were beads of sweat all over your forehead. The two doctors were entirely calm, focused and alert, and despite the fact that Steve knew that was exactly why they both had been hired, something inside him was screaming that they needed to hurry, needed to do something, needed to —

“Her entire system is in overdrive,” Theudhar’s words interrupted Steve’s train of thought as he looked at the screens attached to the headboard of the bed. “But it’s not ectopic, I can say that.”

Not ectopic. Steve had not doubted Dr. Brian’s words, but to hear that from the mouth of another expert provided him a small crumb of reassurance. The nurse that had taken your blood was bandaging your arm with an apologetic expression on her face. Another nurse had already grabbed the blood vials and rushed out of the doors, no doubt towards the medical laboratory.

“I agree, Dr. Theudhar. No apparent signs of her miscarrying, but we’ll have to wait for the laboratory to confirm,” Vinterberg said.

It should’ve been relief slamming into Steve, but it wasn’t. Because if this wasn’t a miscarriage, then what the hell was going on? The thought that had already been there at the park came rushing back into his head. If you both lost the baby, he would grieve, but if he lost you, this beautiful story that was only starting to unravel, it would simply kill him. He swallowed with a dry mouth.

“The intracranial pressure,” Vinterberg said, mostly to herself. “Theudhar, get me the sodium thiopental. We’re going to put her under.”

Theudhar didn’t reply, but instead set the ultrasonic device onto a cart and moved towards the cabinets that held the medicine. Dr. Arrowsmith spoke from behind Vinterberg, his brow furrowed:

“Are you sure, Dr. Vinterberg? Inducing a coma is a considerable risk — “

“Welcome to Emergency Medicine, Dr. Arrowsmith,” she replied, with a tone that ended the discussion and made Arrowsmith move to help Theudhar set the anesthesia up.

Considerable risk. Steve needed to protect you. He’d promised to protect you. He’d promised, and he took a step despite his legs feeling like they’d been nailed to the floor of the ward. Something flared in him, old instinct making his jaw tighten, blood pulsing in his ears drumming one single word, risk risk risk risk risk. Arrowsmith hung an IV bag of translucent fluid onto the headboard of the bed and nodded to Theudhar, who moved towards a control unit screen on the side.

“No,” Steve said.

The word half escaped him, but as it got out, he straightened up into his full height, drawing his shoulders back. Dr. Vinterberg didn’t even turn to look at him as she was watching the screens as Arrowsmith pierced your skin, setting up the IV that would induce a coma, and who knew what that could mean. Steve wasn’t going to let anyone risk anything. He’d made a promise. Theudhar adjusted the settings on the screen.

“My ward is not a democracy, Captain Rogers. This is not up for voting,” Vinterberg said, and there was nothing personal about the tone. “Arrowsmith, take it slow, I want to see a calm wave, not crash her into unconsciousness.”

The other doctor nodded, and Steve’s eyes flinched back to your sweat-glistening face and then to the back of Dr. Vinterberg’s head. The graphs above your head were changing, and an alert message popped up, making Steve clench his fists.

“That’s an order,” he said, loading every bit of his authority into the voice. “You’re going to find another way.”

Every single person in the room turned to look at him — except for Theudhar and Vinterberg, whose gaze was slowly drifting from you to the screens and back. Her voice was completely flat:

“You have no authority to give me orders concerning medical decisions,” she said. “And you have no power of attorney over Mrs. Rogers’ health decisions.”

“Dr. Vinterberg —“ Steve said, his voice coming out as a hiss through his teeth.

“Theudhar, get him out of here,” Vinterberg said, moving over to take control of the screen.

As Dr. Theudhar stepped to stand in front of Steve, he met his dark gaze at eye-level. There were rumors surrounding him, half of them probably bullshit but Steve did believe he’d actually been a Navy Seal in the past before going to medical school. He still had the posture of an extremely trained soldier, that not restless but explosive energy ready to spring into action, and while Steve knew the serum gave him enough of a leg to take him on despite his hulking form, it was not ideal, especially in a room full of delicate equipment. Theudhar wasn’t backing down despite Steve’s eyes attempting to burn holes into his skull.

“Captain Rogers, I can assure you we will be doing everything we can, but you have to let us,” he said. “I know it’s tough. I patch my reckless dumbass of a husband up six ways from Sunday, and I still get scared. You didn’t hire Dr. Vinterberg for her bedside manner, so let her make the tough calls she can make. Let her do her job.”

Distantly, Steve recalled the colossal, viking-like form of Commander Theudhar, the chief of AI’s Weapon Research & Development department that was located in the AI Compound upstate. Theudhar should understand, right? Theudhar should understand that Steve needed to do something to protect you? Anger flared in him, lighting his eyes up.

“I will not —“

As he started stepping closer to Dr. Theudhar, a metal arm grabbed his shoulder from behind and stopped him.

“What’s the great plan here, punk? You going to punch the equipment until she’s alright? Let the damn doctors do their job and stop being a dumbass,” Bucky said, glancing at Dr. Theudhar. “Thank you, Helias. I’ve got it from here. Let’s go, Steve.”

Theudhar nodded and was already turning back towards the bed.

“I will not —“ Steve started, but Bucky yanked him back with a considerable force.

“Out,” he snapped before practically throwing Steve towards the door of the ward.

The moment the door of the ward’s door closed behind them, Steve spun on his heels towards Bucky. His voice echoed in the empty corridor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea —“

“No, I don’t. And neither do you. You think there’s maybe a reason the people in that room have gone to school for over a century, combined? If anyone is going to figure this out, it’s going to be them.”

Despite the slight humor in the words, Bucky’s face was solemn. If there was one person on this earth that knew what this was doing to Steve, it was Bucky, but still, how dared he? The rational part of Steve couldn’t argue with the words but that rational part was being overshadowed by the primal one, screaming in his head why he wasn’t currently slamming through that door and —

And what?

Bucky was right. He had no plan. The thought seemed to slam all the fight-ready adrenaline out of his body, and his shoulders slumped. He breathed in and glanced towards the door. Rationally, he knew that there was nothing he could do, he knew he’d just be in the way, and still, some invisible tether stronger than the foundations of the universe was pulling him towards the room.

“If I lose her…” Steve whispered, trailing off.

“I know. I know,” Bucky said, setting his hand on his shoulder. “They won’t let that happen.”

He had absolutely no authority to promise that, but somehow, it still helped. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Let’s go sit in the waiting space and get some coffee. They’ll call you in when they have something to tell.”

Bucky was right. It took the longest hour of Steve’s life, but Dr. Vinterberg returned to the waiting room just as Steve was on his third cup of vending machine coffee he didn’t taste. But Bucky had threatened to handcuff him to a chair if he didn’t stop pacing, and he had had to do something, anything, to have even a fraction of a second of distraction.

“Captain Rogers,” she said. “Would you like to step inside my office to have a word? We got Dr. Brian’s data, and that names you as Mrs. Rogers’ medical emergency contact, which means I can disclose information of her condition to you but not to Sergeant Barnes.” 

There was nothing on her face or in her voice that would’ve told Steve anything. His heart was all the way up in his throat, feeling like he might choke on it. Condition. He didn’t like the sound of that, and the walk from the waiting room into Dr. Vinterberg’s office felt like it took forever. The doctor was a few steps ahead of him, her heels clicking and the skirt of her dress swinging underneath the white coat. Steve felt the heat on his cheeks as he looked at her professional nonchalance.

“I’m sorry I… was unprofessional.”

“It’s understandable, Captain Rogers. Brain scans have shown that seeing a loved one in pain causes a physical reaction in the observer, too,” she said.

Dr. Vinterberg scanned her palm to open the door of her office and walked straight to her desk, taking a seat. Her office was spacious and filled with books and journals and stacks of printed paper on every horizontal surface but lacking any and all personal trinkets. A few dark-green houseplants were climbing the window overlooking the city. She folded her hands on her desk and met Steve’s eyes as he sat down to the chair on the other side.

“Mrs. Rogers is currently in stable condition. The medically induced coma stabilized her and lowered the pressure inside her skull. Her vitals are within normal ranges at the moment, but we will be keeping her under for a while longer. As for now, there are no signs that she would be in the process of miscarrying.”

Steve nodded, wanting to hear all of this before he formed any kind of opinion. Despite the thought, a small glimmer of hope was set alight in him, even as the words also meant that this was something else than an ordinary pregnancy complication. Dr. Vinterberg looked at him like he hadn’t just an hour ago been ready to fire her in an emotional outburst. He wouldn’t have had the power to do so, but he would’ve tried, and the thought made his stomach turn in shame. She had saved your life and he’d…

He needed to focus. He could find a way to redeem himself later.

“Do you have… anything on what could’ve caused this? If it’s not…” Steve said, trailing off because he didn’t in fact know what they had ruled out.

Dr. Vinterberg gave him a sharp nod.

“We have a hypothesis. Nothing can be confirmed until we run some more tests, and even after, we might be dealing with a case with no precedent,” she said. “In fact, we’re almost certain we will be.”

He didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t like it at all. One of a kind could only mean… Dr. Vinterberg continued, and Steve forced his gaze to stay on her face:

“It is a common phenomenon for fetal cells pass through the placenta into the expectant mother’s body. The medical term for it is feto-maternal microchimerism. It has not yet been studied too extensively, but it has been suggested that the evolutionary purpose of that is the fetal cells could influence the mother’s body to enhance the fetus’ change of survival.”

Steve nodded to signal understanding, letting her continue explaining.

“The gene toolkit is a concept in evolutionary developmental biology; in essence, it is a set of genes that guide the activation pattern of other genes. It is, to oversimplify, a blueprint of embryonic development. After all, genes are a broad system that communicate with each other, and the changes in that communication change the way the genes work. The key code proteins can activate or deactivate parts of the genetic code; the most famous, easy to understand example of it is how a snake has the same genetic code for developing feet as a lizard does, but the snake’s genes related to that aren’t active, so it develops no legs. I’m vastly oversimplifying to get to the point,” she said.

Steve gave her another nod. He appreciated that, even as there was really no reason to rush at the moment — you were stable, and just like he’d been told, there was nothing to do but wait. Still, he wanted to be waiting right by your side, now that he probably could do so without bothering the doctors.

“The hypothesis Dr. Cho and I currently have is that because the developing embryo is passing stem cells carrying your serum-enhanced genes into Mrs. Rogers’ body, the process of fetal microchimerism is influencing her much more than usual. We’re suspecting it’s altering her own gene activation pattern,” Dr. Vinterberg said. “The timing works out; the process of microchimerism usually starts around the fifth week of pregnancy.”

Breathing in, Steve tried to gather his floating thoughts. He wanted to remember everything Dr. Vinterberg said to him, to do more research on the matter and talk about it with Dr. Banner and any other expert he could get his hands on, not out of distrust towards Vinterberg and Cho but out of the sheer need to do… something. Anything. Instead, his focus was drifting back into one singular thought driving its cold blade into his heart.

“My genes… I did this to her?”

“It’s too early to say what ‘this’ is, Captain Rogers,” Dr. Vinterberg replied, her face unmoving. “Considering there’s no medical precedent for anything even similarly like this, we’ve concluded that it’s best that we just let this run its course and observe while exploring alternative courses of action theoretically — any further interference might make this worse. Mrs. Rogers is stable and the medically-induced coma has alleviated a lot of stress this put to her system. She might very well simply need to sleep on it.”

But still. But still. Steve’s hand clenched, and he found that he was missing the weight of his shield on his arm, even as anything he could do with it wouldn’t help the situation. Words drummed on repeat inside his skull, feeling like they might shatter it. Serum-enhanced. Altering gene activation. Stem cells. An unknown stretch of time was unfolding in front of Steve’s eyes, what could be days or weeks or even months of you laying there unconscious, and he had done this to you.

“What do we do now?” he asked, somehow managing to get the words out of his mouth.

“We continue to run tests to get a better understanding on what exactly is going on here and if there’s anything we can do to alleviate this,” Dr. Vinterberg said. “And aside from that, we wait.”

Chapter Text

It never ceased to amaze Steve how the human mind was able to adjust to things, even if things were horrible. It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t pleasant, and it didn’t mean that he didn’t wish for things to be otherwise, but still. In days, he adjusted to a new routine, circling around the hospital bed that now contained the two things he cared the most about in this world. He kept doing his job, maintained the training schedules, he kept up with all the missions, including the big one in Davao City led by Bucky and Sam in his absence, he showered, he brushed his teeth, he exercised, he visited his therapist.

And waited. And waited. And waited.

Every waking moment he wasn’t occupied with something absolutely necessary, he spent with you. Dr. Vinterberg had given him permission to get a chair for the room, citing some study about how the closeness of loved ones might be beneficial to even coma patients, and that had become his guard post as he watched over you. On a logical level, he knew that there was almost no outside threat that could reach you in the heart of the Avengers Tower but that almost was enough. The restless protective energy inside him was a nuclear reactor that kept him going through all the uncertainty as the days passed. He was sitting there even now, a book open in his lap as he read aloud, continuing from where he’d left off:

“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens,’ said Gimli. ‘Maybe,’ said Elrond, ‘but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.’”

Steve swallowed, breathing in as he thought about the night you’d watched the first movie in the blanket fortress. He recalled the sleepy, warm form of you in his lap, safe and sound, or so he’d thought, not knowing that he had already hurt you. He had done this to you, no matter how many times Nat and Dr. Vinterberg and Dr. Theudhar kept telling him that there was no way of him knowing this would happen. The latter had spent many hours with Steve over the past few days, explaining in a gentle murmur what was going on and why the research Steve had dug out wasn’t applicable to the situation at hand. They were still working on solutions alongside simply waiting for your body to return to balance it had been thrown off by…

By Steve. By his genes. By his baby.

For years, he’d yearned to have a family. For as long as he could remember, he’d looked forward to that point of his life, that someone special and having children. He had meant every word he’d said to you kneeling on the floor of his bedroom. He would’ve done anything, anything to keep you safe, and in the end, he had endangered your life. Even after a week, the thought was refusing to let him off its claws, no matter what everyone said. There was no denying that without his involvement, you wouldn’t be here. He remembered the feral instinct inside him telling him to fill his hands with you that night after the gala, telling him to take you and bury himself inside you so that no one else could lay that claim. He should’ve thought, he should’ve stopped to do so. Had he known, on some instinctual level buried deep underneath his conscious mind, that it was the right time for a pregnancy to begin, even as that had not been his conscious attempt, as was evident considering the precautions taken? Had he wanted this to —

“Steve.”

He snapped out of his thoughts and turned to look at Nat, who was standing at the foot of your bed with a newspaper in her hand.

“Wherever you are, that’s not a good place. Get out,” she said gently.

Guilty as charged, Steve grimaced and set the forgotten book onto the nightstand. Nat’s smile was compassionate as she pulled a chair underneath herself and crossed her legs, her eyes staying on your form underneath the covers and then the monitors all around you. Stable. Steve had become to hate that word, even as it should’ve meant that you were okay. But this was not okay, this was so far from okay that it made bile rise to his throat.

“What is it, Nat?” he asked.

It wouldn’t be a nice distraction, he could already tell that from the expression Nat was letting him see, but it was a distraction and at the moment he was going to take it.

“You need to let PR draft a statement,” she sighed.

Steve shot her a look, reaching for your hand on top of the cover and running his thumb over the back of your hand.

“That’s not exactly a priority at the moment. I don’t give a fuck —“

“Oh, you don’t?”

Nat dropped the newspaper into his lap, and even as Steve didn’t really want to look at it, he couldn’t escape the bold, screaming letters of the headline. INSIDE AMERICA’S BIGGEST PREGNANCY HOAX! — “I doubt she was ever even pregnant. She’d get ahead by any and all means necessary,” says a source close to Steve Rogers’ sudden sweetheart.

Reading the words, Steve had grabbed the arm of the chair hard enough to dent the metal underneath the cushioning. Slowly, focusing on every movement, he peeled the fingers off of it and unclenched his jaw before turning towards Nat.

“What the fuck are they printing this for?”

“It sells,” Nat said. “We’ve got it under control. Tony is already in talks of buying the paper, and I think there’s going to be a fairly interesting discussion in the board about the ethics of journalism.”

The smirk on Nat’s face made the cold fist that held Steve’s heart loosen its grip a little. Made it a tiny bit easier to breathe through the cloud of poison that was floating in Steve’s head, dark thoughts of the sounds made by breaking bones. Making an effort to stay seated, Steve folded the paper and dropped it back onto Nat’s lap.

“So, does PR think giving them attention makes it better?”

“At the moment, there’s no narrative to compete with the one trash papers like this are putting out. A carefully worded statement on how you wish to be left alone with health challenges and how the baby is still alright —“

“We can’t say that,” Steve said, dropping his head to his hands. “We can’t.”

Nat blinked as her gaze drifted slowly from Steve to your form and the bump that was barely there, to the monitor that tracked the vital signs of the baby, holding steady. She swallowed, moving her gaze to the monitor that followed your life signs.

“Steve. That’s not your decision,” she said softly, clearly understanding what he had meant.

Not lifting his gaze, Steve shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with sorrow.

“I know. It’s not. But I can’t… They had to put her in a coma,” he said. “She would’ve… There’s no telling what this would’ve done to her. What it will do to her.”

Nat got up from her chair and stepped closer to Steve, wrapping her arm around his tense shoulders, and rubbing his arm gently. Steve shuddered under the touch before relaxing, his eyes drifting back to you. He had wanted a family, always had, but would that be taken from him, too? He couldn’t make the decision for you, didn’t want to, but how could he ever hope that you would want to risk everything for him. He didn’t deserve that — no one deserved that.

“She’s been stable, hasn’t she?”

There was that word again. Steve sighed as he nodded. Stably in a coma. What good was that? But Nat was right — ever since Vinterberg and Theudhar had put you under, there had been no turns for the worse.

“I’m not a doctor, but is it possible that what happened at the park was just the shock of the process starting?” Nat asked.

It wasn’t that far off from what Dr. Vinterberg had said to him. She had faced Steve’s demands with her characteristic neutral expression, explaining thoroughly that sometimes the best thing a doctor could do was not to mess with anything. They had continued to define the effects of the microchimerism and run simulations on different kinds of treatments, but as of now, there had been nothing to do except for to give your body time to recover. Especially when there was no precedent to this.

“It is within the realm of possibility,” Steve sighed. “But even if that was true, there’s no way of knowing if that has caused permanent damage to her. Not until she wakes up. If she does.”

His voice wavered with the last sentence, and Nat tightened her grip on him. She ran her free hand through his hair.

“It’s going to be alright. I’ll do the best I can to help.”

“I know you will.”

The pain had scorched a trail of fire in the shape of your veins.

You were not meant to withstand this.

No mortal ever was.

You were Icarus, borne on the wings made of wax and reaching for your sun god. Not a cruel sun, not a hurtful sun, but a ruthless one nevertheless, built for a world that needed to make a gentle man into a weapon. A harsh, solitary light alone on the sky. Unreachable. Untouchable. A symbol instead of a man.

He had poured this fire into you but had your thirst for it not been unquenchable? Had you not reached for it like one reached for the sun, deadly as it was? Had you not understood what it meant to kneel on this altar?

Of course you had.

Icarus, your kind, your kin. Celestial, wing-borne dreamer of things beyond the horizon. Was there malice in Apollo the day he dropped you down from the sky? Or was it simply a fire that didn ’t realize that love could kill, too?

Love.

Don’t leave me. Please. (And I love you.)

You loved him. You did. The invisible tether growing under your heart had bound you together in a way that was irrevocable. And fire as he was, he would ’ve burned down the entire world to keep you safe from everything.

But you were forged, too, made of fire and harsh starlight and laughing in the face of an uncaring, cold emptiness of space. You had a home, not here but in his arms, a shelter for you and your tiny one whose fast heartbeat now drummed in your ears.

You couldn ’t stay here.

Steve was startled awake by the combination of the door opening and closing and the lights of the private ward being turned on, but even as he was, he woke up in an instant. Over the last two weeks, he had gotten into that habit even more so than during his army years — the smallest sigh of yours or the sound of the night nurse sneaking in to check on you was enough to pull him completely awake. All grogginess fell out of him when he realized that he was looking at both Dr. Theudhar and Dr. Vinterberg, who were now walking towards the end of your bed. The clock on the wall told him it was barely four in the morning, and there was no crack of dawn to be seen.

Don ’t think about it. Don’t. Not all the myths of how those who can’t bear the day leave just before the day. Don’t.

His pulse was thundering in his ears as he looked at the serious faces of both doctors, and his nervous hand ran over the beard that had appeared over the time he’d stayed here. Vinterberg had pulled the StarkPad out of the holder at the foot of the bed and was looking at it with a frown. Something had happened. Something had clearly happened, and that something had been enough to trigger a silent alarm to both of them. Steve swallowed, the wave of panic rising inside him as his gaze swept over the monitors, noticing the change even as the two doctors were talking in a quiet murmur. He’d spent so much time staring at the monitors, hoping for something to happen, that he would’ve recognized it anywhere. The calm, sleepy wave of your brain activity had started making small peaks.

Was this good? Was this bad? Were you in pain? What was happening?

Dr. Vinterberg pulled up another graph and cast that onto the monitors. On the top corner of it stood Rogers, S. G., and Steve realized he was looking at the data the medical department had on him — specifically, the toxicity profile they’d done at the time he’d gotten injected with some nasty stuff on a mission. Was this another instance of him having done something to you? Had that somehow remained in his blood? Dr. Theudhar sensed his thoughts and turned around, his dark eyes full of gentle kindness.

“It would appear that Mrs. Rogers is burning off the medicine we’re using to keep her under.”

Steve’s mouth went dry. Hope, a small crumb of it but hope, still, of your body somehow having become... He didn’t even dare to say it out loud, because that would mean that it could be snatched away from him.

“She’s waking up?” he said.

“She is if we don’t up the dosage to keep her under,” Vinterberg said, not turning away from her graphs. “And judging by the data, that wouldn’t be a viable long-term solution. Whatever has been happening to her, it’s escalating.”

Whatever. Steve really didn’t like the sound of that word. His eyes were staying on your peaceful face; his one solace during these two weeks that had lasted an eternity had been that every single stable graph the monitors had been drawing had been calm. No sign of pain after they had put you under. His cheeks heated up as he remembered how he’d questioned that decision. Dr. Vinterberg hadn’t minded, but he’d nevertheless had a mountain of baked goods delivered into the medical department’s break room. Vinterberg turned towards him, her eyes in that eternal, distant calm of hers.

“Frankly, Captain Rogers, I have an obligation to remind you that a medically induced coma is a heavy burden to one’s system, even without a non-typical pregnancy to meddle. I cannot promise you she’ll be coherent once she wakes up. I cannot promise you her condition has improved. This is a slow process and we’re erring on the side of caution. It’s reasonable to expect that she’ll take multiple days to wake up.”

Every sentence felt like a knife through Steve’s chest. Please, let her be okay, let everything be okay. I’ll do anything. He swallowed the order that was already on his tongue: Fix this. Because neither the doctors nor he himself could fix this. He’d been greedy in his attempt to reach for a life he’d long ago left behind and now you had paid the price.

“I understand,” he nodded.

“I’d revisit that assessment, Dr. Vinterberg,” Theudhar said from next to her. “It’s an atypical case on every front.”

He stepped back just as Steve’s gaze snapped at the head of your bed.

And met your eyes.

Your open, bright, lucid eyes.

You watched Steve’s mouth drop open in surprise. He stepped closer to you, trembling with the effort not to grab you up from the bed. Instead, his hands squeezed the railing of the bed, and his teary eyes met yours.

“You’re awake,” he whispered.

“You’ve got a beard,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your fingers.

He laughed — a tiny, half-accidental sound that escaped him, but it nevertheless broke some barrier he’d held himself behind during the time you’d been under. Crumbling, he fell to his knees next to your bed and pressed his forehead against your upper arm, mumbling a prayer or a thank you to someone he believed watched over the universe, or perhaps just to the two impressive-looking doctors in the room. You moved your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair and then to smooth over his shoulders, dimly aware of the wireless sensors that were attached to the back of it and the soft grey gown that felt much softer than an ordinary hospital gown. This was no ordinary hospital. You remembered Steve’s voice shouting into the watch about an ambulance Quinjet. A.I.’s medical department, then.

With the realization came another. You sought the eyes of the two doctors as your hand froze on Steve’s shoulders.

“Is the baby alright?” you asked. “Was it…”

You couldn’t even say it out loud. The tall, black-haired male doctor shook his head.

“Little Rogers is just fine, Mrs. Rogers.”

You were too tired to correct him. A sense of relief washed over you, and you ran a hand over the bump of your stomach, now slightly more visible than it had been. Steve’s beard… How long had you slept?

“What happened, then? What day is it?”

The blonde doctor, a slightly terrifying ice queen even in the dim light of the ward, smiled slightly. The other doctor glanced at the watch that had vibrated on his wrist, hissed a curse, and promptly excused himself from the room, muttering something of complete lack of self-preservation.

“Well, at the moment it’s a hypothesis. But considering your current state, it seems to be an accurate one.”

You listened to her explanation of what they’d gathered over the last two weeks, with your hand still running over Steve’s hair and his hands squeezing your arm. The grip didn’t hurt but it was firm enough, like he was trying to keep you here by sheer force of his will. As Dr. Vinterberg, as she’d introduced herself, finished, you blinked.

“So. I’m… I’ve got supersoldier stem cells in my system, and those are altering my own genes? I’m going through a similar change Steve did?”

Dr. Vinterberg nodded.

“Yes. But it’s a milder and apparently more gradual change. As the pregnancy continues —“

“If it does,” Steve said.

He lifted his head up for the first time, and the pain on his face made your heart break. You understood what he was thinking, what he had thought alone these two weeks, thinking he’d done this to you. And in a way, he was right. He had done this to you. Still kneeling on the floor but shuffling closer, he lifted his hands to cradle your face.

“It’s not my decision. It’s not. But when we decided to go through this, I had no idea… You had no idea, either. I won’t blame you. We don’t have to do this. It’s not worth it,” Steve said, clearly forcing the words out of his mouth. “I can’t ask you… I can’t take seeing you in pain because of me.”

“You said…” you swallowed. “You said you wanted this. You said that this is everything you ever wanted.”

Your hand was still resting on his shoulder, and you moved it to caress his cheek, indifferent to the presence of the doctor in the room. You’d only felt his cheek with the faintest hint of stubble, and the slightly coarse beard was a new sensation. Not a bad one. The tears were still falling from his eyes, and you could see, plain as a day, that he was pleading. For what, you weren’t sure. His voice was nothing but a choked whisper:

“No. Not if it does this to you. Nothing is worth that, no matter what I want.”

God, it broke your heart. Over the past weeks, it had been so obvious that this meant everything to Steve, and it was plain obvious now from his face that his opinion hasn’t changed because he no longer wanted this.

“I’m not in pain, Steve,” you murmured. “Not that I have much experience, but for a recent coma patient, I’m feeling quite breezy.”

The laugh that left him wasn’t really a laugh at all. But it wasn’t a lie; you’d had hangovers that had hit harder than this. You shuffled on the bed and sat up, despite the look he gave you, you took his hand. The broken glass in his gaze felt like it was turning your heart into a bloody pulp, and you couldn’t imagine the anguish he’d been in over the two weeks. The sheer look of horror on his face in the park had burned into your memory. He was talking in a quiet, choked whisper:

“This is your decision. And I will be there for you, every minute, no matter what you decide, and I will do everything in my power to get you the best care in every case. But if you go through this, there’s no telling what will happen.”

The thundering heartbeat in your ears. The sheer reverence in Steve’s eyes when he had knelt in front of you.

“I feel like the worst is over,” you said, and as Steve opened his mouth, you raised a hand to stop him from talking before you were finished. “I did wake up on my own. Whatever is happening to me burned off the drug, and didn’t you mention being immune to a lot of things a while back?”

Slowly, Steve nodded. You could tell that he was willing to give you this very begrudgingly, but the words had gotten through to him. The picture that was starting to form in your brain of the process that was slightly changing you to be more like him was becoming visible to him, too, and he slowly stood up. Ever so carefully, he pulled you closer to him and pressed a kiss onto your hair, just above your temple. His fingers caressed your bare arm.

“I did. I am. I can’t catch anything that transmits through ordinary means and my metabolism burns any other substances off my blood.”

“So that means that after the initial shock to my system, I am more resilient? Just like you are. That this pregnancy is making me stronger. Protecting me.”

Supersoldier stem cells. You couldn’t possibly know what they would cause eventually, and you had a guess that neither could anyone else. You were, of course, distantly aware of the fact that they had never quite succeeded in replicating Erskine's formula, so there wasn’t much medical history could tell you. Especially considering the pregnancy element. But you were feeling well — way better than one probably should’ve expected to feel after two weeks in a coma. As you continued to wake up, you felt sharp. It wasn’t like you were going to be bench-pressing helicarriers anytime soon but the feeling coursing through your veins made you feel alive. Vigorous. The nausea and grogginess that had been present prior to the cramps starting were gone.

“I told you weeks ago that want to do this, Steve,” you said. “It’s going to be fine.”

You had no real evidence to support that theory, besides the weird gut feeling. The sense of calm that felt almost ancient, like it was an echo of all the mothers that had come before you in a long line that stretched into the dawn of history. Steve breathed out and shook his head.

“And I told you you’ll never be alone. If you’re sure,” he said.

“I am.”

He dropped his forehead to rest against yours, cradling your jaw with his hand. The long, wavering sigh that left him sounded like it held all the tension he had held over the last two weeks. You could tell from the tenseness of his fingers that he wasn’t entirely convinced, but that was okay. You were. And apparently, so was someone else:

“She’s right, Captain Rogers.”

Both of you turned, startled by Dr. Vinterberg’s words. She was staring at the StarkPad in her hands, tapping at a leisurely pace, not looking up. You’d half-forgotten her presence in the room, and Steve frowned.

“This is a personal conversation.”

“Considering that your personal conversation is medically relevant, I am well within my rights to be present,” Dr. Vinterberg said, her voice betraying nothing but sheer indifference. “Especially considering there are some tests I need to run on you, Mrs. Rogers.”

You liked her, even as you were considering whether she was a human, or some fancy artificial intelligence whipped up in Tony’s lab. Not a strand of her icy hair was out of place, even though she’d been pulled here in the middle of the night.

“The embryo is making himself a home,” Dr. Vinterberg said. “The genome activation chart we’ve been building seems to point towards him making sure that Mrs. Rogers’ body can take the pregnancy. After the initial shock, like you aptly described, there’s nothing that hints any kind of hostile activity or genetic deterioration.”

The word hit both you and Steve at the same time.

He.

Your fingers wrapped over the dog tags still on you, and Steve’s hand flew down to wrap over yours. His arm was trembling when you in turn grabbed it with your other hand. He had hugged you tighter against his chest and was now standing over you, protective as ever. Yours. He was yours. He had been yours from the moment your eyes had met. Dr. Vinterberg was looking at you both with her head tilted slightly to the side, and for the first time, you could see the hint of a smile on her lips.

“He?” Steve whispered.

“The embryo — or considering the fact that Mrs. Rogers’ pregnancy is progressing at a slightly elevated pace, fetus — is male,” she replied. “As much is evident from the blood samples.”

Your son. For a second, it crossed your mind that Steve might’ve been traditional in this sense, that he would’ve preferred to find out once the baby was here, but as you tore your gaze off Dr. Vinterberg and tilted your head to see Steve’s face, it was lit with joy. He would’ve been happy either way, you were sure, but talking about the baby like this… it was helping him to get back to the mindset that this was happening. That he was allowed to have this.

“Do you want to take a look? The sensor on your stomach transmits reasonably good footage,” Vinterberg said, and you both nodded simultaneously without a word spoken.

The swooshing heartbeat came first, echoing in the room and feeling oddly familiar to you. A few seconds after, one of the monitors lit to life, showing a peach-and-red-colored landscape that looked like an expressionist painting. Steve shifted behind you, his arm wrapping over your chest as the other dropped down to rest on your belly, and you could feel him tremble just slightly.

“His development appears to be equal to that of a 10-week-old fetus,” Vinterberg said. “But aside from the speed, everything seems to be normal.”

Your tiny offspring had graduated from the dot stage into something vaguely baby shaped. The head was still too large for the body and the limbs were tiny, and you couldn’t really see his eyes, but he was real. He was curled up, resting peacefully where he had burrowed, and the steady, fast rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to set off something in Steve. As you looked up to him through your tears, you remembered the look he had had at Dr. Brian’s clinic, the utter wonder, but that paled in comparison to the way his eyes were shining now. It was love, plain and simple, a dedication already so strong that it could move the fates of the universe, and as the tears fell down his cheeks, you knew in the depths of your soul that you loved him. He didn’t bother hiding the tears that were falling down his face as he turned his face from the monitor towards you and dropped his forehead to rest against yours. His hands were shaking where they cradled your face, and you were crying, too.

“Our son,” he whispered. “Our baby. You are… You… I can’t… How strong you are. You’re amazing, you’re…”

He drew his head back only an inch, only so that he could look directly into your eyes, and he was almost at a loss of words. Only almost, since you could see it plainly on his face that there was only one thing he was thinking right now, and when he said it, it wasn’t a surprise at all.

“I love you.”

You let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob, and pulled his lips onto yours and he came so willingly, letting you melt into his touch. The beard brushed against your face, creating a delicious contrast to the softness of his mouth. It took you a long moment to break off the kiss but when you did, you let your hand rest on his cheek and looked directly into his eyes.

“I love you too.”

He shuddered as you said it, his eyes filling with fresh tears. It wasn’t what you had anticipated this moment to be. It wasn’t the cliché, romantic night and a starry sky above you. It wasn’t you all dressed up and your makeup on point and the soft lights all around you. But it was perfect. Steve’s words had burrowed into your heart and the warmth from them spread all over your body, from your scalp to the tips of your toes. You were his.

“I love you both,” he said, letting his hand drift to rest gently on your belly. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

Home. You were not going to pretend that home meant anything else than the one above this floor.

“Well, I see no reason not to release you from the ward after I’ve run my tests,” Dr. Vinterberg’s voice spoke from behind Steve. “Any moment you’re ready. We will, of course, have to keep monitoring your state with regular appointments but it really does appear like the effects of the pregnancy are more protective than anything else.”

It was really easy to forget her presence. She stood there with her gaze on the device in her hands, completely indifferent to the moment you and Steve were having, and you couldn’t help chuckling just a bit. You looked at Steve, who was smiling like an absolute fool, and you wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of your life. You let your hand rest on top of his heart, feeling the steady pulse underneath your palm, and smiled.

“Of course he’s protecting me. He’s half you, after all.”

His breath caught at that, and the look he gave you was so full of love that it filled you to the brim.

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

Chapter Text

Steve wasn’t bothering to make it a secret that he was constantly glancing at his phone, which was resting on the conference room table. Considering the fact that the person on the other end of the video link was Director Pike, trying to hide that would’ve been fruitless anyway. Tony had at some point drunkenly speculated that her people-reading abilities had to mean that she was a witch, which honestly wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing Steve had run into. He was being impolite, he knew that, and yet trying to stop the nervous tick felt like fighting gravity.

He and Director Pike had just finished discussing the strategical follow-up to Davao City now that the mission was over, and Bucky & Sam and their team were currently en route back to NYC. Steve knew there was a pile of things he should’ve talked over with Director Pike, but his focus was all over the place. At least in Davao City, everything had gone smoothly and according to the plan, as much as anything could go along those lines when it was about stopping an alien invasion. They had nipped that one on the bud and managed to destroy the portal intended to be used for the invasion, so that was good. That meant Steve wouldn’t have to go to Davao City any time soon.

“Thank you,” Leah said on the screen, her smile reaching her grey eyes. “I appreciate you keeping me updated.”

She was a beautiful woman, elegant as always, her lush dark hair on an elegant bun on her neck.

“Of course, Director Pike,” Steve said. “We appreciate the tip you gave. It helped us to put an end to this before things escalated too far.”

“Well, relaying information on all things interstellar is my job,” she said.

She wasn’t wrong, of course. Even as Steve had been wary of working with the public sector after the fall of SHIELD and the birth of Avengers Initiative after Battle of New York, there had been a need for an intergovernmental contact. The Office for Interstellar Outreach, established under the United Nations, had been born out of that necessity, and over the years, Steve couldn’t have wished for a better Director for it than Leah Pike. Especially now when her competence meant that he didn’t need to be focusing too intently. It was rude but he had seen the love that glowed between Director Pike and her husband. She would understand.

“Bucky and Sam are probably going to be stepping up a lot over the upcoming months. For obvious reasons,” Steve sighed.

Leah was looking at him with deep compassion on her face; a genuine, calm warmth that felt almost motherly. At 19 years his senior, she could’ve just barely been that, if she technically wasn’t younger than him.

“How is she doing?”

“Alright, for now. Thank you for asking. Dr. Vinterberg released her from the hospital ward last night since there’s no real reason for her to be there. But I’m…”

It was his third hour of the first day back at work, and he already couldn’t wait for it to end so that he could be by your side. A rational part of him knew that he couldn’t spend every second until your due date — whenever that now was, considering the recent developments — watching over you but that part was being drowned underneath the voice that was asking how the hell could he have left you. Even as that part received the same answer it had received the whole morning: you had been firmly asleep in his bed, with FRIDAY tasked with monitoring the vitals of both you and the baby and alerting Vinterberg and Theudhar the microsecond anything took a bad turn. He knew that in that case, he himself couldn’t have done anything except for to wait for them. He knew you wouldn’t have been released from the hospital ward if there had been a reason for concern.

But if he was with you, right next to you, he knew you were okay. He could see that. And now he couldn’t see you, and what if the system malfunctioned, what if Vinterberg had missed something, what if you were lying unconscious on the floor and no one was there to help you and —

“Steve?”

Leah’s murmur, gentle as it was, pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“I know Dr. Theudhar and I’m decently familiar with Dr. Vinterberg. I’m glad, for the sake of my job and my mental peace, that they both decided to fight all the gods with medicine and not with superweapons,” she said dryly. “They’re going to figure this out. I know it’s hard for you both. But you have a great team to help you.”

As always, Steve appreciated the lack of specific promises, even as Director Pike was doing her best to encourage him. And she wasn’t exactly wrong about her assessment of the two doctors.

“Thank you, Leah. It’s just… tough. Especially with the press.”

He needed to make an appointment with the PR department, a thing he was looking forward to approximately as much as he would have been looking forward to feeding his arm to an alligator, but Nat had had a point. A statement based on facts would rein in the speculation, hopefully. Now that you were awake, that meant that you both could make decisions on what would be made public and what not. Leah smirked.

“Tell you what, Steve, if you ever need to escape from the media circus, our house is fenced and gated, and Chris can pull in a favor and make it restricted airspace too. You're welcome to stay here until they find a new person to harass. All three of you.”

Steve huffed a dry laugh. The offer was appealing.

“I feel like visiting until the kid leaves for college would be overstaying our welcome.”

Leah laughed, her head tilted slightly to the side.

“Nonsense. The beds are always made, and Chris will love an excuse to go all out with the grill.”

“Starstuff has a strict diet,” Steve said. “I’m not sure…”

“Oh, we’ll just make something she can enjoy, too. But no pressure. I understand you want to lay low until the dust settles a bit,” she smiled, and Steve could tell that as always, she meant it; her offer to host wasn’t empty but it wasn’t meant to pressure him, either.

Pike’s Point was safe. And he could even fly a Quinjet there, which meant that if anything happened with your pregnancy, you would be back at the Tower in very short time. That wouldn’t be the same thing as being in the Tower itself, but the calculating, strategic part of him could recognize the risk level as acceptable. It was not an option for you to stay in the Tower until the due date. Or at least it wasn’t a reasonable option, no matter what the other part of him wanted — the protector. All this, Steve himself, had already changed your life beyond what anyone could’ve imagined, and Steve wasn’t so sure all of it was for the better.

Changes. He needed to talk about other changes, too, those that were relevant to Director Pike. Blowing out a breath, he met Leah’s eyes, and she had already straightened up in her chair, anticipating something important.

“This is very unofficial, as of yet,” Steve said.

“My lips are sealed,” Leah replied, and Steve knew she meant it.

After all, not a single detail of the conversation they’d had on the tail waves of Steve’s decision to stay out of Davao City, and the precise reasons for that had made their way into the media.

“There’s been talks of us promoting Sergeant Wilson into Head Strategist to take my place,” he said. “If… If everything goes well, I’ll be taking a parental leave anyway, and I need to start training my replacement. And with the recent issues… I might step back sooner than I initially thought.”

Leah nodded, absorbing information.

“Sergeant Wilson is a brilliant soldier,” she said. “I look forward to working with him, whenever that becomes reality.”

Steve breathed in relief. He hadn’t really thought Leah would have anything against the plans — and besides, there was no command chain between her office and the AI, simply co-operation — but saying that aloud and having someone respond positively seemed to soothe the nagging feeling of guilt in his chest. The little voice that kept saying he was selfish and leaving the world to fend for itself.

But his world was elsewhere nowadays.

“I’ll still be there every time the world tries to end but…”

He trailed off, but Leah picked up right where he did.

“…but not for much else. Got it. I figured this would happen; I know how much this means to you. It will be fine. You deserve a life, too.”

Steve swallowed, looking away from the camera for a brief moment. He wasn’t so sure what he deserved, especially since he’d put you in danger, but something about Leah’s words seemed to resonate somewhere deep. Maybe eventually, he would think that, too, and in the meantime, no matter what he deserved, you deserved everything he could give you.

“Thank you, Leah. That means a lot.”

Giving you everything was going to start with a lunch. There had not been much time for conversation last night, you had made a lunch date in the communal kitchen before you would go see Dr. Vinterberg. For the next week, she wanted you to drop by for a checkup daily, and the strategy for the rest of your pregnancy was going to be decided based on the data gathered. The only thing you both now knew for sure was that your prenatal care was going to be in the very skilled hands of AI’s Medical Research Department until your son would be born.

“Hi, Casanova,” Tony said as he stepped from the elevator into the communal kitchen before turning to you. “Hey, Easy-Bake-Oven For Future Supersoldiers.”

“That’s pretty inappropriate, even from you,” you grinned, not bothering to interrupt reading the research paper you had open on your StarkPad.

Steve didn’t turn his head away from the frying pan, carefully watching that the spinach frittata wouldn’t burn. He hadn’t wanted to risk feeding you the food that had sat in his own kitchen during the two weeks he had spent down in the med bay next to you, even as he hated food waste. It had been easier to use the ingredients in the communal kitchen, especially since you were pressed for time.

“That’s my wife you’re talking about, so watch it,” he said. “Cherry tomatoes or sliced bell pepper or both, honey?”

“Both sounds good, thanks” you replied, trying to make sense of the equation in front of you through your slight fatigue.

Tony headed straight for the espresso machine and loaded it to produce more caffeine that could be healthy for anyone. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping much lately but Steve had long ago realized that Tony did in fact sleep at times, his circadian rhythm simply was quite different than that of typical people. He would eventually crash and sleep from 24 to 48 hours before beginning another long stretch of staying awake. Right now, it looked like he was about twelve hours away from the crashing point.

During the two weeks of your coma, Tony had been mostly huddled into his laboratory on the upper levels. Steve didn’t really mind that — they had worked together for long enough to understand each other’s modus operandi, and he was sure Tony had been looking at the same charts the doctors a few floors down had, trying to put his intelligence to good use. He just couldn’t deal with the human emotion involved, and honestly, he wouldn’t have been Steve’s first choice for emotional support in any situation anyway.

That proved yet again to be a wise strategy a beat later when Tony leaned to the kitchen counter with a jug-sized mug filled with espresso in his hand and opened his mouth:

“So, the word in the group chat is that some gain greatness by being exposed to gamma radiation, some gain it by being railed into oblivion by a super soldier?”

Steve gave him a dead-eyed stare over his shoulder.

“I think I heard wrong, because surely you aren’t comparing my son to a laboratory accident involving deadly radiation?”

“Oh sheesh, calm down. I come bearing gifts, after all. Besides, Banner didn’t even die.”

Steve slid the pan off the heat and turned to the fridge to grab the bell peppers and the tomatoes. You were alright, you were in the same room as he was, tired but feeling well enough to study, and in less than half an hour, he could take another look at his son. His son. Burrowed deep in that tiny ghost of a bump under your dress, becoming a reality in less than nine months. Slightly elevated pace, Dr. Vinterberg had said. She had said she was going to do her best to give a more precise estimate today. He started cutting the vegetables after giving them a thorough wash, the familiar balance of the knife in his hand and the simple, tangible task of preparing food for the mother of his baby falling over him like a warm blanket.

“Is no one going to ask about my gift?” Tony said after a few minutes, which was, to his credit, a few minutes longer than Steve had thought he was capable of waiting.

“Considering your pathological need for attention, I imagined you would tell us soon enough,” he smiled, plating half the vegetables and then half the frittata.

As Steve set the plate in front of you, your mouth watered. Even as the food was simple, the smell was intoxicating, the way Steve had carefully prepared it lifting every element of the aroma up. You’d never felt so hungry in your life, and after tapping your StarkPad closed, you dug in.

“This is so good,” you mumbled, mouth full of food. “Thank you, love.”

Steve had taken a seat next to you and leaned in to press a kiss to the side of your head.

“My pleasure,” he said.

Tony had taken a seat on the opposite side of the kitchen table, and was vibrating with impatience, his fingers fidgeting with the StarkWatch on his wrist. You considered, just for the fun of it, keeping him waiting for another moment but he had been an intrinsic part of giving you a home and a pile of tech that would’ve made Stark Industries fanboys cry. You could give him some attention in return.

“So, let’s hear it?” you smiled to him, and his face practically lit up.

Not waiting a second, Tony dug something out of the inner pocket of his blazer and set it on the table in front of you, theatrically moving his hands to show it off. It didn’t look like much, but you knew enough of Tony Stark to know that that could deceive you. It was a flat sticker made of soft grey silk-like fabric, with an adhesive on the other side. The silhouette vaguely resembled that of a butterfly, and it was small enough to fit your palm.

It crossed your mind that a few years down the line, you would be expected to regularly express interests into things while having no idea what they were. But right now, you could ask:

“What’s that?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Tony said, as if he hadn’t waited you to. “It’s another piece of physical proof of my immense genius. That, my friends, is a nanny. To be more technical, it is an advanced ultrasound sensor capable of syncing into any Stark device you have, including the watch. It can monitor both your and the baby’s vitals anywhere you go, and it transmits high-definition ultrasound imagery with the tap of a finger.”

Tony leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together in front of him.

“Meaning that you will have the ability to check on your little guy anytime, anywhere,” he smiled. “And also meaning that you have equivalent of FRIDAY’s health monitoring systems everywhere you go. Should anything be even slightly out of balance, it can alert you both, and if you want to, AI Medical Department, and in case of emergency, it calls an Ambulance Quinjet to your location.”

You swallowed, unable to find words. Even with you and Steve not having had much time to talk, you knew he was worried, that crease ever-present in his forehead. There was nothing you could really do to make the worries go away completely but the fact that he could know that you were watched over wherever you went, that you both could take a peek at your baby whenever you felt like it… It would help. You took the sticker into your hands, feeling the smooth surface. It could’ve been made of fabric for all you knew.

“The so-called 4D ultrasound is no different than a 2D ultrasound,” you thought aloud. “It’s imaging with sound waves — ultrasound signal becomes an image only when it’s processed by a computer. Are you telling me that this is capable of sending ultrasound signal, processing that signal into an image and transmitting that image via a wireless signal? All the while monitoring both my vitals and the baby’s?”

It wasn’t that far out considering what you’d already seen in the medical department. But the sensors attached to you had been bulkier than this almost flat sticker, and there had been multiple of them, not to mention that they probably used the processing units in the bed itself to handle data. Even considering that prior innovation, it was an absolute feat of engineering.

Maybe working for Stark at some point before launching your own company wouldn’t be the worst idea. Solitary geniuses, as coveted as they were, were rarely a thing in science. Even Stark had had help, as became evident:

“Is that safe?” Steve asked.

“It is. It’s based on the same tech we use in the Medical Department. Been using for years with no issues at all. Banner, Theudhar and Vinterberg all agree that it’s completely safe.”

Tony looked smug, but he had all the reasons to. You turned the sticker around, examining the bottom of it even as you couldn’t see much of anything else than the slippery paper covering the adhesive.

“Some kind of nanotechnology, I assume?” you said. “Weaved directly into the fabric itself?”

Tony smiled.

“Precisely. You know, if the kid gets your brains instead of Cap’s, our society may yet have hope of surviving his offspring.”

“Steve is plenty smart,” you said, shoveling food into your mouth with one hand and flicking the sticker around with the other.

You felt Steve brush the side of your arm with his fingers and turned to look at him, meeting the serious gaze in his blue eyes. Something conflicted was all over his expression.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Do you want to use that?”

Tony opened his mouth but before he could speak, you pointed him with both the fork and a finger of the same hand, giving him a warning he against your expectations heeded. That would probably be another skill you’d need in the future. All the while, your eyes stayed on Steve’s, and you bit down the hell yes I want to use cool nanotech specifically made for me, what engineer wouldn’t? and focused.

“Are you concerned?” you said, inviting him to speak even as you could already see that something was going on.

“Not about the safety,” he said. “Just… I understand if you don’t want to be monitored like that. Like a lab rat.”

Oh. Of course. You hadn’t fallen for him because he was Captain America, but everyone knew the story of Steve Rogers on some level, and that included the period after his transformation, being stuck in a lab and then in the spotlights of a stage.

“I want…” he breathed out. “I want to give you what resemblance of normal life you can still have with me.”

You hadn’t known it was possible for your heart to simultaneously break and swell with so much love you felt like you would suffocate. Lifting a tender hand to run through his hair, you smiled. This was not a conversation you were going to have in front of Tony Stark, who probably would’ve had all the grace and discretion to make popcorn, but you could give Steve something. You let your hand stay on his forehead.

“Well. It could be argued that this will help me live normal life. We’re able to monitor my condition wherever I am; and I’m going to have to go back to school eventually, too. It will be nice to be able to do that with the knowledge that everything is alright, and I’ll be alerted if anything changed. Pregnancies, even normal ones, are going to require attention. Automatizing part of that process is going to take some of that load away from me.”

You had never been shy with your argumentation, and you weren’t going to start now. Steve processed what you were saying, the crease underneath your fingers on his brow relaxing just a bit. You needed to talk, you needed to unpack some of the damage last two weeks had done, and you had so many practical things to discuss, too, but you also had an appointment with Dr. Vinterberg in 15 minutes and an audience.

“Okay. If that’s how you feel.”

“It is,” you replied. “We can pick the topic up later, if you want to.”

Steve grabbed your hand gently and moved it to his mouth, pressing a kiss onto the back of your hand. Tony rolled his eyes.

“So anyway, if you want to use that, Vinterberg can attach it into best position on your stomach. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get out of here before I throw up.”

He shot to his feet and was almost at the elevator, when you called after him.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?” he said, stopping but not turning around.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. I’m just trying to make sure I’ll be his favorite uncle.”

“Alright then.”

As if you didn’t hear the thickness of his voice. Oh, well. Smiling to yourself, you impaled a cherry tomato with your fork. Maybe you weren’t so hopeless with people after all. Maybe it just took a bunch of superheroes to be your speed.

The nanny sticker worked, well, exactly like a sticker. After you’d laid down on your back on the hospital bed you’d left last night, Dr. Vinterberg had used an ultrasound device to confirm the best location, cleaned your skin and then placed the sticker onto your belly, slightly to the right side from your belly button. It wouldn’t require much care — you could take a shower or go for a swim with it if you wanted, and if it for some reason came dislodged and stopped receiving a signal, it would alert you. Eventually as your baby would grow, you might have to change it for another one for optimal placement and to accommodate to your skin stretching.

Steve held your hand through all of it and now that Vinterberg was examining the signal and showing you the image of your son on the screen next to the bed, his hand had moved to caress the bare skin of your stomach. His touch was tentative, almost like he couldn’t quite grasp the fact that the image he was looking at was coming from your stomach. Vinterberg tapped her pad, zooming in to the image on the screen. The swooshing heartbeat filled your ears and made you smile.

“Does he have a name?” Vinterberg inquired.

You glanced at Steve. You hadn’t had the chance to discuss, well, really anything. After you had woken up, it had been obvious that while you had been sleeping, he hadn’t. As the stress had been, if not gone at least alleviated, and against both of your expectations, you both had been out as soon as your heads had hit the pillows. And then in the morning he’d already been gone by the time you had woken up.

“…should he?” you asked.

“Well, legally you have ten days after his birth to provide a name for his birth certificate, so even as I am not a legal expert, I would consider that a sign that there’s no obligation,” Vinterberg said. “However, many humans consider it appealing to name their offspring even before the infant stage, even as it would be as convenient to refer to the fetus as the fetus.”

It was obvious Vinterberg didn’t much care about the name. She still referred to you as Mrs. Rogers, after all. She probably had a scientific reason to ask, something to do with parental bonding that would be good for your blood pressure, or something along the lines. Steve met your gaze and smiled through his tears.

“Little Star,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Since you’re Starstuff.”

You loved this man. You loved him already more than you had thought it was possible to love another person, and it had been… a few weeks. The thought made you huff a small laugh, but you caressed Steve’s cheek.

“Little Star it is, then.”

Vinterberg, her gaze in her pad, made a note. Her hair was precisely in the same braid it had been last night, and briefly you wondered if she slept in it, did it in the same way every morning or simply stood upright in whatever closet the AI kept her when she was deactivated.

“Tony is going to have FRIDAY push updates into your StarkTech so that you have access to the sensor data,” she said. “It should be very intuitive to use. I would still like you to visit every day for the next week or so, just to be sure. And I’m going to need you to authorize my access to the medical records, if that is something you wish to do. Whether you do or not, any emergency will alert me.”

Steve nodded like he’d just received critical mission information. You pulled your dress back down to cover your stomach and shifted to sit on the bed. Steve’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you leaned your head against his side.

“Do you have anything new on the effects of the pregnancy?” you said.

Vinterberg tapped her pad again, and a complicated data visualization replaced the image of your son on the screen. It didn’t tell you much, and Vinterberg clearly didn’t expect it to. She turned around to face both of you.

“We’re still looking into it but so far, nothing alarming has come up. Just this morning, we finished the genome mapping of both you and Captain Rogers, as a part of the process,” she said. “Your genetic compatibility is, as the idiom goes, off the charts. It isn’t a surprise you were fast to act upon it.”

A suffocated cough left Steve. Vinterberg had said the last part of the sentence with the exact same matter-of-fact tone she had said everything else, but you could see the pink staining Steve’s cheeks.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Vinterberg turned to look at him, puzzled by the question.

“It’s a scientifically proved concept that people who are a good genetic match are drawn to each other’s scents. You two are obviously that, and considering your,” she nodded at Steve, “heightened senses, your subconscious mind could clearly tell from her pheromones not only the compatibility but also the fact that Mrs. Rogers was ovulating during the night of your first encounter. And considering human sexual selection patterns, meaning that ovulating women prefer the highest apex predator of an alpha male they can possibly secure, it’s no wonder both of you were so inclined to have intercourse that night.”

You blinked, and Steve’s face was the picture of disbelief. Vinterberg continued reviewing her notes. It was a fairly clinical description of what had happened that night but there was no denying you had been inclined to have intercourse. A hysterical giggle bubbled somewhere deep inside you.

“That sounds like I roofied him,” you said with a choked voice, trying to decide if this was horrifying or hilarious.

“If anything, you both got roofied by evolution,” Vinterberg said. “You’re welcome to direct your complaints to the mechanisms of natural selection.”

“You know, this is not the kind of take on ‘meant to be’ I like,” Steve huffed, but there was a smile in the corner of his mouth.

“Well, Captain Rogers, this is the only take on ‘meant to be’ that exists in physical reality. I’m afraid your opinion on the matter might not bear much weight,” Vinterberg said, putting away the tablet. “Do you have any other questions as of now?”

Still stunned by the nonchalance with which the doctor had just discussed your sex life and trying to not burst into laughter over Steve’s red ears, you shook your head. After a beat of silence, Steve did the same.

“Then, that leaves us only with the last topic of the day,” Vinterberg said as she tapped her pad, and another graph appeared on the screen.

You looked at the data on it and blinked. You weren’t a medical professional, but you were a scientist, and this was simply data points presented in graphical form, extrapolated to form a prediction. Steve’s eyes, alert as ever, were on the graph, too, and you knew how fast he was at absorbing information, even if it was an area he was unfamiliar with. He breathed in like someone had punched the air out of his lungs.

“Is that…” he said. “How sure are you about that?”

Vinterberg looked at him.

“I wouldn’t present you inaccurate data. Both Theudhar and Cho agree with me on this. We’ve been tracking the fetal development of your ‘Little Star’ ever since Mrs. Rogers arrived at the medical department. Obviously, the data is partial, and we will continue to monitor for any changes, but I have no scientifically valid reasons to assume our estimates would be inaccurate.”

She crossed her hands on the table and met your eyes with calm certainty in hers. That made you feel the tiniest bit less uneasy — she was clearly a brilliant doctor, and if she was seeing no reason to worry, even as she certainly wasn’t the person to shield you from uncomfortable facts, maybe that meant this would be okay.

Somehow.

Steve’s hand reached for yours and squeezed it, and you let the warmth seep into your veins as you continued to stare at the graph. You had prepared for an elevated pace but… not this.

“What all this means is that we expect you to reach a state comparable to a full-term pregnancy in approximately four months,” Vinterberg said. “Giving us a new estimated due date on February 28th.”

Chapter Text

Four months.

The words echoed in your head as you stepped into Steve’s apartment, the intense rhythm of them scattering all other thoughts into the wind. Your hand was resting on the bump, still adjusting to the fact that it had curved out much more over the time you had been out, and trying to comprehend the fact that it would be growing much faster than you had anticipated. Your mouth was dry and your legs felt like they couldn’t quite hold your weight.

Behind you, you heard Steve shutting the door and locking it, and then a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around you. You leaned into him, feeling him like a rock against your back and his warm breath in your hair. You let your eyelids drop shut and pressed your palms over his on your midriff.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey yourself,” you replied.

For a moment, Steve said nothing. He just held you close, breathing in your scent and letting the relaxing warmth of his serum-jacked body seep into your muscles. It was enough, for a moment, just you and him wrapped in the bubble of closeness, shutting out everything. Slowly, the shock that had crept into you at Vinterberg’s announcement started to seep out.

“Where’s your head, honey?” Steve asked.

You huffed. Where to begin? But maybe you didn’t have to.

“All over the place.”

“I understand.”

He didn’t pry into it, and after another moment of silence, you quietly asked:

“Where’s yours?”

Steve didn’t speak right away. Instead, he drew in a long breath, no doubt inhaling the essence of you to remind himself that you were here, that after the wait that had clearly been agonizing for him, you were here in his arms and you were alright. His arms tightened around you and then his palms slid just a bit down, cupping the newfound, slight firm curve of your stomach. You smiled as you felt his thumbs caress the bump over your dress, and you let your fingers follow gentle trails over the backs of his hands. It was only afternoon, and he probably had things to do, things that might’ve related to keeping the Earth running along on its path, but you were certainly not going to be the one to remind him of those. After all, he was the Head Strategist, which meant that he probably didn’t answer to very many people above himself. Let’s hear them lecture Steve Rogers, just like he’d said when he’d been back at the conference.

It felt like it had been ages ago, and it had been barely… three weeks. You remembered the way your hands had trembled when you’d dialed his number, the way he’d run to you and grabbed you and hauled you up, how all the stress had left your body once you had been in his arms. Safe and sound.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair. “I really, really missed you. And that’s kind of stupid; you were right there but…”

He trailed off, and you squeezed the hands under yours.

“It’s not stupid.”

“And I thought… If something happens to me on a mission, that might be you sitting next to a bed like that. And I’m not sure if that means that I’m being so selfish even wanting this. The combination of the effects of the pregnancy on you and the fact that I’m running all over the universe trying to keep it from ending… If I had known, I’m not sure if I would’ve…”

You leaned against his chest, waiting for him to finish even as this line of conversation brought up a metallic taste in your mouth, and that wasn’t just from the slight nausea that had seemed to accelerate ever since Vinterberg had spoken the words ‘four months’.  It was clearly hard for him to even speak about this and you let him hide in your hair and just kept caressing the backs of his hands.

“If I had known, I would’ve still been there for you, absolutely. Nothing has changed. I’m just thinking… I may not have ever specifically tried to have children, considering who I am, the health things, the risky job, the press. It isn’t fair to subject anyone to this.”

When you replied, you made sure to keep your voice gentle; it wasn’t to throw the words into his face, it was to remind him. Because you had believed him that day, and you believed him now. Everything he was saying could coexist with everything he had said before.

“You did say that this is everything you ever wanted. I don’t think you lied.”

“It is. Nothing has changed about that,” he said. “I want to be with you, and I want to be a father. It just feels selfish.”

“You’re allowed to want things, Steve. You’re allowed to want things that make you happy. And it’s not just you. I want things, too,” you reminded him. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think anyone is ever really ready for this leap.”

Finally, you turned in his arms, reaching up to caress his face. He was staring down at you with blue, blue eyes that were shifting between hope and worry. You had anticipated something like this coming, because you hadn’t really talked about anything yet. But your words, and the feeling of having you in his arms, had reassured him at least somewhat.

“I want you. I love you,” he said, brushing your back with his hand.

“I love you too,” you said, swallowing as the words made your heart leap just a bit. “And Steve, I don’t know if I ever told you this… But that night at the gala, and everything that happened afterwards, it just felt inevitable. Like I was being pulled towards you by a gravity field. It might be the pheromones Vinterberg mentioned but I’m… I’m not sure it’s that simple. But I think I knew what was getting into, that night.”

Steve hugged you closer, burying his face back into your hair. His steady heartbeat was steady underneath your palm where it rested on his chest.

“I know what you mean. I fell for you the moment I saw you on the stage,” he said. “I’ve never felt like that about anyone, ever, and I don’t think that can be reduced to hormones. No matter how much I wanted you. And I feel like I should be feeling guilty about that, about the fact that you got thrown into this turmoil because of me, but I can’t find it in me to regret it. Any of it. Because that means you’re here.”

The effect of his words seeped as warmth into your muscles, and you snuggled closer. The last thing you had thought back in the park, before the pain had rendered you unconscious, had been that Steve was going to keep you safe. He had proved that to you, time and time again.

“So…” you said, lifting your gaze. “It feels to me like we would’ve been here anyway a few years down the line. So maybe it’s a blessing we didn’t have an opportunity to overthink it, because it turned out to be okay?”

It wasn’t the strongest argument you had ever made, and it was dripping with survivor bias but it didn’t change the fact that you had been genetically compatible enough that you could withstand the serum-enhanced pregnancy. It could’ve been a lot worse but you were here, in his arms, and your baby was okay, and you were allowed to enjoy that. You could see the smile spread onto Steve’s face as he digested the words.

“Yeah. Maybe,” he said. “Maybe Mother Nature knew what it was doing when it roofied us.”

Steve shook his head slightly as the words left him. This was all much too much for you to really process, and the recollection of Vinterberg’s emotionless face discussing your ovulatory instincts floated back to your brain’s foreground and brought a bubble of laughter with it. You snorted rather undignifiedly, and amusement glimmered in Steve’s eyes, too.

“Roofied by evolution,” you snorted. “Holy shit, I can’t wait to see what headlines they’re going to make out of this one. If it’s a sex scandal and a pregnancy scam both at once, do we get some sort of discount or? Inclined to have intercourse. I’m not sure if I love Vinterberg or am terrified by her.”

Steve shook his head again, a grin creeping onto his face. His hands were still resting on your face but the smirk on his face reminded you of  back at  the gala. Some things had changed, for sure, but not the things that mattered. Not the fact that he was still here with you and looking at you like that.

“Oh, I’m not sure either,” he said. “But I don’t doubt her conclusions. I was certainly ready to take you to bed that night.”

Yes. You hadn’t forgotten about that one, either.

“So, everything wasn’t happening fast enough, so Mama Nature decided to hit a fast forward button for us, huh? And I’m… I’m turning into something? Steve, this is fucking insane; all I signed up for was a date with a literal knight who put an asshole back into his place, and now we’re here.”

“I just thought you said you knew what you were getting into,” Steve said, grinning.

“Well. I did get my knight in shining armor. Everything else is an added bonus,” you said as you reached up to pull his mouth onto yours.

It was a long, lingering kiss, his lips gentle and firm as they nibbled yours, reacquainting themselves with the feel of your mouth. You could feel him relax, the tension he had held for two weeks finally leaving his body, and there was no rush to go anywhere. In this moment, you could just stay and breathe and feel the man who would one day become your husband touch you, hold you. He seemed to sink into the kiss, too, forgetting everything about duty and avenging and the ghosts that had lingered over his head for the past weeks and just focusing on your warmth. His touch had made you tingle all over your body when he finally broke the kiss.

“I think I’ll take the afternoon off,” Steve said, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Isn’t it like five hours into your first real workday?” you teased.

“It is. But no one’s going to stop me,” he grinned. “We could do something fun together? If your schedule allows for it.”

You smiled, sighing. Yes, that sounded good. You had assignments to do and lab reports to find but also, I’m pregnant with a national hero’s super-baby and have been in a coma for two weeks had turned out to be something that made your professors tilt a very understanding ear towards your requests for extensions. The fact that the baby would be here at the end of February meant that you’d have to focus on your work soon, but right now, there was no hurry. And an afternoon with Steve doing nice, normal couple things sounded like a really, really nice way to wind down from the whirlwind of past 24 hours. Or two plus weeks.

“I had the atelier emptied — there was a nice space on the upper floors for me to use for painting, so I relocated my stuff there,” Steve said. “I thought it would be nice for you to have your own office space in here, too, whenever you’re staying over. I mean, there’s obviously still Vision’s old apartment and they’re fixing the one you have back in Boston, but I want you to have something here, too, so you don’t have to feel like a guest. Want to take a look at the space, maybe order some furniture you like for it online?”

For a moment, you thought about questioning the decision and then turned down the idea. Steve wasn’t giving up something that was important to him — he had simply moved his painting supplies a few floors up, and giving you your own space was a touching statement on how he wanted this place to feel like yours, too.

“Or, if you’d rather make the downstairs apartment yours, we could look into that?”

Ah, yes. The apartment downstairs, one you had so far spent a whopping total of zero nights in. And you didn’t want to go there now, either. You wanted to stay home.

“I think the room here sounds nice,” you said. “Though I’m not sure how much I’ll need for an office — I’ll have to talk with Tony about lab space here but other than that, I need a bookshelf and a desk, for the most part. A whiteboard would be nice, too.”

Steve nodded, clearly saving the list of things you had mentioned in his mind. And you had an inkling that he was going to get you something else for the space, too, because clearly making a home for you was something like a love language to him.

“There’s a desk in the spare bedroom that isn’t used much. Want to see if you like that?”

“Yeah. Let’s check that out.”

After walking through the apartment, you pushed the door of the guest room open. Steve had trailed  right behind you, clearly ready to move the desk the second you approved of it, and you had to admit that the image of him lifting a writing desk single-handedly wasn’t exactly something unpleasant.

“Wait, honey, I just remembered —“

Steve interrupted himself and alarmed, you turned to look at him, registering the expression of sheer horror on his face and reflexively, turned back to look at the room to see what would’ve caused it. Steve wasn’t jumping to pull you back so you doubted it was anything really dangerous. Before he could explain, you realized what had caused the reaction. The room, just like the whole apartment, had a nice, firm hardwood floor and large windows that gave out into the city. It was spacious — not as big as  his giant bedroom  but plenty big enough, larger than the combined kitchen and living room you had back in the Stark Building. Or had had at least, depending on how full of mold and entirely new, aquatic life forms it was at the moment. It had a queen-sized bed, a nice walnut desk with an office chair, a dresser, all in muted, tasteful colors of grey and dark wood and whites, fitting well into the general feel of the apartment. But none of that was the reason for his reaction.

In the middle of the room, at the foot of the bed, was a large brown cardboard box, one of the flat, giant furniture ones. And on the side of the box was a diagram image of a baby crib, drawn with steady, black vector lines, and the model name of the crib itself. Based on the drawing, it was a very traditional model, with a side panel that slid down for easier baby-handling. No one had opened it yet; it had clearly just been pushed into the empty room to be out of the way, to wait.

You turned again, slowly, to face Steve, whose cheeks were burning red, and raised an eyebrow.

“I… I forgot about that, fuck, I… I swear it hasn’t been here for long, I’m not some insane person with a readily decorated nursery just waiting, I just… When you were under, I needed to believe. I needed to tell myself that I believed you were both going to make it. And I don’t really believe in any of the manifesting stuff but I also do work with a literal witch so.”

He sidestepped you, walking into the room, and ran his hand over the top of the box. He was looking at the box as he did, and something about his tentative, hopeful expression shifted something deep, deep inside you.

“It’s a classic model,” he said. “I didn’t want to make a lot of decoration choices before you woke up but I thought that this is something we’re going to need anyway, and it’ll go with everything and can be painted over. I thought about making one myself but I’ve never been much of a woodworker. So I’ll just — if you approve of this crib — paint something for the baby on the end panels. And it’s unopened, so we can return it, if you absolutely hate it.”

“I don’t hate it,” you said. “I think it’s going to look really nice.”

You leaned your hips back against the dresser that was next to the door, resting a hand on the curve of your stomach and trying to understand that one day not too far in the future, the tiny vaguely baby-shaped thing in your belly was going to rest in the hopefully assembled contents of the box underneath Steve’s hand.

And before that, you imagined falling asleep in his arms every night, roasting marshmallows with him in the great room’s fireplace during the holidays, a shared life. You imagined being surrounded by all that love, his and others, the banter of the Cap Quartet echoing in your ears, and on top of the building, a Quinjet ready to take you to campus in twenty minutes anytime you needed to.

You imagined a flicker of… gold? platinum? vibranium? on his hand and the colossal rock you knew was waiting for you on yours.

A fire roared to life in you, the desire for all of that so burning that Steve saw it in your eyes. His breath quickened, and you looked deep into his eyes, past the tentative hope, into something raw and pure and glowing. During the last weeks, you had been entirely certain that he was in this with you, and he was but seeing him throw his heart out like this, this tangible evidence on how he wanted that future, it hit somewhere deep, deep within your soul. He was yours, yours on a level fundamental and irreversible enough to have left marks into your DNA.

“Steve,” you said. “What if I just stay? Here, in the Tower, with you.”

In a few strides, he was standing in front of you, and his hands trembled just slightly when he cupped your face. So warm. So safe. His.

“Nothing would make me happier than sharing my everyday life with you,” he said. “But I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“You aren’t. You should know by now that I’m not that stupid,” you smiled, and he did, too, recalling the words in Dr. Brian’s waiting room. “If I didn’t want to do this with you, I wouldn’t have. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not that —“

“It is,” you said, not suffocating the note of fierceness that had flared up into your voice. “It is that simple. Everything you said makes sense. We only have four months before the baby comes, and that means that we need to think about the practical stuff, too. And in my opinion, the Tower’s going to be a great place for that. I know you heard me when I said the second room would make a great nursery and that’s still true.”

He smiled, not denying your allegations for a second. His hand had started drawing small caresses over your stomach as his brain was illustrating the picture you were supplying. Four months wasn’t a lot but you would be fine. How could you be anything else, when it was Steve by your side? This man who had not only sworn to give you everything but had put his money where his mouth is. His instincts to protect and to provide

“And speaking of things needed, I’ll need maternity clothes, like, very soon. And I’m going to let you buy them for me,” you smirked.

“Oh, you are?” he returned your smirk, and there was just a hint of growl in the way he said that.

It just might be that he was going to buy you the clothes and have a lot of fun stripping you out of them, and that didn’t sound bad at all. But you weren’t finished.

“Yes, I am. I’m going to let your caveman brain run with it because I know that’s what you’ve been dying to do,” you said, squeezing his face gently between your palms. “Because you matter, too. Your feelings matter, too. It might be your job to keep me safe but it’s my job to keep you safe, too, even as that might mean different things. And I want you to feel like you’re doing your part because clearly, that’s important to you.”

He breathed out, pulling you tighter against himself, and you saw his mouth open into what was going to be some kind of counterargument. Gently pressing your finger on his lips, you grinned, pulling the figurative ace from your sleeve and slamming it on the figurative table:

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you said. “Don’t you dare question the judgment of the mother of your child, and, considering where this is going, your future wife.”

Oh, that did something. That did a lot of things, the most tangible being the fact that he crouched down and lifted you up on top of the dresser like you weighed nothing and slammed his mouth on yours, his hands tightening on your thighs and all talk about interior decorating momentarily forgotten. It was a kiss he had been starving for; a catharsis, but despite the intensity, you could feel his smile.

“Alright, then,” he said when he finally pulled away, and the sheer darkness in his eyes made a shiver shoot down your spine. “Since we’re done talking, I’m going to take you to bed — to our bed — and I’m not going to let you out of there for a while.”

A long while later, you rested lazily astride his lap in said bed, his arms wrapped around your lower back. It was a nice, quiet moment, a chance to catch up on everything that had happened lately when you had been under and a chuckle at the most outrageous headlines.

“Tony has been talking about a team dinner to celebrate you being back on your feet. It might be a good chance to announce that you’re moving in. And there’s also a Halloween party coming up next week,” Steve said. “I wish I could say that that’s a low-key event but that’s honestly probably not going to be anything resembling low-key. It’s his love language, throwing obscene amounts of money at things to show that he cares but he means well.”

“I think the last time Tony was low-key was when he was in the womb himself,” you chuckled. “But yes. A team dinner… That sounds nice. Are those common?”

Steve chuckled in turn, pulling you deeper into his lap and god, you were so warm and safe. His hand continued to caress over the curve of your stomach in long, peaceful strokes, and in the hazy afterglow, it was easy to believe what Vinterberg had said. This was meant to be — it couldn’t be anything else.

“Not as common as people think,” Steve said. “We try, but between missions, and the Multiverse, and Clint having his own family, and everything that comes with being the cornerstone of global security… The scheduling is a nightmare.”

Having had your share of group projects, you could understand that. Steve’s mouth trailed lazy kisses on the side of your neck and your earlobe, and you hummed, every muscle in your body relaxed by the previous activities that had happened in this bed.

“I mean, sometimes I don’t see some people for literal months. And people have their private lives, too. I mean, I haven’t seen Nat in like two days now, and I know she’s not on a mission currently, but she’s got her devices shut off.”

You tried to imagine what Natasha Romanoff did in her free time to relax. Drove monster trucks? Stabbed people?

“She’s kind of scary,” you confessed. “In a very admirable way. If she punched me in the face, I’d probably say thank you. Like, I love her, but I’m really glad she’s on the same side as you.”

Steve laughed.

“So am I, honey. So am I.”

In the dark, Natasha waited for the fly to walk into the spider’s web.

Everything about her appearance was a strategic choice, from the skintight combination of black jeans and a low-cut crimson top to the red lipstick. She sat there at the kitchen table, quiet and lying in wait, as alluring as she was deadly. Her appearance was leaning more into the Black Widow than many things she’d done over the past few years when working for the AI, but it was a trademark — something immediately recognizable.

And Jackson sure did recognize it when he got home and flicked on the light, revealing the tasteful, expensive decor of his studio apartment and one Avenger sitting in his kitchen. With a small yelp, his eyes flew open, and Natasha could see that he was immediately alarmed by her the way he hadn’t been by Steve back in the gala. Maybe he had taken Steve’s grace and mercy as a sign that he could get away with spinning lies to the press, too, and it was certainly time to fix that. Based on Steve’s recollection of the gala night, the guy was a complete asshole and had been that towards you long before he’d escalated it into almost assaulting you.

Natasha watched his eyes rapidly blink as he was trying to understand whether she was really there or not, wondering how it felt for once to feel like he was threatened. She pressed a finger onto her crimson lips and he watched, no doubt noticing that the tint of the lipstick was precisely that of blood.

“Shhh.”

She let a smile overtake her lips as Jackson still stared. Flirty. Deadly. Dangerous. The honeyed venom in her voice was a carefully crafted combination of a promise and a threat, and to her, it was almost a parody of what she’d been taught but of course, he wasn’t bright enough to make the distinction.

“You know this is illegal, right?”

Jackson tried to get some strength into his voice, but he wouldn’t have fooled anyone, let alone Natasha Romanoff. She chuckled a cold, clear laugh, loading every note of it with contempt.

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m here,” Natasha smiled. “Truth be told, sometimes I miss the KGB. Rogers is so adamant about following the rules. This is a personal trip, since it appears that you have crossed not only one but two of mine, and by proxy, you have crossed me.”

She leaned forward in her chair and set her elbows down on the table, watching Jackson’s eyes flick down for a second as the low-cut top showed the top of her breasts. Catching himself, he straightened up and looked at her with a tooth-filled smile of his own. They always believed they were the unmovable object that stopped the force, didn’t they.

“So this is how the Avengers deal with dirty business? I know a tabloid or three that’d love this story.”

Got him. Triumphant in his delusion of thinking he had the upper hand, Jackson started digging his pocket for his phone, presumably to snap a picture. When Natasha hadn’t moved an inch by the time the phone was out, his expression turned from vindictive to confused. Natasha tilted her head, her curls falling to her shoulder.

“Oh, that you do, right? I bet that feels amazing that they’re foaming at the mouth over your every word. You’re getting revenge for all the crap she put you through, right? I bet that’s a really great feeling,” Natasha said, her tone as casual as if she was discussing a new dress someone had just gotten. “I bet that makes you feel immortal. Is that what you felt that night, too?”

Expression unchanging, she watched the effect of her words slam into Jackson. There was still disbelief on his face, and he was clinging to a hope that she wasn’t saying what he thought she was saying, but he was already losing that battle. He knew that she knew, and her next words confirmed that:

“Does 0.14 percent say anything to you, Jackson?” she said. “It’s not a very big number by itself, I have to admit. But it is a pretty big deal when it’s the blood alcohol concentration of a drunk driver. And if I remember correctly, that wasn’t the only thing they found in your blood when they pulled you over, is that right?”

At first, he didn’t reply, not with his words. But his shoulders slumped and his face turned into a sickly color as his eyes flew open. When he finally did reply, his voice was quiet:

“How did you…”

“Your Daddy is good at making things disappear, but he isn’t as good as he thinks. He isn’t good enough,” Natasha said.

She leaned back in her chair, throwing one leg over the other and addressing him in a very conversational tone:

“I feel for you, Jackson,” she said. “We all do stupid things when we’re stressed out, and no one got hurt, so it was easy for you to let that go. I’d let it go, too, but I’m not sure if the companies you’re applying to when you graduate in a few months, the very prestigious ones, are going to be so understanding. So why don’t you sit down, Jackson?”

He did, and Natasha could see his hands trembling on top of the table. The smug bastard in a tailored blazer she’d watched earlier going on about his day was long gone, and Natasha would’ve pitied him if he wasn’t the amalgamation of ‘Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.’ He swallowed, meeting Natasha’s gaze.

“Rogers…” he started.

“I already told you that I’m not here for Steve. In fact, he has no idea I am here.  This will be our little secret, right?”

Jackson seemed to gain some of his earlier fortitude, and he straightened up again, shoulders drawn back. Natasha examined her fingernails.

“No one’s going to believe you,” he said. “No one’s going to listen to what you have to say about me and about my alleged missteps.”

“They don’t need to believe me. They just need to have that one seed of doubt — that’s going to be enough to tip the scales in the favor of someone else in a cutthroat process, isn’t it? I mean, you certainly aren’t important enough to make front page news but someone with a history of DUI could possibly be a liability nightmare if he hasn’t been able to shake the habit. But don’t take my word for it; it’s Tony’s industry, not mine. Maybe your father has more influence than he has.”

It’s Tony’s job to put the words in the right ears, not mine, she said in between the lines, and Jackson heard it. Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. The fly was glued to his chair, and struggling was pointless.

“So why don’t we have a little chat about how things are going to go in the future?”

Chapter Text

To be able to be sneaky in a building full of superheroes, guarded over by the all-seeing eye of FRIDAY, took some effort.

But luckily, you weren’t just any Jane Doe. You had a plan.

The first message to Sam last night, when Steve had been in the shower, had been entirely innocent: Hey, Steve’s in a meeting, can you remind me what time you guys were planning on hitting the gym tomorrow? I need to arrange the checkup with Dr. Vinterberg and I don’t want that to overlap. You had gotten an instant reply telling you that they were going to train at 0600, because apparently ‘the Geriatric Patients still haven’t realized that the gym is open at other hours than the ass-crack of dawn’. You were really starting to like him.

That had been just perfect. The next call, one you’d made after you’d asked Steve to go pick you a pineapple smoothie from the 24/7 café downstairs, had gone out to the receptionists of the Tower, telling them that it was taking some time to get you authorized into the systems, so if they could be so kind and arrange for a grocery delivery for you, you would appreciate it so much. Of course, with you now being the lady co-habiting with Steve Rogers and pregnant with his baby, the reception assistants had practically tripped over each other to cater to your whims.

The pineapple smoothie had been great, too — you hadn’t had to make up the craving, and Steve clearly enjoyed the simple task of making sure you were fed.

So, at 0550, just as the apartment door had closed after Steve heading for the elevators, you had opened the eyes you had kept closed when Steve’s alarm had gone off, and pushed the covers away. You had had exactly the right amount of time to get changed into one of Steve’s blue button-downs and a pair of thick, black tights when the door chime had rung and FRIDAY had announced to you that there was a grocery delivery at your door. The delivery person had not bothered to look at you twice, which told you that it wasn’t his first time delivering groceries to the Avengers Tower. The only thing that had hinted you that he even knew about your situation was that he had carried the delivery all the way into Steve’s kitchen, and he might have been paid to do that anyway.

When he had left with his twenty percent tip, it had been time for you to get to work.

To say that your time so far in the Tower had been a wild ride was quite the understatement, and due to that, you had had all your meals so far in the communal kitchen. Steve’s, however, didn’t pale in comparison. If anything, it was a better space because it had been tailored to him instead of aiming for a compromise. Despite hosting an impressive number of kitchen appliances, half of which were unfamiliar to you, the dark granite counter tops spread in front of you in a vast desert, allowing you plenty of space to work in. Just like you’d expected, the organization of Steve’s cupboards and cabinets was military-grade, and it didn’t take you too long to gather everything you needed.

You might not have fared so well in a cooking competition but you were far from helpless, and you were extremely talented at doing research. There was a magnetic stand folded neatly away next to Steve’s cutting boards — all seven of them, ranging from glass to wood — that your StarkPad could be snapped to. The steps being shown on screen in videos made them easy to follow, especially since you stuck to somewhat basic things.

And working in a kitchen such as Steve’s certainly had its perks. The quality of the tools and appliances, the sheer space compared to your cramped little apartment, and the lovely reddish light coming in from the colossal windows made it much more enjoyable than you remembered cooking ever being. You got lost in it, letting the calm voices of the instructors on the videos drip into your ear and just focused on following along to the best of your ability. You had deliberately chosen recipes that would require barely any modifications to fit your current diet, deciding that making all this work simultaneously was going to be a challenge enough.

A bit earlier than you had hoped, you heard the door click closed, and Steve turned the corner from the hallway into the great room not five seconds later. He had clearly been expecting for you to still be sleeping, because the second he saw you, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Good morning, dear,” you said, setting the knife down on the cutting board next to the cherry tomatoes you were working on. “I made breakfast.”

The gym duffel dropped from his hand in the middle of the floor as he took in everything, his eyes flickering from the ovens to the pile of French toast sitting under aluminum foil next to the stove to you. Even as he was still about thirty feet from you, you saw him swallow. He’d taken a shower in the gym locker room, and his hair was still slightly wet, the usual combination of slacks and button-down telling you that he was ready to face the day.

“There’s cheesy bacon hash skillet in the oven. It should be ready soon. I had a bit of a hard time figuring out how that oven worked — I don’t understand why Tony insists on everything being app controlled — so it was a little late going in there but I think it’s not too bad in terms of timing.”

He stepped closer, carefully like he didn’t want to spook you, like there was something fragile or tender about this. After turning the corner of the kitchen island, he walked past you and peeked into the wall oven. Not a word left him but you could hear him breathe deep in and out.

“It’s still only your card in the system so I didn’t do anything extravagant but I got some basics. In addition to the skillet, I’m making a mixed green salad with vinaigrette, and in the fridge there’s something called yogurt parfait which is apparently just yogurt stacked with granola and fruit so I don’t know why it’s called something so fancy. And French toast, obviously. I still need to fry the eggs because I need them perfectly cooked so I didn’t want to just stick it into the skillet like the recipe said.”

Steve was still staring into the oven, his back turned to you, and an uneasiness crept over your spine. Had you missed some social cue you should have realized? Had he already had plans and you had screwed them up?

“Steve? Did I overstep?” you whispered.

The oven timer beeped, and before you could manage it, Steve grabbed the oven mitts from next to the appliance and lifted the skilled out. An aroma of bacon, cheese and shallots — apparently a type of onion — filled the kitchen when he set it down to the counter, looking at it like it was something that had inexplicably popped into existence.

“You didn’t overstep. It’s your home,” he said quietly, as if somewhere far away.

“I just thought, it’s our first real morning living together here so I thought it would be nice. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to have everything ready at the same time, I asked Sam what time you go to the gym but you were a bit faster than I thought.”

The slightest tremble of your voice made him snap around immediately as he realized how his behavior must have looked to you, but even as he did, he still didn’t manage anything else. His mouth opened, and closed, his eyes so bright they almost glowed. His gaze dragged over your form, from your nervously smiling face to his shirt to the dog tags that rested gently on top of it, to where the curve of your stomach was hidden by the loose shirt, and then the way the tights hugged your legs.

“It’s our home,” he corrected himself, the flabbergasted look on his face giving way to something dark and strained.

Oh. Oh.

“The mother of my child made me a feast of a breakfast,” he breathed the words out like a spell. “The… I…”

You saw it written across his face that this wasn’t about some housewife fantasy; he wouldn’t have cared if you had poured him cereal and milk and served that up. It was the fact that you had wanted to do something nice for him, that you loved him and wanted him to have this, that for the first time after weeks of turmoil, he was starting to believe that this domestic bliss he had never quite dared to hope for was coming true. That all the crazy, winding roads of his life had led him here, drawn a full circle back to the man who had once, long before the ice, wanted love, family, stability. Wanted a life where the only thing he knew wasn’t war.

Had led him here where you stood in his kitchen wearing his shirt and his dog tags and represented all of that.

“I love you so much,” he whispered. “You are my everything.”

The words hit you as if they had physically grabbed your heart, but before you could manage a word, Steve moved closer. When his hand reached for your hip, it might have been meant to be an entirely innocent touch, one to pull you into a kiss to thank you for doing all this.

But just like the gala night, the first touch shattered the dam into pieces. The second his fingertips brushed over the fabric of your hip, something broke on his face, and then, you were being kissed and hauled up and undressed all at once. With speed that made your head spin, he lifted you to the counter, and if you ever met them, you would shake the interior designer’s hand for putting this continent of a kitchen island here. Distantly, you hoped that their confidence in the windows blocking the view to the inside hadn’t been unwarranted, or the headlines of tomorrow would make all the previous ones pale in comparison.

“Steve…” you managed to breathe out when he pulled the shirt over your head and threw it to the floor. “Food’s going to get cold.”

“I know,” came the breathless whisper against your neck as he was kissing his way down your body. “I know, I know honey, I just need…”

Your tights and underwear joined the shirt on the floor, and when a firm yet gentle palm guided you to lie on your back on the counter, you didn’t give a damn about the breakfast anymore. You’d just reheat the damn thing. Steve’s nose pressed against your Venus mound, and he breathed in, regaining some sort of momentary composure.

“I just need to start with dessert first,” he smiled against your skin, and it would have been corny and ridiculous if his face hadn’t dived down and taken any and all thoughts away from your head.

He was bending down from a standing position, his hand pulling your left thigh to rest against his shoulders, and he tilted his head back so that you could see his eyes. His mouth, his tongue, his fingers, feeling like they were touching you everywhere at once, the starving gaze in his eyes, the firm grip on your leg… Everything was sending you spiraling towards the edge, and you could hear the self-satisfied chuckle when your hips buckled off the counter and his name left your lips as a desperate prayer. He was too good at this, you were spoiled with pleasure, made his forever, and the peak took you apart in no time at all, leaving you trebling and gasping and whining at the absence when his fingers retreated.

Steve kissed his way down your bare, trembling leg when he straightened up and looked at the ruin he’d made of you, your left leg still against on his shoulder even as he was now standing up.

“Need you,” you gasped. “Need you inside.”

“I thought you wanted to eat,” he teased, but his hand was still on your thigh where it moved in a gentle caress.

He kissed your ankle, his breath both tickling and teasing the skin there, sending shivers down your spine. God, when did you become so greedy that a second after he had taken you apart, you were craving for the next round?

“Need you more,” you murmured, and oh, it didn’t take a lot of convincing, not when you saw the hard ridge in his pants.

It was starting to sink into your consciousness that anything you asked for, if it was in his power, he would give you. And this, oh this, this was no favor at all, it was him obeying the most primal drive built into his very essence.

Claim, claim, claim.

He yanked you down from the counter, maneuvering you in a way that served as a very tangible reminder of his strength while simultaneously soaking you in safety. He guided you down again, face first this time, and you grabbed the edge of the counter when you heard him undo his belt, letting your head hang limp in between your extended arms. Seconds later, he pushed all the way into you in one smooth stroke. With the way your legs were still trembling, you were happy that he was holding you by the hipbones as he started moving, allowing you to just focus on the feeling and the sparks behind your eyelids as he filled you so perfectly.

“So good for me,” he murmured, clearly barely aware that he was speaking out loud. “So perfect, honey. I’m going to do everything to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

He was yours. He was always going to be yours.

You fiddled with the strap of your messenger bag in the hallway, just outside Steve’s door, trying to calm your nerves even as the previous activities and the long, full breakfast had done marvels to start the day right. It still felt slightly odd to address the elevator when you stepped in:

“FRIDAY, were would Tony be? Is he awake?”

From what Steve had told you, it was an entirely valid question to ask, no matter the time of the day or night. Briefly, you wondered if his erratic sleeping habits could be utilized later, when your Little Star had arrived. Somehow, you didn’t think that the child would have a shortage of adults that cared about him.

The child. Somehow, it was still quite hard to understand that what now burrowed in your tiny bump would be here in four months, but you had a feeling that no one ever really understood that they were about to make a new human until the small human in question had actually made it out of the womb.

“His Immense Geniusness is in his main laboratory, located on the 2nd floor from the top, Mrs. Rogers.”

“Take me there, please,” you replied, deciding to ignore both the nickname he had set for himself and the one he had set for you.

The elevator hummed, and the doors closed in front of you. Your foot tapped the floor — apparently, Tony had seen no security issue in letting you into taking a ride to the lab floor, which must have meant that there would be another door facing you.

Your logic was sound. When you excited the elevator, there was a small sitting area with a globe-shaped bar looking out over the city, and a door that looked like it had been mistakenly shipped here instead of Fort Knox. On both sides of the door in glass cases stood two older versions of Tony’s armor: Mark 3 and Mark 17, according to the small plates at their feet.

“Please state your name and intention,” FRIDAY asked.

Despite the fact that you had just pretty much told her that in the elevator, you told the artificial intelligence your name and that you were here to see Tony. Here, her voice sounded harsher, like an unfriendly bouncer on a nightclub’s door.

“Access denied; visitor not found. Unknown login credential. Please try again.”

You sighed, glancing at your watch. You needed to get this done before your remote morning lecture, and it had told you that Tony was here. Besides, this wasn’t an item of business you were happy to take on to begin with, so you had neither the time nor patience for Tony’s shenanigans. His love for nicknames was public knowledge but up until this point, you had thought that those existed in the system jointly with the actual legal names of everyone in this Tower. Apparently not; that must be confusing for everyone.

“Starstuff for Director Stark, please?” you tried again.

“Access denied; visitor not found. Unknown login credential. Please try again.”

You rolled your eyes. He had not. And of course he had. After clearing your throat, you said to the door:

“Mrs. Rogers for Director Stark, please,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers. Step right in”

FRIDAY couldn’t smirk, could she? At the moment, you could swear that she had. But the door slid open, nevertheless, and you slipped in the second it did before Tony would have another immensely funny joke to play on you.

His lab looked like a dream. You could actually feel your mouth getting dry, and if there was a sight in the world that could almost compare to shirtless Steve lying next to you with soft, loving eyes, it was this. The open space covered most of this floor, giving him plenty of room to play in and test things. He had multiple work stations scattered around the space, from computers and hologram simulators to those meant to perform more traditional engineering tricks like soldering. The sheer number of appliances, half of which you didn’t even recognize because Tony had designed them specifically for his work, had your mouth dropping open, and it wasn’t like your institute was in any way poorly equipped. He was working on multiple things, clearly, from his own armor to equipment for the team, and prototypes even you could only half-comprehend were lying here and there, waiting for the moment the eye of his chaotic genius landed on them again. The lab looked over New York, and the in-wall sound system blared classic rock.

The maestro himself had been working on what looked like a new type of joint for his next Iron Man suit, and was now looking at you with his eyebrows raised. A fling of his hand threw aside the hologram monitors he had been looking at.

“Welcome to Heaven,” he grinned, looking at the expression on your face.

“Yeah, I mean, is this religion recruiting? I’m willing to consider,” you breathed out, finally shutting your mouth that had apparently dropped open.

“The AI might be, if you say you’re sorry for being happier about getting Rogers’ number than mine,” Tony said, standing up and crossing over to you.

The gala, yes. Tony had practically offered you a place on the team, if you wanted it. Back then, you had imagined your life taking a very different track than it had, even as you had already started to entertain the thought that a certain Steve Rogers might be a part of that life. At that time, less than two months ago, you had thought it a foolish, faraway dream, and now, you could still feel the kiss he had given you as you’d left your shared apartment a few floors down.

“You’re just afraid I’ll outdo you,” you said.

Tony sat on the edge of his desk, pushing aside about a dozen empty coffee mugs. He looked at you with something uncharacteristically serious in his eyes. Six monitors behind him showed floating AI logos, understandably locking you away from any secrets. It crossed your mind that you should probably be flattered that the door had let you through without even asking, allowing you to interrupt Tony at his work.

“If the stem cells do the same to your intelligence than they did to Steve’s?” he huffed. “I might finally have a worthy competitor, which would mean I have to stop slacking off and actually do something for the salary I draw and that’s not very nice of you after all I’ve done for you.”

You smiled at the compliment, ignoring the jokes it was wrapped in.

“I need to talk to you about something, Tony,” you said.

He looked at your hand resting on top of your belly. You’d tied a belt underneath your breasts to make Steve’s shirt look a little less like something you wore after spending the night with him in bed — even as that was true — and it had the side-effect of showing off the slight curve that would grow considerably very soon.

“Yes, I’d be delighted if you named him Anthony after his godfather,” Tony smiled.

Baby names. One more thing on the long list of things that should get done. The sight of Tony’s workspace had momentarily made you forget the situation and why you were here, but now your nerves were kicking back in.

“We’ll have to see about both of those things,” you said. “But believe it or not, I actually exist outside hosting this baby, too, and defining me through that and the Mrs. Rogers title isn’t very appropriate for the man who funds a myriad of Women in Tech Initiatives.”

Even as you spoke, you dug your StarkPad out of the bag and snapped it on. The screen showed a document you had drafted last night as Steve had been reading the briefings from his field teams. Tony paid no mind to your jabs.

“I’m just acknowledging that you being disgustingly in love with Cap and expecting a baby don’t take away from your professionalism and should not be hidden,” he said, as if he wasn’t the kind of man who giggled at his own jokes. “What’s that?”

“That’s a proposal.”

“I mean, I’m flattered, but Cap might have a problem with that and I’m not looking to start a war,” he grinned, making you roll your eyes.

Despite the joking, Tony grabbed the pad, looking at the text on it. He tilted the device back in a specific gesture so that the text scrolled smoothly, slowly up, allowing him to read it without using his other hand. Really handy when you had your hands full, if you allowed yourself a terrible pun that probably told you’d spent too much time around these people.

These people. Your friends. For the first time, you were starting to feel like a part of something.

“That’s a pretty steep interest rate,” Tony remarked.

“Market standard,” you replied.

“What does Wall Street know?” he said, and before you could reply apparently how to keep your investments growing, he handed the pad back. “You want me to sign a contract that in the future, when you’re not a student and are actually making money, I am owed rent for the lab space I gave you during this time, with interest? And in addition to that, you want a loan to buy equipment?”

You nodded. You’d done your research long before this whole ordeal — you knew how much money you needed to gather to be able to start your own company and chase your dreams of stars. At the time, you had thought that you would graduate, design some prototypes while still in school, and then start building your company, but with the time line changing due to Steve and Little Star, it made sense to start establishing things now. You weren’t above utilizing Tony’s vaults for that, but you weren’t going to build this on charity.

“That’d be the gist of it,” you said, feeling the nerves flare up again.

You could get a loan elsewhere, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Tony said no. You had Steve’s finances to back you up, if your education and accomplishments wouldn’t be enough to convince a lender, as much as you didn’t want to resort to that. But it would be best if you could get space here in the Tower, and could use this connection to perhaps secure a larger sum than a normal bank would give to you at this stage. Tony tilted his head.

“I don’t understand it, kid. The way you and Steve look at each other, I don’t know why this is so hard for you. He’d fetch you the moon if you just asked him to, and we’re his family, so we have to like you by default.”

You chuckled, knowing that he wasn’t trying to insult you.

“So why are you so insistent on paying me money you don’t have for a lab space and equipment I’d be happy to give you?” he asked. “Do you, god forbid, think I can’t afford it?”

He looked at you from under his brow like he couldn’t imagine a graver insult, and you shook your head at his antics. As if you would be asking for a loan to buy the damn equipment if you thought he couldn’t afford it. Despite your relatively short time in the Tower, you were starting to get his number, the way his defense mechanism was to wrap any conversation into a myriad of jokes and insults, so that he could lull himself into an illusion of there not being anything serious here. Or, to quote him, god forbid that people think he had feelings.

“It’s my career, Tony. When I get where I want to get, I don’t want people to think I did that just because Captain America happened to fall into my bed.”

“He happened to fall somewhere else too, didn’t —“

“TONY!”

No matter his tendencies, getting a pregnant lady angry clearly wasn’t on his agenda, especially since he was probably well aware of what kind of punch Steve could throw if he needed to. He raised his hands in defeat and promptly returned to the original topic.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” he said. “I’m not done trying to sweet-talk you into working for the AI, but even if that’s not what you want, there’s a point to be made about the benefits of alliances. Of co-operation. Just like the AI is larger than the sum of its parts because we have multiple kinds of expertise on board. We could come up with a much better contract than this, if a contract is what you want.”

“That’s surprisingly sentimental from you, Tones,” you grinned.

“What can I say, I’ve spent too much time around these sentimental idiots for my own good,” he shook his head. “You’re too smart to not understand the benefits of networking. And with a wall between the AI’s systems and whatever it is you’re going to create, the only help you would be getting is a state-of-the-art lab space with some really good equipment, and later I could blackmail you about letting us use some of your inventions to save the world. Where’s the harm in that?”

You sighed. Okay. He wasn’t half as clueless as he wanted everyone to believe, and despite the fact that you were yet to have a conversation about this with Steve, you found the words just fell out of your mouth almost on their own.

“The AI has the best labs there are — even NASA has nothing on you. Even with all the money in the world, I couldn’t get an equivalent elsewhere. I want to work with what you’ve got, sure. But if I get used to that and then…”

Surprisingly, Tony didn’t feel the need to insert anything into the slow beat of silence that followed. You breathed in, centering yourself and avoiding clenching your fists. A part of you was still trying to wrap its head around the fact that all this was happening — not only the pregnancy but the super-pregnancy, being a part of the Avengers family even as you were not a part of the team, being in the public eye, whatever effects the fetal microchimerism would have on you… And on the top of that, moving in together with Steve after a matter of weeks. No matter how paradoxical it felt, the sheer number of changes made it easier to adjust to them; having your entire life upheaved at once was somehow easier to take than a series of gradual changes.

But yet, a part of you didn’t believe this bliss was going to last, that all the stress you’d been through would be over now. You had good reasons to suspect that, too. And you needed plans outside Steve, too.

“I don’t want to get accustomed to a lifestyle I can’t afford or achieve if…” you trailed off, not wanting to even say the possibility out loud.

Tony’s face softened as he looked at you.

“What, are you thinking that if something happens to Steve, we’re just going to toss you out into the street with a baby under your arm?” he rolled his eyes. “Think about the headlines, kid. I’m one misstep away from PR crucifying me to the Tower wall as it is, kid. ”

You sighed, shifting your weight from one leg to another and caressing your stomach, reminding yourself that you should get that shopping thing under control as soon as possible.

“I don’t know, Tony. But saving the world is his job. I’d be lying if I wasn’t at least a bit anxious about that.”

“He’s pretty tough,” Tony said. “Take it from someone who has worked with him for quite a while. And trust me, he’s very motivated to come home to you. God, the amount of baby-talk in the group chat is already insane, and the thing is the size of what, a tangerine?”

You grinned, despite the topic at hand, remembering the conversation that morning.

“The pregnancy apps don’t exactly have an option for accelerated super-pregnancies —“

“— talk about design not taking different situations into account —“

“— but we’re somewhere between a plum and an avocado at the moment,” you finished.

Tony nodded, absorbing the information and filing it away. He reached behind himself for a StarkPad and tapped it open, and you waited. Knowing Tony, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d whipped out a complete presentation, but instead, when he extended the pad to you, there was a simple document on the screen.

“And besides, if something should happen to Steve, which won’t happen, you could afford quite a lifestyle even without your family coming to your aid .”

Your family. He had to be talking about himself and the other Avengers, and you didn’t know what to say about that, so first things first. You looked at the document: it was a simple legal form with Steve’s name on the top. It wasn’t a will, though you were sure that every Avenger had one, too.

“A life insurance policy?” you read aloud.

“Yeah. We all have one,” he said. “Look at the changes. Technically, this is privileged information but you’re also technically married already so…”

You weren’t so certain that defense would hold up in court but oh well. Your eyes scanned the text, looking for the changes, and then you realized what Tony was talking about.

On a Friday night in early October, Captain Steven Grant Rogers had altered his life insurance beneficiary, making you the sole receiver of sixty million dollars in case of his unfortunate and sudden demise. The time stamp matched the time when you had been on your way to Dr. Brian’s clinic.

You swallowed, something in your head spinning. The second he had known. The second he had had the chance, he had done this, and you knew exactly why. If he had been called away to save the world that moment, and had met his end during the mission, he had wanted to make sure that you would at least have the money to deal with the situation he had, according to him, gotten you into. Before even knowing if you were planning to keep the baby, knowing if you would want anything to do with him ever again, he had done this for you to ensure that the consequences of his actions were as small as possible.

You are not alone, he had said. You will never be alone, he had meant. In life or death, I will look after you.

“Sixty million dollars?” you whispered.

“The standard,” Tony said. “Let me tell you, the payments are pretty steep when their assessment of your risky behavior is off the charts. Please don’t murder him for the money, though. That’d be a bad look for the AI.”

You snorted a laugh through the tears that had welled up in your eyes. Steve hadn’t even seen this as worth mentioning; probably because he had thought it the only decent thing to do in the situation. Of course he had done exactly that, what else he could’ve done? God, this man.

Your man. The father of your child.           

“Murdering a supersoldier with the deadliest task force on earth and a man with enough firepower to privatize world peace for a family doesn’t sound like a very smart plan anyway,” you chuckled. “And I don’t have the sense of style to pull off the fabulous young widow look.”

A smirk tugged Tony’s mouth up.

“So yeah. I know you didn’t plan for this but the inevitable result of your little plum-avocado spawning into existence is that you are set for life. With or without Steve, you are one of us now. So I suggest that you start enjoying it.”

Chapter Text

Of course, Steve stirred when you moved the covers aside and set your feet on the pleasantly cool hardwood floor of his bedroom. You turned to him, smiling gently into his drowsy eyes.

“I’m okay. I’ll go make myself a mug of hot chocolate. Just sleep,” you whispered.

“You sure?” he murmured from where he’d risen to lean on his elbows.

You nodded. The smile on your face, one that wasn’t feigned, seemed to put him at ease. As much as you loved his company, there was no point in doing everything together, especially when he worked such long days in his Head Strategist position. Lately, he’d been putting the hours in when he could so he could take the time off for things relating to the baby and you when needed. And when every minute he could be, he was right by your side.

“I’m sure,” you said.

For a second, you expected him to argue that he could be the one to make you the drink, but he didn’t. Instead, he just dropped his golden head back to the pillows and pulled the covers all the way up to his chin. Even after such a short time, you had become aware that he slept like a soldier — stirring awake easily and falling back asleep just as quickly, on the nights when he wasn’t haunted. He had drifted off before you pulled a plush white robe over Steve’s shirt and left the peaceful bedroom for the kitchen.

It turned out that you’d used the last of the chocolate for the s’mores you’d craved last night, so after a few minutes of digging through the cupboards, you headed out to the elevators to check the stashes in the common kitchen. Judging by how Tony always kept it stocked, you assumed you’d find at least five different types of chocolate. It was three thirty AM, so you didn’t bother putting anything proper on — the dressing gown was modest enough, and you didn’t really expect to run into anyone at this hour. Even as the Avengers Tower, and AI by extension, was always awake, the buzzing was pleasantly limited to the lower levels — and to Tony’s lab, which was very, very well soundproofed.

It also turned out, however, that you had overly generalized when assuming that everyone aside from Tony followed a military schedule. Steve, Bucky and Sam certainly did, but that didn’t extend to everyone. You really should’ve figured that out, though — if not for anything else, for the fact that running global security was a 24/7 thing.

And as a result, as you stepped out of the elevator into the communal kitchen, it was brightly lit, and Natasha Romanoff sat at the table, doing her nails. When you entered, she turned her head towards you in a way that told you that you were far from the only person appearing in this room at an ungodly hour. After nodding you a greeting, she turned her head back towards her work. The color she’d picked was a lovely glittery silver.

You weren’t sure if you should address her. On one hand, you’d started getting the hang of the fact that the Avengers loved this place because they could just be, without having to worry about intruding eyes. On another hand, you weren’t going to address her just because she was Black Widow — you were, if not flatmates, at least neighbors now.

You cleared your throat, deciding to at least try to be polite.

“Would you like some hot chocolate? I was about to make some.”

Nat craned her neck to look at your face, smiling.

“Sure. Would be great.”

She didn’t ask to help, instead turning back to her work as you dug out a small saucepan and a wire whisk. Tony, or someone else, but you suspected Tony, had picked up on your favorite type of chocolate and apparently kept it stocked in the communal kitchen. He’d no doubt bring it up sooner or later, citing it as yet another reason why he should be the godfather of your child.

You melted more chocolate than would have perhaps been necessary into warm milk and poured the result into two mugs. After topping the whole thing off with a physics-defying amount of canned whipped cream, you took the mugs to the table and sat down opposite of Nat, warming your hands against the surface of the mug.

“Thanks,” she said, glancing at the mug but not interrupting her work.

“You’re welcome. Don’t let me bother you,” you replied.

She shot you a slightly amused glance.

“Well, I wouldn’t be hanging out in the communal area if I wasn’t feeling like having company,” she said. “I’ve got my own floor, too, you know.”

There was no hostility in her tone, and the smirk on her face seemed genuine instead of constructed — not that you were an expert on the matter. You shifted your weight awkwardly; right, you hadn’t thought of that. Of course, you had known the Original Six had their own floors, but with the whirlwind that had been your pregnancy so far, it had slipped your mind. Most of your time had, understandably, passed with Steve, and Vinterberg and the medical team. You needed to get out more, seriously.

But it was as if you and Steve both wanted to soak in the closeness before, very soon, the baby would be here and change priorities and time management and all that. After all, you’d had so little time to spend together so far, and you were going to face parenting together. It made sense trying to get to know each other as much as you could, which hadn’t so far been that much. At times, the insanity of all this loomed over you, and then at other times, like just this week when you’d made Steve breakfast, it was an earth-shattering certainty that you would be alright because it was Steve you were facing this all with.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Though it is three AM so I wouldn’t exactly fault you if you didn’t expect company.”

“The time of the day doesn’t matter that much in this building,” she said. “So yeah, I don’t mind your presence. Want to do yours?”

Nat had finished applying the polish to her left hand, and with the still-unpolished right hand, she unrolled a travel makeup pouch that had been sitting on the table next to her. It was one of those with plastic compartments in it, and you raised your eyebrows at the sheer number of different nail polish colors in it. During your stay at the Tower, or previously in the press for that matter, you hadn’t exactly seen her rock baby pink nails. Her overall palette seemed to stay firmly in the realm of reds and blacks and tactical colors, with the occasional splash of white, which made sense considering the branding.

“You just walk around with this at hand? Do you moonlight in a nail salon?” you asked, leaning in to look at the colors.

“I’m a spy,” Nat smirked. “Occasionally, my signature look is a little too… recognizable.”

She smiled at some private joke you honestly didn’t want to know as you picked a lovely shade of red that would compliment your skin tone. As you pulled the bottle out of the pouch, you resisted the urge to chuckle at the silliness of all this. When had your life started to include middle-of-the-night manicures with the most fearsome assassin to ever walk the Earth?

“So, how are you doing?” Nat asked as you opened the bottle and got to work.

The smell of nail polish seemed pretty intense to your senses, but there was no reaction of nausea, so you let it slide, recalling that having your nails done in the traditional way wasn’t in any way dangerous for the baby. Even as you had an inkling that your baby was going to be able to shake off things that many wouldn’t have, there wouldn’t be any point in taking unnecessary risks.

“Vinterberg said that everything’s progressing as it should, though at an elevated pace. Our bouncing baby boy isn’t, well, bouncing yet but I’m not sure when I’ll start feeling the movements. We’re moving to weekly appointments instead of every other day, and of course, I can always check the situation through the ultrasound sticker Tony gave me,” you said.

Nat lifted her gaze from her work, smiling.

“That’s great. And how are you doing?”

“Oh.”

You stopped with the nail polish brush still in your hand, blinking a couple of times. Nat tilted her head to the side, and no one should’ve been that pretty in a tank top and pajama bottoms. That was just unfair.

“You know,” she said. “You still exist outside the baby, too. I know Tony’s jokes aren’t probably helping; just let me know if you want him to give up the whole Mrs. Rogers thing and I’ll get him in line.”

Oh, she would. If there was one person that could reel in Tony Stark, that was Nat. You considered the thought for a moment, but shook your head. As tempting as it was, the title, and the teasing, was growing on you. Not for the first time, it seemed like the Stardust ring ending up on your ring finger was as inevitable as gravity. After all, the rock on it probably was big enough to have its own gravity field.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” you said. “And… as for other things, I don’t know. I’m a little relieved the Halloween party went belly up. Sorry if you were looking forward to that, though.”

Nat opened a bottle of quick-dry substance and used the dropper to dose precisely the same amount on each of her nails, as if she was working on a much more dangerous chemical. Briefly, you wondered how much you’d come to know of that side of them over the years. Obviously, so many things were classified to the highest degree, which meant there would always be a part of their life that would be closed off from you, but the thought didn’t seem so bad.

“There’ll be other parties,” she said. “The AI Gala is coming up before Christmas, too. And besides, I think we could all use some peace and quiet — as much as is possible in this madhouse.”

You answered her grin, but not without acknowledging the facts in her words. Just this week, right after you’d talked with Tony about renting the lab space, having reluctantly accepted his charity (but only until you graduated), he and a few others had been called on a mission that would take a week and clash with the Halloween party plans. Tony had shrugged the whole thing off like the money he’d already spent on non-refundable things was no different than dropping a quarter into a rainwater drain and had gone off to save the world with Sam at his side.

You’d asked why Steve hadn’t gone, but he’d just smiled enigmatically and murmured something about organizational changes.

“What’s the AI Gala?”

Nat looked up with amusement glimmering in her eyes.

“I knew you are not a fame-chaser but did you happen to live under a rock before relocating here?” she said. “The AI Gala is our annual thing to celebrate another successful year with our collaborators and supporters. It’s only about as famous and coveted as the Oscars.”

You grimaced, gesturing towards your stomach as you held her gaze despite the fact that you knew she was evaluating you.

“Well, I may have a certain understandable avoidance towards galas at the moment, with the unforeseen consequences.”

She huffed a tiny laugh, but the expression on her face said that you’d clued her into something. Obviously, she’d be good at this — it was literally what had made her famous at what she did. Her head tilted further to the side; the red curls touched the delicate shoulder.

“Seriously. How are you doing?”

You lowered your head under the pretense of moving to do the polish on your other hand and sighed. The shade you’d chosen was pretty; perhaps you should spend a little more time on pampering, especially with Little Star on the way. Steve would probably jump at the chance to make you happy by taking you to a spa. A brief flash of the things he’d said in the kitchen lifted the corner of your mouth.

You weren’t unhappy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But there was a reason you had come to the kitchen after tossing and turning in bed for hours, and even as you were trying to attribute the insomnia to the vague nausea that seemed a constant companion at the moment, you were fooling no one. And certainly not Natasha Romanoff. Blowing out a breath, you shook your head.

“I don’t want to complain,” you said. “Especially when…”

You trailed off, snapping your head up. Great, great, great. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but Nat had a way of bringing out confessions from people, apparently, and your fatigue wasn’t helping. Not that you were surprised. You expected her eyes to be closed off, having poked at something that had to be way more personal than your relationship would warrant, and could quite possibly still be a tender spot despite the years having passed by. Of course, you had no way of knowing if she would have wanted to have children to begin with, but whatever the answer to that question was, her bodily autonomy had allegedly been messed with in a horrific way while she’d still been in the KGB.  

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Why?” she asked, smiling slightly, reaching for her mug.

Oh, she clearly was making you lay on the bed you had, however unintentionally, made.

“Because you… I’ve heard…Obviously I don’t know if it’s true and it’s none of my business but it seems impolite to…” you scrambled for words.

“Complain about your pregnancy when that’s no longer possible for me after the Red Room?” she asked, and even as you were trying to decipher her tone, it was impossible.

Apparently, the media was right about some things. You nodded, because the floor underneath you wasn’t opening to swallow you, and consciously stopped your muscles moving your hand to rest on your stomach. As the curve was starting to feel firmer, it had become somewhat of a nervous tick. Having finished the polish, you put the brush back into the bottle as Nat looked at you, the seconds ticking by.

“It’s not like someone else having things I can’t have is a personal attack,” she said. “I can have my own complicated feelings about someone else deciding I’m not going to have children, and at the same time be happy for you and Steve. He’s important to me, and he deserves this, and you are important to me, too. By extension and out of your own accord.”

She was talking with a measured, neutral tone that wasn’t entirely without a sisterly note to it. You watched her face, reminding yourself that it wasn’t showing you anything she didn’t want you to see, but as far as you could tell, she wasn’t angry. The words, and the tone, echoed the kind of growth that had probably needed the guiding hand of a professional therapist, and it was great she’d had had that chance, whatever those complicated feelings had included.

“I’m glad,” you murmured, not knowing what else to say.

Nat leaned back in her chair, briefly looking at her glimmering nails. A dry smile flashed on her lips, and then she looked at you.

“It fucking sucks, having something you thought you would be able to choose for yourself taken away from you, and all that being flaunted in the headlines. Reproductive choices, no matter what choice you make, are a lot to deal with even without all the eyes trying to pry into it. A lot of people still seem to be of the opinion that someone else’s choices of having or not having a family are open for criticism.”

You were certainly seeing where she was going with the words, and were grateful for the excuse of picking up the quick-dry drops to finish your impromptu manicure. She was letting the words float in the air, unhurried, and you chewed on them for a moment. They had criticized you for wanting to baby-trap Steve, but you were certain that if you had made another choice with the pregnancy, they certainly wouldn’t have let you off any easier.

“I do feel like public property sometimes,” you confessed. “With everyone and their mother having an opinion of my pregnancy even as it’s none of their business.”

Nat took a sip of her drink and smiled a little.

“I know the feeling, and being in that spotlight is sometimes pretty horrible. Especially when it’s about something really private and personal. It’s exhausting having to make the decisions on what to share and what not. It’s especially exhausting when you aren’t doing things the way they ‘should be done’, whether you chose that approach or not.”

This certainly wasn’t the proper courtship, marriage, white picket fence, children kind of path the public had probably envisioned Steve taking. And it wasn’t what you had thought, either – as you had been focused on your studies, even dating, let alone having children, had seemed something that was far off in the horizon, if it ever happened. It had been one of those things that had been impossible to plan completely, not knowing where you’d be in your life, if you would have the right partner in the future, if you would even end up wanting to have children at that point in your life.

With Steve, it had felt right, even as the answer you’d given him in Dr. Brian’s waiting room had been fumbling in the dark. Had all this happened with your ex… You weren’t so sure. You blew out a breath as Nat continued:

“It’s still a change; a big choice, in a way, taken away from you. You had chosen to not have kids, at this point in your life at least, and Mother Nature had other plans. It seems to me that you’re happy with the choice you made, going forward with this, but that still means you had to make some tough choices with no right answers,” Nat said. “Should you have complicated feelings, it’s not a personal attack towards me.”

Clearly, Dr. Vinterberg’s opinions about the genetic compatibility had made their way into the Cap Quartet group chat. Everything that had happened to you was only now starting to hit; you’d gotten lucky with the genetic compatibility, but the super-pregnancy could’ve as easily been dangerous to you. So far, it’s effects had been protective, but there was no precedent to tell you how all that would evolve.

“I wouldn’t compare…” you said with a dry mouth.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she replied. “Because it’s not the same. And still, what I say stands.”

“I did make a choice to do this with Steve.”

“You did. And that can be the right choice for you, and at the same time a hard choice to make. Just because you and Steve both think it’s a good thing for you two, a great thing even, doesn’t mean it’s not complicated.”

Having finished with the final step, you fanned the air with your hands for a bit as you leaned back in your chair in turn. The vague thoughts that had been circling your head were starting to take form.

“Steve asked me if I’d like to go out to shop for maternity clothes or if I’d like to utilize the clothing service downstairs,” you sighed. “And I… I promised him I’d be okay with all of it but I want to take the out, and I’m scared of becoming some type of shut-in because everything is inside these walls and yeah, it’s fabulous, and I love it, and I don’t have a reason to go out and expose myself to the damn headlines but I promised Steve I’d be alright with being Mrs. Captain America.”

Apparently, Nat was able to make sense of your slightly contradictory thrown-up stream of words, because she smiled, not entirely unlike a cat that had caught a mouse. You grumbled at the expression, reaching for the hot chocolate and taking a sip now that it had cooled down properly . It had definitely been the right choice to come up here for some real chocolate.

“Just because it’s not always easy doesn’t mean you can’t handle it,” she said. “And besides, I think Steve’s an idiot to even consider not taking you out. You’re tough as nails and I think people need to see that. And more importantly, I think you need to see that. You’ve got us, now. There’s nothing they can do to you except to talk.”

It did, for the most part, echo your thoughts about going out after the pregnancy news had broken initially, and that was both impressive and scary — while not at all surprising, considering she’d hit the nail on the head even as far back as in your apartment after Steve’s first proposal. Still, that had been easier when the press had, while being really nasty about it, focused on painting you as some sort of succubus making the righteous Captain America stray from his straight path. Now, they were saying you were fame-hungry, that you’d never even been pregnant, that all of it was a PR play for attention. Considering you knew how it had been killing Steve to see you in pain and fear for both you and the baby, it wasn’t simply making you see red. Oh no, what floated in your vision at the mere thought of it was molten lava that showed up as pure white in thermal images.

“So I’m supposed to give them a pretty smile and a nice ultrasound picture to plaster onto their website after what they have said about us?” you spat.

Nat shook her head with a smile of her own.

“No. You go out there and show them they and their petty scribblings don’t mean a thing to you. You go out there with Captain America on your arm and let him spoil you rotten while showing off that very much pregnant belly.”

The image wasn’t completely without appeal. But like many things, it was easier said than done. You cleared your throat to get out the bad taste even thinking about the scandalous press had brought into your mouth.  

“How do you… How do you stop caring?” you asked, since she clearly knew how to do that.

It wasn’t exactly impossible to connect this Nat to the ever-suave and soignée Black Widow on the media: there was an undercurrent to her, ready to be deployed in the blink of an eye even as she sat here relaxed. Just like Steve didn’t stop being Captain America even in privacy, she didn’t stop being her alter ego, instead only pulling from different parts of her personality.

“Oh, I’m not sure one does, actually,” she said, and the smile on her grew into the grin of a feline predator. “But you can fake it ‘till you make it — body language does affect your mood, after all. Just hold your jaw up, and your shoulders drawn back, and smile with the knowledge that you could kill everyone in the room and be gone like a ghost before the last body even hits the floor.”

Again, you wished that you would never ever have to face Nat at her most terrifying. The fact that you were having a heart-to-heart with her over nail polish and hot chocolate didn’t dent your belief in the fact that she could do that in the slightest.

“I think that’s a little more true in your case than it is in mine,” you managed before taking another sip of your drink.

“Want me to teach you?” she said. “You having some self-defense skills is certainly not a bad idea. We could do it in a way that’s completely safe even in your expectant state.”

You chuckled nervously, letting the hand drop to your stomach as you thought about the offer. Steve trusted Nat; you had no reason not to, and from the very beginning, she’d done everything she could to make you more comfortable here. From the AI’s public organizational chart you’d studied, you knew that she was responsible for martial arts training together with Steve, Bucky and Sam, and she certainly had a better grasp on techniques that didn’t require you to be 200 pounds of possibly-serum-jacked muscle to work.

Though you weren’t sure how that’d change in a few months.

As things stood, anything that would try to harm you would have to get through Steve. You almost pitied the poor person who would be foolish enough to try as you slid your hand slightly higher, touching the dog tags hanging on you. If they cross you, they cross me, he’d said like an oath, and you had no doubt about it. But considering his job, he wouldn’t always be right there next to you, and considering that you were probably a high-profile person now, it might be a very reasonable idea to have some skills that would help you if push ever came to shove.

But learning said skills from Nat was another thing altogether.

“Isn’t that a little below your pay grade?” you asked.

She grinned.

“It is, but I’m your kid’s godmother. It gets you a few perks.”

It wasn’t the right moment to tell her that she was right. But you suspected she might know that already. She had a way of knowing things even before they had been said out loud, as her next statement proved:

“Also, get something a little more formal while you’re out shopping,” she said. “Because we’re doing your baby shower on Thanksgiving.”

Chapter Text

You had never thought that you weren’t decently attractive; however, with all the studying and your priorities constantly focused on what happened inside your head, it had never been a thing you had paid too much attention to. Your body and you had a nice routine with skincare and trying to eat decently and trying to hit the gym every now and then, with various levels of success, but mostly, it had been just a thing that existed. The thought of you now sharing it with someone else was slightly odd, and as a result, you’d been paying a little more attention to your flesh vessel than usual.

Eight weeks into your super-pregnancy, you were yet to feel invincible, and you were starting to feel pregnant.

There were little positive things: your cup size had grown along with the slight curve of your stomach becoming more and more realized. Your skin was doing really well, and your hair was shinier than you remembered it ever being. There were also negatives: your muscles got sore so easily and your breasts almost always seemed to be, the cravings got intense, and the occasional wave of nausea made Steve mother-hen around you in a way that bordered on overbearing.

This week, you had experienced what was described in the pregnancy books as the belly popping. Everything but the timing matched  what you had read: it had been almost an overnight experience, like suddenly the shape of your stomach had caught up to the fact that it was now hosting a baby. It was still a small one, not too much in the way even when you bent down, but it was now undeniably a pregnancy belly and not a big lunch. It had been an odd feeling, more than any magical connection to motherhood suddenly forming.

Steve had certainly noticed the changed state, too. He had laughed when you had grumbled to him that you felt like you had swallowed a basketball and yielded you a shirt to wear without the slightest objection.

You had worn it, eventually. When Steve had been running to a meeting he was already late for because you had gotten a very thorough testimony on what he thought about the fact that you were now really showing. Steve’s shirts were the best thing to wear: they felt like having him constantly with you, even during the time apart, and they were all made from good fabrics, very soft against your skin that seemed to now be a lot more sensitive. They were long enough on you to be a decent outfit with leggings or thighs and a belt, but you needed new clothes. Fast.

Which had led you here. And if you had ever, ever felt even a twinge of insecurity about your body, all that evaporated like a puddle of water exposed to a red giant at a very close distance.

Steve was sitting on a divan, cradling a coffee cup on a saucer in his hand, his eyes drinking you in as you stepped out of the fitting room. It wasn’t even the first dress you had tried on — his reaction would’ve been a little more proportionate if that had been the case, but no. It had to be the twentieth or so outfit you had on and were parading in front of him, and the worship in his gaze hadn’t faded one bit.

“I think that might be my favorite,” he said.

You tilted your head, smiling.

“You’ve said that about every single thing I’ve had on.”

“Well, maybe my favorite thing is in every single one of them. You,” he said, and it was almost too cliché, but only almost.

“Why, thank you, Captain Rogers,” you hummed.

You turned your head towards the mirror, your heart swelling at the praise. The dress you had on might be your favorite, too: it was made from a silky fabric that draped luxuriously down around you, the maxi skirt hitting the floor. It had a nice wrap bust, with a belt that tied underneath your breasts, and buttoned, long sleeves. The light blue color made it feel all the classier, and it was precisely what you would’ve expected to find in a SoHo maternity boutique. Even now, it worked very well with your pregnancy, highlighting your belly without especially pointing it out, and the cut would continue to function even as you got bigger.

“I think we’re done,” you suggested, and Steve glanced at his watch with a smile on his face.

“Alright,” he said. “And we can always come back if you need something more.”

You were having a very hard time figuring out what that might have been. You had spent the better part of an early Saturday evening in the boutique, blessedly empty of other shoppers, and anything you had even glanced twice at Steve had told the clerk to pack up for you. Dresses, shirts, skirts, a couple of trousers, maternity tights.

He had gotten up, smiling, and you melted into him when he came to stand in front of you.

“I don’t think so, dear. You have already spoiled me rotten. Do I want to know what it cost to have a boutique in SoHo extend their hours to give me a private shopping experience?”

Steve smirked. You’d long ago — even as you two hadn’t been a thing for that long — learned that there was no arguing with that expression. Clearly, the way your pregnancy was starting to be obvious now had made him plant his feet even firmer  on the ground, when it came to the whole Protect/Provide thing that ran deep in his very soul.

“No, you don’t. And even if you wanted to, I’m not telling you,” he said, cupping your face with warm, large palms. “I told you. I’m going to give you everything, and that’s only fair.”

You hummed, feeling far too pampered to argue with him. If he wanted to do this, you would let him: it was starting to get easier and easier as the days passed, as you realized just how deep his love for you was. He wasn’t doing any of it out of obligation.

Which meant that a certain ring offered to you on one knee probably hadn’t been that, either.

You shoved the thought out of your head. You were in this together, and the fact that you weren’t wearing a down payment for  a mansion on your hand didn’t change the fact. There would be time for all that, and gods knew that you didn’t need wedding planning on top of already trying to manage the pregnancy, with its curiosities and the attention it brought, and graduating at  an accelerated pace. True, it was only a few months, and your professors had been very understanding, but it was still the final year of a double major in Engineering. It would’ve been intense even with a normal schedule.

A part of you wanted to nudge Steve down for a kiss, since the clerk had disappeared to get your purchases packed into luxurious paper bags, but public displays of affection weren’t Steve’s thing, and they weren’t really yours, either. You already had to share so much of your relationship with the peering eyes of the press. Just this, having him hold your face, was plenty enough.

Why hadn’t the clerk taken the last dress, the one you were still wearing? You glanced towards the counter, and Steve read your thoughts. The smile on his face turned from self-assured to downright mischievous, and you tilted your head expectantly.

“I have a surprise for you,” Steve smiled. “So how about you leave this beautiful dress on, and I get to show you off a little? I checked, they don’t use any chemicals on clothes in storage, so it doesn’t need to be washed.”

Of course, he would’ve checked that.

“Sounds lovely, dear,” you smiled in turn, pressing your hands on top of his. “Lead the way.”

Steve had wanted to drive you around today, and as he pulled the Avengers-owned SUV to the curbside of the hotel, a valet was already rushing towards you.

“And this,” Steve said, the pride radiating off of him, “is our first date.”

A part of you wanted to tease him: sure, that’s how it usually goes, sleeping together, getting pregnant, proposal, moving in together, first date. What a completely normal course of events. But you hadn’t forgotten the conversation you had had in the kitchen of your flooded  apartment — still in the process of being dried out — and the way it had been important to him to give you that experience of dating. And perhaps, it was that for him, too. After all, from the little you had peeked into his dating history, you knew there wasn’t much to peek into. Some unfortunate, unsuccessful dates before enlisting in the army; a short fling with a USO girl named Dorothy, more curiosity and physical attraction than anything else; the budding, interrupted romance with Peggy Carter before he had gone into the ice. He’d shared all of that with you openly when it had come up in a dinner conversation, and there had been no need to discuss it further. It was hard to feel any sort of jealousy towards anyone involved when they were all dead, and you were pregnant with his child, and he looked at you like no other woman in the history of the universe had ever even existed.

Which did wonders for your self-confidence.

But all in all, it was quite possible that he wanted this for himself, too, and it was clearly important to him the same way it had been important to him that you knew he could, and would, provide for you and the baby. Which meant that you didn’t want to tease him about it — you could leave it to the Cap Quartet to do that, and they would do it without mercy. You glanced up the side of the skyscraper hotel, unable to make out the restaurant that was near the very top, but it was clear what your destination was.

“How did you even get a reservation here?”

“I pulled a few strings,” Steve grinned. “Perks of the job. Tony owns the building.”

Of course he did.

But as you walked inside, down the red carpet with Steve’s hand in yours, you felt like you owned half the world, too.

Almost two hours later, you were still in  bliss. Your Chilean sea bass, served with a lovely truffle sauce and Duchess potatoes, had almost melted in your mouth in its deliciousness, and Steve had clearly been greatly enjoying his steak. You were waiting for the dessert you had decided to share with Steve, letting your eyes roam around the restaurant’s tasteful decorations: a combination of grays and whites, combined with dark wood that created a warm atmosphere. Every table was full, new people being seated the second the previous plates had been cleared. Even as everyone was dressed to the nines, you didn’t feel a tad out of place, especially not with Steve in his blazer.

This was your life now, and it would’ve been a shame to not enjoy it.

The restaurant was high enough in the skyscraper that you could see the entirety of the New York skyline if you just turned your head to your right, all the glimmering lights, and of course, you had been seated right next to the windows at what you suspected was one of the best tables in the house. The windows leaned outside, so that you could look down from the dizzying heights and see people scurrying about their evening down on the streets, like ants. There was too much light pollution to pick out the stars, but as you were headed for  winter, you could probably slip away for a weekend getaway in some isolated cabin and make an evening out of stargazing. Tony probably owned at least five.

Steve was looking at you, beaming at the relaxed smile on your face, and you took his hand when he reached it across the table. The restaurant, despite the number of customers, had plenty of space, with tables set wide apart in neat rows. Even as there were people sitting behind you and behind Steve, you had been able to talk without having to worry too much about eavesdropping as long as you kept your voices low. It was nice; normal. Throughout the day, you had been aware of a couple of cameras flashing around you, but apparently, your steadfast refusal to comment on anything had thinned the number of vultures following you considerably.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asked.

A lot of things, these days. You grabbed the topmost, which seemed like a nice thing to discuss on a date like this:

“Little Star’s going to need a real name, too,” you murmured, taking a sip from your sparkling water.

Steve looked at you warmly, his eyes drifting down to your bump and then back up.

“That’s true. Have you given it thought?”

“I mean, technically, we might count as celebrities of some kind, but I feel like naming our baby Pinecone or something like that just isn’t our style,” you said. “So, I think that should be left to Hollywood. Or Tony.”

Steve laughed.

“Agreed. My Uncle Pinecone will be so devastated, though.”

You giggled at the way he pressed his hand to his chest, as if giving condolences to someone. You hadn’t really thought about it that  much but it was something you’d entertained during some moments of procrastination. Not necessarily what to name this baby, but what to name your future children you would have ten years down the road. Well, that schedule sure had changed, but the names were still there.

“I mean there are so many cute theme names, but I think we should stay on the conservative side of those.”

“Themes?” Steve raised his eyebrows.

You bit your lip as you met his gaze, feeling the heat on your cheeks.

“Well. I always thought my kid would have a star-related name and that does feel especially appropriate now. Not something too different, though. Not Atlas or Hydra or something like that.”

“Definitely not Hydra,” Steve huffed.

You laughed.

“But yeah. I’ve been thinking Isaac if it’s a boy, Celeste if it’s a girl,” you said, even as the second option wasn’t too likely. “But I mean, I’m open to suggestions. It’s your baby too, after all.”

“Isaac James,” Steve said, as if tasting how the name felt in his mouth. “I like that. Feels like the right kind of old-fashioned.”

You raised your eyebrows, and he grinned. Timeless classic, that man, and you weren’t going to complain.

“We had a pact with Bucky,” he said. “I think I can wiggle myself out of it since he’s decided not to have kids he could name after me. But I kind of like the thought.”

You laughed, imagining the look of a hurt puppy on Bucky’s face, should Steve not honor the agreement. That sounded fine to you, too, and knowing Bucky, he would probably cry like a baby when you told  him and try to pretend that he wasn’t .

The waiter brought your dessert, and Steve hadn’t been kidding: the slice of the chocolate cake with the house-made ice cream looked both delicious and ginormous. Steve murmured a thank you to the waiter , and he nodded discreetly, disappearing from the table.

“I think Isaac James sounds like a fine name,” you smiled.

“From Isaac Newton, right?” he asked, and you nodded.

You were just about to ask Steve if he was going to keep the cake all for himself, for which you were never going to forgive him, when his hand reached for the pocket of his blazer, and something devious twinkled in his eyes. In one smooth continuous movement, he moved the hand to the plate and pushed it to the center of the table, and when you heard a small, metallic clink, you knew what was about to happen.

“Of course, there’s also the matter of the last name,” Steve said, his voice low and warm. “And I would be a very happy and honored man, if you both would bear mine.”

The Stardust ring glimmered on the side of the plate where Steve had placed it, facing you, every bit as visible from  orbit as it had been the last time you had seen it. But for a public proposal, it was discreet — the ring was out of its box, and you could tell that no one had heard the words. You looked at the ring and then up to his eyes, seeing the love and promise written clearly across his face.

Mrs. Rogers had echoed in the Tower the entire time you’d been there; it had already started to feel like your name, like the best kind of inevitable part of your future. You looked back at the ring on the plate, smiling, unable to understand why your heart was beating so fast.

Was it because you were thinking about saying yes?

“I love you, Starstuff,” Steve murmured. “And I always will; this doesn’t change that. But I would love to call you mine in every sense of the word.”

You thought about that vision you had had of your future when you had moved in with Steve. You thought about the words carved on the inside of the ring: Sic itur ad astra. He had promised to be there for every step of your journey, and he had certainly done exactly that, and way beyond. When he had dropped to  one knee in your apartment, you had suspected it was duty.

And now, it was so crystal-clear that duty — Steve Rogers doing the right thing — was only a very, very small part of it, only a little drop in the sea of love that had come to life between you.

“I love you too, Steve,” you whispered. “I —“

Before you could finish, the moment broke with the words that came behind you, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to a glass statue. You had been very distantly aware of the two men in their thirties that had walked past you, led by the hostess, just before Steve had pulled out the ring. They had been seated at the table behind you.

“I can’t believe what kind of trash they let in here nowadays,” the man muttered in a tone that told you he wanted you to hear. “Got her meal ticket, that’s for sure.”

He probably had no idea what he was interrupting, but that didn’t make it any less inexcusable. You snapped around, looking behind you. The man that had spoken was sitting with his back to you, and you saw his companion’s face instead, his eyes wild with growing terror.

“Todd, I don’t think —“ the second man said.

You turned your gaze back to Steve and realized the reason for not-Todd’s terrified expression. Because you hadn’t been the only one that had heard the words, and the tension of Steve’s jaw could’ve cut vibranium. You’d seen a hint of what he was capable of when he’d taken on Jackson at the gala. You’d seen a hint of the power in him. This was different. This was something entirely else, this was him so white-hot with rage that when Todd turned to look towards your table, he paled in a manner that would’ve been cartoonishly laughable if it hadn’t been so satisfying.

But it was too late for regrets.

During the following seconds, it became very, very clear that Steve wasn’t the gentle man he was because he lacked the capacity to be anything else. What leaped into action was a man with an abundance of violence in him, the terror of HYDRA goon nightmares. Steve was almost too fast to track when he shot up and charged past your table: he was on Todd in three leaps of a hunting predator, grabbing the front of his disgustingly expensive suit and slamming him into the window he had been seated in front of. His chair clattered to the floor, alerting the other customers, but Steve didn’t care. He had hauled Todd up by his jacket and was pressing him against the window in a manner that was clearly uncomfortable for him. A waitress was already rushing towards the scene but she stopped next to your table, not knowing what to do when America’s Golden Boy had suddenly become something that would’ve made a nuclear armageddon seem friendly.

“You have criticism to offer about the choices I have made in my life, have the fucking spine to say it to my face instead of whispering behind the back of my lady,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

He wasn’t shouting. If anything, his voice had dropped down into a low whisper that was so much more terrifying. He hadn’t lost control, not at all. He was completely in control of all his strength and all his might, and someone had just insulted the one thing in his life he would burn down the entire country to protect and not think twice.

Every single cell in your body had roared into life, and they were singing the same song, the eons-old praise for the fact that you had chosen a man who would do this to protect you and your children. If they cross you, they cross me, he had said. And this poor fool had just found out the consequences of doing just that.

Behind Todd’s back, what had to be at least bulletproof-grade glass cracked. He shot a panicked look at the 30-story drop behind himself, as much as he could manage in the grip. You watched Steve’s shoulders underneath the blazer, every muscle taut and absolutely brimming with the readiness to defend those he considered his.

Your palm pressed on your stomach, and something in you reveled in the fact that for the rest of your life you would be loved, cherished, taken care of.

“But that would probably require you to have something resembling a spine. People who do don’t go around insulting pregnant women,” Steve spat.

“Captain Rogers,” Todd groaned, his collar pulled tight by Steve’s grip. “I didn’t mean…”

“I don’t care about your opinion – a slight on my honor from a man who has none means nothing. But you are going to apologize to her.”

No “or” followed that sentence. There was no need to. The or was certainly visible in Steve’s eyes, and something inside you actually purred at the sight. He could put Todd through the glass without using a tenth of his strength. And he would do it in a heartbeat if Todd had used anything other than words to hurt you.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Rogers,” Todd groaned, not meeting your eyes.

You didn’t bother to acknowledge the words — and getting any words out of your dry mouth probably would’ve been impossible. Steve dropped him  like he was something nasty he had accidentally picked up from the ground and turned around without a word. Todd collapsed to the floor next to the window, drawing in a gasping breath.

“I’ll see you in court!” Todd yelled as soon as he got air into his lungs, still on the floor, apparently having regained some of the arrogance along with the air. “That was an assault!”

“It’s a date, asshole!” Steve spat, not turning to look at him.

Instead, his eyes were on yours, and your core clenched around nothing when you looked at his resolute face.

“I’m sorry, honey, I think we should go. They really do let all kinds of trash in here, apparently. I think we can find someplace better to continue our evening.”

You stood up: the atmosphere was gone, and you had gained a sudden, powerful desire to be alone with Steve, your blood throbbing with the need to be full of him. Despite the words about the establishment, he was digging for his wallet in the pocket of his blazer, setting his card on the table and turning towards the waitress. It was a calm second, an eye of the storm, when he smiled at her, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. You’d barely seen the movement, but he had grabbed the ring from the plate, and you suspected that no one had spotted it.

“I’m very sorry about the hassle and the damaged window. Please, put everything on the card, and add a 30-percent tip,” he said, and nothing in his voice would’ve betrayed what was happening. “And please, have that cake delivered to the Tower, if you would.”

Before the stunned waitress could react, Steve had already turned around, and his arm enveloped your shoulders. It was a firm grip, but only for the purpose of telling you that he was going to keep you safe — there was no trace of his fingers digging into your skin. He’d dipped into that white-hot fury in a millisecond, and yet, even in the core of that nuclear explosion, he’d never direct it towards you. No, all that violence under the skin of an honorable man was wrapped around you like a shield, and everything that would ever try to harm you would have to get through him first.

Good fucking luck.

Almost before you realized it, Steve was leading you out of the restaurant and towards the elevators, clearly as much wanting to take himself out of the situation before he did something irreversible as he wanted to cover you from the peering eyes. At the last second, he took a turn and guided you into one of the bathrooms in the elevator lobby. It was a single-occupant one, superbly clean and luxurious, with white marble and golden details all over it. The second you were through the door, Steve locked it, and then his eyes were wild on your face, his hands spanning your hips.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and the sheer necessity to make sure you were dripped from his voice.

“I’m okay, Steve,” you said. “There’s going to be consequences —“

“Fuck the consequences,” he growled. “No one talks about you like that and gets away with it.”

“I know, I —“

That was how far you got before his mouth crashed down on yours, his hands yanking your body to him. Your desire roared to life as he devoured your mouth, as his iron grip on you was both the safest and the hottest thing you had ever felt. Your heart was still beating fast after witnessing just how far he was willing to go for you, and god, you needed him just as much as he needed you. He spun you around, pulling your back against his chest, and his arms caged you in as your gazes met through the mirror above the sink. Just seeing the look in his eyes, the darkness that seemed to cut through to your soul, would’ve been enough to push you from desire into wanton need, but then his mouth latched to the side of your neck, teeth scraping over your skin.

“No one hurts either of you and lives. No one,” he rasped.

The lust overtook you like you had been dipped in gasoline and he’d just thrown in a match. You whined at the touch and the words, pushing back against him, feeling that he was right there with you. His hands opened the zipper of the dress and yanked the top down to expose your bra, without his mouth leaving your neck for a second, and then he started gathering the skirt of your dress up.

Something ripped — probably the brand-new pair of your expensive maternity tights, and yet, you couldn’t find a way to care, not when Steve’s hand slipped around you and between your legs. The breathless curse he groaned onto your earlobe made you shiver.

“God, you’re fucking soaked for me, honey,” he said, and the only response you were capable of giving was a whimper you tried your best to bite down.

He chuckled as if his feelings for you had been any less obvious. He met your eyes again when he pushed into you, feral with the need to bury himself into you completely and come down from the adrenaline with the most elemental way possible.

“Steve,” you whined as his fingertip started drawing small circles where you needed it the most.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

Steve’s breath was hot against the side of your neck, his every movement inside you sending stars to your eyes. He would protect you. He would protect you, and something instinctual was lapping up the anger still in him, still there despite the fact that he was buried inside you. One wide arm was thrown across the side of your hips, holding you in place while the fingers of that hand touched you, and the other grabbed your thigh. When he spoke in your ear, he was still talking with that same voice, that absolute resolution, perfectly in control despite the bruises his greedy mouth was currently leaving behind on the skin of your shoulder.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll protect both of you,” Steve said, his hand rising from your thigh to brush over the curve of your stomach, and the grip of the arm tightened just a bit more. “If anyone ever tries to harm you, I will tear them apart.”

You were safe, you were safe because you were his, and you could feel the amount of strength he had in his hands. He wouldn’t hesitate for a second to use all that to annihilate anything that posed a threat to you. The thought made you tremble in his arms.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered. “I’m yours, honey. I love you.”

The combination of the words and the delicious movement and the fingers that knew how to absolutely destroy you did you in. You threw your head back as the peak crested, crashing over you, and the only reason you didn’t scream was the fact that he covered your mouth with his, stealing both your scream and your breath. The feeling of you coming on his cock was the breaking point for him, too, the movement of his hips growing erratic as he let himself chase the zenith.

“I love you too,” you moaned when he released your mouth.

And when he came, the bite he left on your neck was going to earn you so many eyebrows at the Tower, and you didn’t care one bit.

And as you both were coming down from it, as he closed the zipper of your dress with infinitely gentle hands and faced you, pulling you close like you were an incredibly precious artwork, you murmured the words to his chest with a smile on your face:

“Next time you ask, I’m going to say yes. So make it count.”

Chapter Text

You were pretty certain that the palm Tony had had pressed on his face for the last twenty-or-so minutes would leave a dent on his skull if he didn’t quit it soon.

The light of an early winter afternoon trickled into the conference room through the windows. You didn’t have much to contribute to this conversation, not right now, but you had still wanted to be here with Steve, and they couldn’t exactly forbid you from coming. His hand was holding yours, thumb caressing over the back of your palm. Bucky and Sam were flanking you on both sides, and a part of you missed Natasha’s presence, even as her reasons for being absent probably had something to do with much higher priorities than this meeting. With Tony, the head of PR, and four people from the legal department, you were feeling outnumbered. Technically, Little Star evened the numbers out, but he wasn’t going to be much help at the moment unless you played the ‘oh woe is pregnant me’ card to get the legal and the PR off Steve’s back.

Which you certainly weren’t above, if it came to that.

Next to Steve, Sam leaned in, heedless of the head of legal — you were sure he had a name and it would probably be polite to know that, but as Tony himself called every lawyer of his ‘Legal’, you would have to ask Pepper about it.

“You know,” he whispered to Steve despite the Head Legal talking. “This would probably go a lot better if you looked even remotely remorseful.”

“I don’t tend to lie,” Steve huffed.

Sam chuckled, having gotten precisely the reply he was expecting. Head Legal glanced in your general direction with something that was more weariness than irritation on his face. He was a middle-aged, bald man dressed in a decidedly nondescript navy suit, and something about the way he carried himself made you think that he had probably been born wearing one. Or had been wearing one when he spawned into existence somewhere in the basement of Stark Industries.

“In conclusion, Mr. Carson is willing to settle for a, in my opinion, fairly reasonable sum of three million dollars. In return, he would be willing to sign a non-disclosure agreement, which would perhaps mean that the PR department would no longer have to work in three shifts,” Head Legal said dryly, glancing at the Head PR — a woman in her late thirties, who was sitting next to Legal Henchperson I, II & III.

“You worry about the legal and let me worry about the PR,” the woman smiled.

Tony finally lifted the hand off his face and looked at Head Legal, his expression lighting up.

“Three million? Consider it done,” he said, already reaching for the phone in his pocket to no doubt authorize it, when Steve’s voice cut through the room like a vibranium knife:

“No, it’s not done.”

Tony turned his head towards Steve, wearing an all-suffering look in his eyes. It didn’t seem to have an effect on Steve’s adamantine posture.

“You threatened to throw a person through a bullet-proof glass window of a skyscraper because he said mean things about your wife. If we get out of this with three million —“

“— then it’s going to open the door for everyone and their mother to try and see if insulting my wife and my child is going to get their hands into Tony Stark’s pockets,” Steve finished, and you honestly couldn’t argue with his words.

Tony didn’t, either, but the exasperation on his face turned even more intense.

“And perhaps you should’ve considered that before you almost threw people out of a skyscraper,” he said. “My god, Cap, I understand that you’re a little hormonal right now but you need to tone down the testosterone before we get sued out of house and home.”

“He got what he deserved,” Steve said, and something about that nonchalance was making something inside you purr again.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one that was a little hormonal at the moment, though you were fairly certain that Tony would’ve had another thing coming if he had dared to suggest that you were irrational because you were pregnant. Ever since yesterday, Steve had been walking with the vigilance of a man on a mission, staying close to you, and you didn’t mind at all. You shifted the collar of your blouse, buttoned all the way up to cover the bruise on your neck that was still mighty. Tony rubbed his face with his hands before continuing:

“And no one in this room is rooting for the guy but since you weren’t reasonable, we need to be reasonable. Legal, authorize the settlement to Mr. Carson.”

“I won’t settle this,” Steve said perfectly calmly. “And under the Original Six Veto Clause, you can’t make me.”

There was perhaps a little more vindication in the ‘you can’t make me’ than was appropriate for the situation, and next to you, the absolute unfiltered glee on Bucky’s face when someone else had to deal with Steve’s stubbornness for a change made you chuckle. Tony looked at Steve, and you weren’t precisely sure if he was admiring his ability to plant his feet on the ground, or being overwhelmed with the urge to strangle him. Probably a little bit of both.

“Captain Rogers,” Legal Henchperson III said, her voice steady. “I have to remind you that we’re dealing with what is likely a Class A misdemeanor here, which might mean jail time. I would urge you to consider maximizing your ability to be here for Mrs. Rogers and your baby.”

Your hand brushed over your stomach. While the idea of Steve in jail was a little comical — the media frenzy would be indescribable — he would hate to miss any time with you and the baby. How much jail time were they talking about? You were just about to ask that, when Steve spoke up again.

“He is not going to take me to court,” Steve said. “I know his kind. He would have to explain in front of a judge, under oath, in a very, very, very public court hearing that would make front page news all over the world, that he called my wife trash who has gotten pregnant to ensure her meal ticket. The cries to boycott his companies after that would be heard on the moon.”

Even saying the words seemed to leave a bad taste in Steve’s mouth, and you squeezed his hand, signaling that you were okay. Todd had seemed to be Jackson’s kind, and you knew that that type of person didn’t have much to offer in terms of constructive criticism. He could think what he wished about your life choices; you had everything you needed right here.

“If he wants to out himself as a total and complete misogynistic asshole, he’s free to do so. But I don’t think he would be asking for a mere three million, if he was willing to do that. He’s calling our bluff,” Steve said. “And hoping we take his bait because he knows that is pocket change for the AI – our budget is public.”

You stopped your head from starting to spin at the statement.

“And what if you’re wrong?” Tony replied.

“Then I will go to court. But I’m not wrong.”

Head Legal looked at Steve, clearly not appreciating this turn of events, but due to Steve’s rank, there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. The same went for Tony, who, realizing that this approach hadn’t yielded any result, turned to the Head PR.

“Harriet? Please?” Tony said. “Theodore has already been having so much trouble keeping these two, or three, out of the headlines when they’re not exactly co-operating.”

Harriet’s smile told you that Tony was very much very much the pitch-black pot speaking to the proverbial kettle. She put down the StarkPad she had been holding and met your gaze across the table, with warmth in her deep-brown eyes. She looked like a woman that could hold a press conference on a 30-second notice, which was probably why she was the head of the AI’s PR department. There was an impeccable elegance to her, an energy: her chestnut hair was in a smooth bun on her neck, the silk dress on her voluptuous body was perfectly tailored, and the French manicure on her fingernails was freshly done.

“I understand that the last weeks have been a very intense experience for you, Mrs. Rogers. You can rest assured that we are doing everything we can to control the media storm, on this matter and the others.”

Weeks. It seemed insane that all this could still fit into a timeframe of weeks. You pushed the thought back — it wasn’t important at the moment.

If Harriet’s empathy wasn’t genuine, it at least attempted to be. You smiled at her; something in you wanted to believe that she was actually on your side, despite all Steve’s grumbling about PR. You stole a sideways glance at Steve, who was looking at Harriet with a tiny, appraising wrinkle between his eyebrows. There was something going on here.

“I appreciate PR’s efforts; it’s not your fault that the press is talking about me like it is. Thank you, Ms….?” you said.

“Oh, please, just call me Harriet,” she said. “I’m awfully sorry I haven’t had a chance to arrange for a meeting with you and Captain Rogers. I just got here after taking a few weeks off in between this job and the previous one. Frankly Mrs. Rogers, Captain Rogers, Theodore should’ve handled this situation a lot better. At no point, should you have been made to feel like you have to fight us too.”

You had no idea who Theodore was, but from the context, it seemed like Harriet had replaced him. Considering the way the media had been hunting you down, that made sense — was it Tony’s doing? It would fit his modus operandi to try and make things better in a covert way, so that he could keep the face of not caring he so desperately clung to. You made a mental note to find a way to do something nice for him, in a way that wouldn’t make him uncomfortable. He had, just like everyone else in the Tower, done everything he could to make you as comfortable as possible, and there was no reason to take all that for granted.

“I would have to agree, Harriet,” Steve said cautiously. “I am not happy with the way my wife has been attacked in the press.”

A hint of steel threaded itself into his voice with the latter part of the sentence, and you squeezed his hand again. You weren’t happy either, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle, and Steve had proved it through and through that he would get in between you and whatever gun, figurative or real, that would be aimed at you.

My wife. Mrs. Rogers. You thought back to the words you had murmured to him yesterday, and your heart felt like it had suddenly become detached from your body and was bouncing wildly around your ribcage. You were going to say yes to him, and yes, that might have been insane, but what about this wasn’t? Nothing had gone the way it was supposed to, if one believed that the most common way of doing things was the right way. But just because things had been intense, and fast, it didn’t mean that they were wrong.

“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Steve continued, and now the appraising expression made sense to you. “I’m under the impression that we paid good money to steal you from your previous company.”

The I hope that investment proves to be worth it went unsaid, but everyone in the room heard it nevertheless. Steve was still looking at Harriet, who didn’t seem to mind the scrutiny. She, just like you, clearly understood that Steve was measuring her because she was supposed to be the person who would shield you and your Little Star.

“You did,” Harriet smiled. “I should show you the pictures from the world tour my husband and I did with that sign-on bonus when we have the chance.”

You glanced at her left hand: a combination of two simple, elegant gold bands on her finger, and an expensive watch in the same shade on her wrist, all three items adorned with colorless diamonds. This was clearly someone who had enjoyed the finer things in life even before having been headhunted by the AI. Someone had seen fit to pay her a very good salary to keep her doing what she was doing. And the reason for that became apparent with her next words:

“From the PR perspective, Captain Rogers, we can handle it.”

Steve blinked — seemingly, he had not expected her to be on his side despite what she had said just a little earlier. Tony looked at her like she had just told him that having a joint company picnic with HYDRA would be a good idea.

“If you don’t want to settle, then you don’t settle, and we will deal with the press,” she said. “But I agree with you. Even if Mr. Carson doesn’t sign an official NDA, I think he’s not going to go to the press, because that would expose him, too. And if he does that and gives the press false information about what actually happened in the restaurant, then we can hit him with a defamation suit, can’t we?”

Harriet turned to Head Legal, clearly knowing the answer to her question, and the Head Legal nodded reluctantly. She gave him a sly, knowing smile and turned back to Steve, crossing her fingers on the table. Steve was still looking at her with a little wariness in his gaze, but he was obviously warming up to her despite the fact that he had shown such clear disdain towards anything that had to do with the press. She was good.

“However, there is another question PR needs to address. Frankly, Captain Rogers, the publicity around the pregnancy is starting to affect the public opinion of the Avengers Initiative. Your ability to make judgment calls is being called into question,” she said. “You might want to consider giving the public a statement that would clarify your views and your priorities and address the concerns.”

A smile tugged the corners of Steve’s mouth up. Harriet had done her homework, and she had made a good call with straightforward honesty, even as the topic was a little uncomfortable. No matter how steadfast Steve could be, how firmly he planted his feet on the ground when he believed in something, he knew the value of having people that were not afraid to call him out around himself.

“I understand,” he said.

He glanced at Sam, who nodded with a conspirator’s smile, and your brow furrowed. Something was going on here.

“Then we might as well make it public,” Steve said. “I’m stepping down from the Head Strategist position. Not right now, not immediately, because I need to teach Sam all the ropes, but I’m starting to gear up towards that immediately, and I will detach as soon as possible to focus on my new role as a father. Sergeant Wilson will take up the mantle, and I have every reason to believe he’ll excel in the role.”

Steve’s words landed in the room, and for a moment, it was very quiet. Sam had straightened up, and the wide smile on his face made you smile, too.

You were happy for him.

It made sense.

It made perfect sense: there were less than four months to go before your Little Star would arrive. It was likely that despite Sam being perfectly capable of doing what Steve had been doing up to this point, it would take some time for him to adjust to his new role, and it made sense that Steve wasn’t onboarding him while also dealing with having a newborn.

The announcement clearly wasn’t news to Bucky, and based on Tony’s very moderate eyebrow raise, he had assumed this would be coming, too. Head Legal made a note of something on his StarkPad, probably to start dealing with some sort of liability change that the change in roles would cause in AI’s internal documents. Harriet nodded too, saying something about how she would need to talk with Sam and Steve both to draft a statement.

You barely heard her. The words rang somewhere far away.

Steve was stepping down from his position. He had mentioned wanting to take a paternity leave, and the fact that AI had an extensive program for paid parenthood leaves, but there was no way they covered something as early as four months before a due date. Based on Steve’s eagerness to blow money on you and the baby, there was no reason to assume money was tight right now, and he wasn’t the person who would make a decision like this without crunching the numbers.

He would take care of you. He had promised to do that. He would put you and your child first in every decision he was going to be making from now on.

Why did that notion make a cold rock slam down to the bottom of your stomach? Why did it feel like this room had no air?

“Hey, you alright?” Bucky murmured.

He had leaned in and was talking with a voice low enough to not startle you. Steve heard him, too, and turned his gaze to your face. The content smile on his face was gone in a flash, replaced by a concerned gaze sweeping over you. The hand holding yours tightened its grip, and you saw his shoulders drop back. Something about the change in demeanor reminded you of that moment he had become Captain America when he had thought your pregnancy was ectopic.

Which had been less than two months ago. Two months, and here he was giving up one of the things that defined him for a baby that wasn’t even here yet.

“Honey?” Steve asked. “Are you not feeling well? Do I need to get you to the medical floor?”

Everyone’s attention was now on you. Everyone’s. Steve took his eyes off your face for just a couple of seconds, only long enough to glance at his StarkWatch and the steady rhythm of Little Star’s heartbeats on it, transmitted by the sensor sticker on your stomach. Reassured by no alert present, he pressed the back of a warm palm against your cheek. You could see that he was concerned, and you should say something to alleviate it, and yet your words were stuck in your dry throat.

“You’re a little clammy, baby. Do you want me to get you something to eat? Bucky, can you open the window, let’s get some fresh air in here. Honey, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. Does something hurt?”

So many goddamn questions. God, did he even care about anything else anymore? You were being unfair, yes, but he had sprung this up on you without mentioning it at all like it was obvious to do that and did that mean that he expected you to…

Sam’s voice piqued up from behind Steve.

“Steve, I’m not sure that —“

You couldn’t take a single second more of any of this. You shot up fast enough for your chair to clatter to the floor behind you, muttering something about feeling nauseated and going to get something to eat, and shot out of the room, heedless of Steve calling your name after you.

Chapter Text

Steve didn’t follow you out, and you were sure that you had Sam to thank for that.

Shit. Sam. You had ruined what was no doubt a big moment for him, with Steve making the announcement. That he was stepping down from his position, giving up everything, and in less than four months, this baby would be here.

You collapsed to lean against the wall of the elevator you had asked to take you to Steve’s floor. The ‘Will do, Mrs. Rogers’ felt like something sharp poking at your side, even as you tried to push everything out of your consciousness.

Steve didn’t mean anything bad by what he had just done. You knew that with the same certainty you knew that gravity was pulling you down to the floor. He would never hurt you intentionally.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt you.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,” you whispered to yourself, slipping into your shared apartment.

Steve’s apartment. Wearing the dress Steve had bought you. Steve’s things scattered around the apartment, his books, his art supplies, his food. Steve’s baby in your belly, Steve’s serum cells wreaking havoc in your body, Steve Steve Steve Steve everywhere you looked .

And the rest of the Avengers. No matter how grateful you were for everything they had done, right now you needed to get the hell out of here before you would suffocate. You didn’t let yourself think about it, couldn’t let yourself think about it, as you pulled your phone — StarkPhone — out of the dress’ pocket. And of course, Steve had already messaged you.

Steve (Mon, 02:03 PM): Is everything alright? We need to get stuff done here but if you need me, I ’ll be right down.

Of course. Of course, of course, of course. You swallowed the nausea from your throat and forced yourself to formulate actual sentences in response to his message.

You (Mon, 02:06 PM): Yeah. I ’m fine, just need some space to sort my thoughts out. Actually, I’m going to Boston for a couple of days, I’ll be staying over at a friend’s apartment. Some school stuff I need to take care of.

You had not meant to do that but as you typed it out, it made sense, and you did have some school things to take care of, even though the rest of it was a dirty lie and he would most certainly see right through it. Perhaps you needed to follow your instincts, now that you could apparently plan for absolutely fucking nothing without the universe attempting to throw a curveball at you. For a few heartbeats, you waited for his reply, halfway sure that he would burst through the door instead of sending you a message and make you talk through this and that was what you should have done but you just couldn’t. Couldn’t take his endless understanding, his endless certainty in the face of all this. You doubted he needed to have late night therapy sessions with Nat over nail polish because he was going to be a parent.

Steve (Mon, 02:09 PM): Alright. Stay safe, darling, and let me know if you need anything. I love you.

You (Mon, 02:06 PM): I love you too.

And that wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t, and you knew that behind the mellow words, Steve was hurting. But all the way back in your apartment, fixing that door, he had promised to give you space. And he was going to keep that promise, just like he was going to keep every other promise he had made you. And you had promised to not disappear, and you didn’t do that now: he would know where you were, and he would know through your connected StarkWatches and the nanny sticker in your belly that you were alright. You and Little Star both.

Perhaps a couple of days focusing on something else than the baby and all the Avengers business would clear your head. You prayed to the stars above that it would, and you would return to the Tower as certain and serene as Steve was over all this.

But what if I don't?

As you sat on the soft cushions of the Quinjet flown by an agent whose name you had already forgotten — fully aware of the hypocrisy that you had chosen to use that instead of figuring out the commercial flights or trains or something — the tears came. The Quinjet pilot shot you a sympathetic look but didn’t inquire any further into it, and you sent her a silent thank you in your thoughts. It was just… You didn’t want to talk, to think, anything. You just wanted to let things lie where they were, for a while. You didn’t want to get into the complicated mess that was your enhanced, very public profile pregnancy and relationship with Steve. And besides, you needed to formulate a plan, because the very elaborate one you had right now was to let the Quinjet drop you and your duffel bag and backpack off to campus and then… what? With your apartment still under construction, you weren’t exactly sure what was going to happen, and of course you had Steve’s credit card on your StarkWatch and of course he wouldn’t think ill of it if you did use it, quite the opposite but…

But the sharp teeth of hypocrisy kept gnawing at your thoughts. You had just told him that you were feeling ready for the next step. You had moved in with him. The baby would be here in four months and of course he would need time to train his replacement. What he had done made sense, logically, and you could see where his heart was.

And yet, everything was throwing you back to the night in your apartment when Steve had told you he was going to get you a house like it was no different than making a coffee run.

The watch buzzed on your wrist. You saw Tony’s name and tapped the message open.

Tony (Mon, 03:16 PM): So, I don’t know what your great plan is but in case you don’t have one, there’s a hotel room in Boston booked in my name and paid for the entire week. Room service included.

That idiot. God, you wanted to punch him, and hug him at the same time. Before you could decide on either, another message shot through, with the details of the hotel room: a name you recognized to be one of the most expensive in the city. It was within walking distance from your campus, too. Because of course he would think about that.

You sniffled and started to formulate some sort of reply, where you should probably tell him not to, but god, right now, that made you feel a little less alone.

Tony (Mon, 03:17 PM): And I didn’t tell Mr. Stars & Stripes where that is. My therapist probably wouldn’t like me condoning not just talking things through with each other but hey, who am I to judge. And besides, he should’ve told you beforehand.

You didn’t want Tony to meddle in this any more than he already had, and if you weren’t ready to talk about this with Steve, then you certainly weren’t ready to talk about this with Tony. It was plainly visible that he cared so much about all three of you, and you would let him.

You (Mon, 03:19 PM): So you want to throw fuel on the tabloids’ fire that I am your daughter?

Tony (Mon, 03:19 PM): I already told you. Stipend. Adoption deal. Should've read that contract.

You (Mon, 03:20 PM): No, seriously, thanks Tones. I’ll pay you back.

Tony (Mon, 03:20 PM): That'll be hard when I won’t accept your money. Take it easy, kid. Slow breaths. You’ll be fine. It’ll be alright.

You smiled even through your tears as you attempted to follow his orders. Slow breath in, slow breath out. It will be fine. It will be alright. Somehow, you didn’t feel all that confident in that theory, and you could usually tell a good hypothesis from a bad one. At no point had you doubted that Steve would do anything but support you but…

But sometimes you just wished he’d be a little more human about all this. That an accelerated surprise pregnancy after a one night affair wasn’t just something he adapted to and shrugged off. And you knew it was unfair — he had faced much more intimidating things in his life, he was born at the tail end of one World War and had died in the second one, for god’s sake. It had been different in his time, it had, and you didn’t doubt for a second that his affection and his love were real but sometimes…

Sometimes you laid in bed awake and wondered if you just filled a slot in his life, checked the box called ‘Wife and Family’ on his bucket list.

If he would still love you without the baby. If he’d love you just for you. If he’d continued to date you, had your relationship progressed with the usual kind of courtship instead of you being thrown headfirst into this. If he would have eventually proposed to you without the baby.

You were being ridiculous. And yet, you felt unable to stop. Lately, everything had felt so overwhelming, like you were standing in a flood of information and feelings and sensory input and everything just pouring into you and you were managing to barely sort out a quarter of it before more just came and came and came. It should’ve been too early, even with the accelerated pace, for pregnancy brain and yet it felt like you had no idea how your brain worked anymore, how to have control of your emotions, and then there was your ever-changing body and the way you seemed to be bumping into everything these days.

At times, it just got so suffocating. As much as you loved the Tower and everything it had brought you, as much as you had cherished the time together with Steve, the way he held you like the most precious thing in the universe, the absolute devotion, sometimes it brought a nagging sense that you were doing something wrong when you had your moments of doubt about how this all was going to work out. And with Steve so sure of everything, it had felt impossible to utter those thoughts aloud.

And now he’d given up his job. And it was much more than a job to him, it was something that made him what he was, it was a part of him and he was willing to give that all up for the idea of a family.

What if you didn’t live up to that idea?

In an effort to shake it off, and try to find that same calm inside yourself that Steve seemed to possess, you stroked a hand over the sweatshirt-hidden bump of your stomach. Steve’s sweatshirt, a voice from the back of your head reminded you. It smelled like his laundry detergent, and felt soft on your skin. And the loose, simple top combined with the maternity yoga pants you had on would make you blend in on campus much more than a SoHo-fancy maternity dress, as much as you loved those, would.  

“What are we going to do with your Dad?” you said, sighing. “When he’s a stubborn mule with a heart of gold and your magic doesn’t seem to work on me?”

The pilot turned around, looking at you, and you realized you had just talked aloud to your belly. And you hadn’t done that before.

“Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”

“Alright, ma’am,” the pilot said, and apparently they hired people for the AI based on their ability to be nonchalant, no matter what they faced, because she just returned her attention to the controls. “We will be landing on top of the Stark Building in five minutes.”

“Thank you.”

You continued stroking the bump, sinking back into your thoughts for a few minutes. Why was this so hard? Steve wasn’t even the one that was feeling the actual physical changes, and yet he had been poured full of paternal instinct, to the level that he had been ready to throw someone off a skyscraper for insulting you and calling your baby a meal ticket. So what did it mean if you didn’t feel that certainty, while you had the tangible evidence that this was actually happening? The belly was just there, and yes, you were doing your best to follow Dr. Vinterberg’s pregnancy guidelines and making healthy choices. But even as the little dot on Dr. Brian’s screen had changed into a vaguely baby shaped amoeba on Dr. Vinterberg’s screen, you hadn’t felt the wonder that had clearly overtaken Steve.

It was like this didn’t feel entirely real. Like some part of you still hadn’t caught up to the fact that you were pregnant, and this was happening. And at the same time, that gala night felt like it had been an eternity ago.

Underneath you, the campus spread out as the pilot started descending. A few cellphones turned towards the Quinjet, and pictures were no doubt being snapped, but you knew that was much more about the high-tech plane than it was about you.

You had thought it would be good to be home. But it didn’t feel like this was it.

The elevator opened into the communal kitchen, and Bucky stepped out. Steve noticed his gaze sweep over the scene, the newspapers in front of Steve and Sam, the coffee cups that had replaced now empty dinner plates, and a very glaring absence. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve noticed that Sam shot Bucky a warning glare, but that didn’t have time to have any effect before Bucky opened his mouth:

“Didn’t Mrs. Rogers want to eat with us? Did she get —“

Sam sighed with considerable world-weariness, glancing up to the sky as if asking why he was the only one with some actual common sense in the room.

“She’s not here,” Steve said without lifting his gaze off the newspaper.

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

“She left,” Sam said, again with warning in his voice.

But considering he lectured Steve about not letting things go on a regular basis, Bucky was certainly a pot calling the kettle black. He sat down directly opposite Steve, his brow furrowed.

“She left? Did she dump you?”

“No. She just has her own things,” Steve said, and his tone would’ve told a grizzly bear to back off, but not Bucky Barnes.

“So where are these things?”

“In Boston, probably,” Steve said. “That’s where she said she was going when she asked for space. It’s about her studies, I think, and I mean, she has things there to do and there are the libraries and the specialized labs and all that we don’t have here.”

“Probably? So you don’t know where she is?”

“Bucky —“ Sam tried.

“She asked for space, Bucky. Even if she didn’t explicitly mention it, I’m pretty sure the spirit of that request includes me not having her exact location through the GPS data from the watch, so I turned it off,” Steve said, unable to keep the annoyed tightness out of his voice. “She didn’t shut the health data off, so I’ll still know if she needs me or if there’s something wrong with Isaac.”

“Isaac? What do you mean he’s not James Buchanan Barnes II Rogers?” Bucky grinned.

The joke didn’t make Steve’s mouth even twitch. He turned the page of the newspaper with much more force than would’ve been necessary, almost ripping the paper.

“Because you’re not the most important person in the world, and she has a say in what her son’s name will be.”

“So do you,” Bucky said, and Sam buried his face in his hands.

Steve’s eyes snapped up, finally, burrowing into Bucky’s like two blue flames.

“Well, since my track record of making decisions about the baby and our lives hasn’t exactly been a roaring success, I think it’s best I let her tell me what she wants. And since I really don’t know how I can be supportive of her right now, since there’s not much I can do after I have already changed everything in her life, including her self down to the goddamn cellular level, and nothing about her life will ever be normal again, no matter how we go about this, then I’m going to give her the damn space she asked and you could do the same for me if you had a remnant of emotional intelligence in your head.”

Bucky simply leaned back, smiling in satisfaction, and the eyebrow raise he got from Sam wasn’t exactly approving of this method, but. It was effective. No one could argue with that.

“So therein lies the problem,” Bucky said. “Glad you brought this to our attention.”

Steve gritted his teeth.

“Bucky, I swear…”

Before things could deteriorate any further, Sam jumped in. He did miss Nat, who was often the other voice of reason that evened the numbers out in the face of superhuman stubbornness, but he could handle these two even when they had strength in numbers.

“Okay, Steve, I know you didn’t mean anything bad about any of it, but didn’t we have this exact conversation a while back? About how when things are already a lot, we perhaps have a talk with our significant others before announcing any grand changes? That perhaps you need to communicate openly what is behind the gestures you are making because they can be a little… 1940s at times.”

“Therapy talk,” Bucky grimaced, with no real teeth behind it.

“Find the lie,” Sam replied, raising his eyebrows in mock challenge.

“I can assure you there’s not a lot of the 1940s in a father’s decision to leave his job to take care of his children,” Steve grumbled from behind his coffee.

“That is not the point and you know it,” Sam said.

He met Steve’s gaze with a deadpan look on his face, and Steve sighed from the depths of his soul, setting the coffee down on the table hard enough that some of the liquid spilled onto his newspaper. He cursed, grabbing a napkin to throw on the stain.

“I don’t… She… She liked what I did for her at the restaurant,” Steve said. “And she… If that jerk hadn’t meddled with things, I think she would’ve said yes.”

“Did you propose again?” Bucky interjected.

“Everything is going great. She is… We’ve moved in together, we’ve been enjoying that, the dates we’ve gotten in have been great, her health issues have gotten better. I don’t see why not take the next step when it’s this good.”

“You’ve known her for less than two months,” Sam reminded him.

There was kindness in his voice, even more so as he continued.

“And that’s a very short time for someone that’s grown up in today’s world,” he said, and raised a palm as Steve opened his mouth to object. “I know she said what she said and it’s not my place to meddle or tell you that I know better than she does. But I mean, if she’s just agreed with you on that step, maybe you don’t fling another huge thing at her, what, a day later?”

“Two days,” Steve grumbled. “I just wanted to do what’s right.”

“No one is doubting that,” Sam said. “Just that it’s a lot, with everything that’s going on in her life. And I mean, if you didn’t even tell me that you were going to make that change public in that meeting, then I don’t think you told her either. Or explained to her why you’re doing it.”

Steve avoided his gaze in a manner that told him that he’d hit a nail on the head, and he sighed.

“I know,” Steve gritted out. “I know it’s a lot. That’s why I’m trying to send her the signal that I’m being there for her but I don’t know what I should do because nothing I do is right.”

“Have you asked?” Sam said.

Steve dropped his eyes to his newspaper, and his voice turned quieter:

“I can’t let her know that I don’t know. I have to be there for her. I have to be strong for her so she doesn’t have to worry.”

Before Sam could start unpacking that, Bucky jumped in.

“Hey, punk, didn’t she move in with you after you let her see that you had been a crazy person with the crib and all while she was under?” Bucky said. “When you let her know that you’d been scared, and human, open with your emotions and all that crap this Dr. Psychoanalysis here is always going on about?”

Sam shook his head as Bucky nodded towards him, but didn’t contradict his words, even as he would’ve perhaps phrased them a little differently. Steve looked at them both, blinking at the face of the revelation. He sighed again, so deep that he seemed to deflate, and shook his head before burying it in his hands.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” he groaned.

The two eyebrow raises from the other side of the table confirmed that assessment, but there was empathy in the gazes.

“And this is why we talk about things,” Sam said gently, reaching to pat him on the shoulder. “So maybe, friendly suggestion, do that after she’s gotten a little breather? I’m sure she’ll listen.”

Steve nodded.

“Yeah. That’s a good suggestion. Thanks, guys.”

“Hey. It’s going to be alright. You’ve gotten through worse,” Bucky said.

Steve huffed a joyless laugh at the notion that they really had, and it had been what, less than two months since that fateful night.

“Yeah. Yeah, I really hope so.”

Chapter Text

The fact that you didn’t feel rested after spending a night in the colossal bed in a five-star hotel’s suite was an insult.

Because yes, of course, Tony’s idea of booking a hotel room had apparently meant that he had gotten you the second-most-expensive thing the hotel offered, and you really didn’t know what else you had expected. He probably would’ve gone with the most expensive one, but in an unusual bout of emotional intelligence, he had foregone that since it was named the Honeymoon Suite, and he had known you would not be into that right now.

It was very likely that an establishment like this was watched by the paparazzi, which meant that you wanted to appear at least approximately human when you emerged. The hotel staff likely wouldn’t let them close but they’d find you, if they were watching, and even as you were not precisely sure where you stood right now with Steve, the whole world didn’t need to know that you were taking some time apart. You’d ordered a continental breakfast from room service and despite the fact that the thing came with an actual goddamn dining room, had elected to eat on the bed. The nausea wasn’t bad this morning, which was a blessing you would take; recently, Little Star had gotten very picky about his breakfast, which meant that Steve had been blowing through pregnancy cookbooks to try and find something you could easily stomach even when things were bad.

And this was how you had thanked him for his efforts. By shutting him out.

Were you taking some time apart? Was that what this was? You sighed, taking a sip from your decaf coffee as you browsed the notification boards to get a general sense of what was happening on campus today. You’d use the time here to run some experiments you needed very specialized equipment for, and also to get some materials from the library you didn’t have online access to, but beyond that, your schedule had surprising flexibility to it.

Did that mean you had lied to Steve? Yes and no.

You needed to stop thinking about him. You needed to do something that made you feel like you, something that would at least create the illusion that there was something else in your life right now than expecting Captain America’s baby. You clicked to the page that showed all the open lectures going on at the campus today. The woman you had talked with at the gala, the one with the air travel startup, was giving a lecture on the future of air travel, which might be interesting, and there was a panel discussion on cutting edges of material technology that might also concern your interests but —

Have Loved The Stars Too Fondly? — Frontiers in Interstellar Defense by Admiral Christopher Pike, Extraplanetary Operations Command.

The Extraplanetary Operations Command had been established shortly after aliens had become a reality, and you were vaguely aware of the branch. Technically, it was under the US military but you’d understood they did a lot of co-operation with other organizations such as the AI and the Office for Interstellar Outreach, the interstellar diplomatic office founded under the UN. As was par for an organization whose main goal was to prepare for an interstellar attack, they very rarely did any kind of public appearances, which meant that this was an opportunity. And besides, it would be a perfect opportunity to drown yourself in something that was not only interesting but useful. After all, all this baby hassle had not made you forget about your dreams.

Sic itur ad astra.

The lecture would begin in forty-five minutes. You could make it, but you’d need to rush.

Just like you had expected, you were not the only one that was interested in the opportunity to hear Extraplanetary Operations Command explain a little bit more about themselves. The lecture was held in the largest auditorium on campus, and it was still absolutely packed. Luckily, there was one seat available, but it was all the way at the front of the auditorium, in the first row, which meant rushing down the stairs and having a bunch of heads turn towards you. You had a feeling that playing ‘woe is the pregnant me’ to try and get someone to switch seats with you would not be as successful a card here as it was in many other places, and besides, you were here to think about other things than hosting future supersoldiers.

As quickly as you could, you scurried down the stairs towards the seat — you’d made it to the auditorium’s door with two minutes to spare.

The open seat was the second one in the row, and the outermost was occupied by a dark-haired woman that didn’t strike you as a student. Maybe she was from the university administration — or maybe, based on the pearly gray color of her dress, she was from Extraplanetary Operations Command, too. The admiral, who was just finishing setting up his presentation, was wearing a uniform shirt in a similar light gray color, so that could be it. And besides, it didn’t matter all that much; you’d have time to do more research after the lecture, put some names to the faces.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” you asked.

She turned her gaze from the admiral to you and gave you a warm smile that reached her gray eyes. Something beyond politeness flashed in her expression: she clearly recognized you, which wasn’t a wonder after your picture had been plastered on every front page in the country. But instead of saying anything, or letting her stare linger, she simply smiled:

“Not at all. Please, feel free.”

You murmured a thank you and crashed down on the seat much less elegantly than the woman next to you was sitting in hers. She took another glance at you as you did, but you couldn’t decipher her expression. She was strikingly beautiful, somewhere in her forties, and managed to ooze some sort of poised calm. That probably made your chaotic entrance stand out even more, but she didn’t seem unfriendly despite you rushing into the seat.

You dug out your laptop — your Stark laptop that definitely got more than a few looks from people sitting around you — and set it on top of your knees, grateful that the bump wasn’t yet big enough to make that uncomfortable. Underneath the loose dress and sitting down, it wouldn’t draw attention. Stark computers weren’t completely unheard of on the campus, since many that did internships with Stark Industries or the AI got similar ones, but you knew enough about Tony Stark to know that he hadn’t just grabbed something from the shelves for you.

You missed Tony. And you missed…

You shoved the thoughts down, turning your head towards the admiral who was about to start, just as you had gotten your note taking program ready. He leaned on the podium in front of him with both hands, looking somehow casual and polished at the same time. The grey of his shirt set off the silver in his hair and the blue of his eyes, and he both knew how to carry the uniform and had the frame for it.

Something about his energy, the calm presence laced with command even as he was relaxed reminded you… Yes. It was undeniable; the same vibrant awareness Steve had written all over himself. He was human, yes, but other than that, you could have been looking at Steve twenty years in the future, assuming he would age in human ways. Because the admiral was young for his rank; you’d expected someone in his sixties, but he was not past fifty yet. Married, based on the gold wedding ring on his finger — no wonder, since if you had put the query ‘literal definition of a silver fox’ into a search engine, his picture would have probably popped up, and he had likely been handsome in his youth, too. Tall, broad-shouldered, sporting a clean-shaven, strong jawline and blue, kind eyes. And the similarities seemed to extend to his kind, strong demeanor.

Seriously. Were you going crazy? Was the universe playing pranks on you, throwing in front of you a man that so strongly reminded you of Steve just when you had thought to focus on something else?

Luckily, you had no chance to ponder it any further, because the lights dimmed and the admiral glanced at the packed auditorium with a smile on his face. The presentation screen behind him came to life with the stylized planet-logo of Extraplanetary Operations Command.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice still warm even through the microphone pinned on his collar. “I am Admiral Christopher Pike from the Extraplanetary Operations Command, and it is my privilege to be here today and share some of the things we’ve been doing behind firmly closed doors. I am flattered to see that so many of you have taken time out of your busy days to come listen to me, and I hope my presentation is up to the standards of what are no doubt some of the most impressive young minds in the country.”

It felt like everyone suddenly sat a little straighter on their seats, and the admiral smiled, clicking on a small remote in his hand to change the slide. The title of the lecture came up: Have Loved The Stars Too Fondly? — Frontiers in Interstellar Defense. Your mouth curled up into a smile as you saw the reference to the 1868 poem by Sarah Williams about the old astronomer said to be Galileo Galilei himself. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night, the original quote said, but the admiral seemed to be approaching the question from a different perspective.

“As many of you certainly know, the Extraplanetary Operations Command is its own branch of the national military. We were established shortly after the Chitauri attack in New York in 2012; I assumed command in 2013. We work closely with the other branches of the military and the government, but we also co-operate with international organizations, as well as the UN’s diplomats in charge of interstellar affairs — The Office for Interstellar Outreach — and ever since the Avengers Initiative was established in 2013, with them too,” he explained. “The Extraplanetary Operations Command’s highest goal is, and has always been, to ensure the safety and security of all earthlings, and while our research and development focuses mostly on offense and defense, our playing field is much larger. We are always looking for new scientific insight, and some of you might be interested in our paid internship and job opportunities — more information can be found on our website, and I’m happy to answer any questions after the lecture.”

Oh boy. You had an inkling that he would be swamped with questions, because you didn’t need to see to know that eyes were lighting up around the hall at the idea of a prestigious internship or a cushy government research & development job. And certainly, even as you didn’t think that what the Extraplanetary Operations Command was about overlapped with your goals that much, it was still good to maintain awareness of the important players in the field. Admiral Pike continued, his smile spreading into a grin.

“I know I have some convincing to do to tempt the best minds into working with us. Unfortunately, due to military secrets, we can’t be quite as flashy about what we do as Tony Stark can be with his tech,” he said, and the smile on his face said that it was obviously a joke. “But I have the honor to leadan incredible team of scientists, and today, you are the first people outside our organization to get a peek at what we have been building.”

A current of electricity ran through the hall, and you leaned forward, too, as if trying to get closer would somehow enfold you deeper into the circle of secrets. The admiral had a way of building trust, capturing his audience, and even as you were just sitting there, one face among hundreds, you felt special.

“Friends, with pride, I give you the Tempestas.”

The image on the screen changed, and your breath hitched in your throat. You were certain the equipment of the nearest lab picked up the change in the atmosphere of the room. It was two images, one a 3D rendered model of a ship in computer-generated space, with a planet looking like Venus on the horizon, and the other the same ship under construction in a giant hangar, surrounded by scaffolds and scurrying people.

A spaceship. They were building a spaceship. That, on its own, wasn’t surprising, but this was no bulky rocket; this was a thing of beauty, of elegance, something that would have made a sixth-generation fighter jet look like a lumpy pile of rust. Even at MIT, even as you were now running in the circles of the Avengers Initiative and Tony Stark himself, you had never seen anything like it — it was pitch black, gleaming almost like it was made of obsidian instead of whatever metal it had to be made of, and your head swirled at the mere thought of the research and development budget the Extraplanetary Operations Command had at their disposal. There were some similarities in the shape to the Avengers’ Quinjets, but those were mostly of an aerodynamic nature; it was clear that they hadn’t just copied what SHIELD had started and Tony had honed. It felt somehow otherworldly, more specter than a ship, something you almost expected would take flight even in the still picture and glide seamlessly out of it.

Admiral Pike let the silence sit, and there was something twinkling in his eye. He was not an engineer, as far as you knew, but he had obviously been a part of the development process, and he stood on the stage like a proud father.

No one could blame him. You swallowed, halfway sure you were salivating. Suddenly, the idea of checking out the internship opportunities at the Extraplanetary Operations Command didn’t feel far-fetched at all.

“As you may have noticed, the title of today’s lecture was a question. And while I don’t think that it’s possible to love the stars too fondly, as they are a thing of immense beauty and promise, the reality of things requires a certain healthy caution towards the night. But fear? I doubt it. Fear leads to rushed decisions, to shots and missiles fired when it is not absolutely necessary,” he said, every word falling from his lips into the absolute silence in the room.

Again, the combination of strategic thinking and warmth reminded you of Steve, even as the thought of Steve and even the AI were far away. Of course, you had always been aware that the AI wasn’t the only player on the field of interstellar research, but as the Extraplanetary Operations Command had kept everything so tightly under wraps, it had not occurred to you to pay too much attention to them.

Obviously, a mistake you should rectify as soon as possible. Because you could already see where this was going: the shape of the ship was aiming for speed, not for heavy weaponry, and they would no doubt need heavy weaponry, too, support vessels, perhaps even a space station that was not for research but for the healthy caution Admiral Pike had mentioned. This was far from the only thing they were developing, and the idea of an interstellar fleet in Earth’s orbit, surrounding it as protectors, wasn’t a bad idea at all, even as Tony’s attempt had failed.

“I dream of a world where the Extraplanetary Operations Command is a guild of explorers; where firepower is an afterthought, something to ensure that that mission can be carried out. As of now, we are not there yet, but this ship is a step in the right direction. It is a high-speed scout ship, which can be used for research as well as for defense.”

A scout ship. That undoubtedly meant they might be building a fleet of these. It was obvious that Admiral Pike was a visionary, and the proud smile on his face told you that he had had a heavy hand in Tempestas’ development. Tempestas. The Roman goddess of sudden winds. Between this and the title of his lecture, the admiral seemed like a well-read man.

The entire hall was still absolutely silent, and you were certain people weren’t even breathing. It was as if seeing this, being back on campus and focusing on the things other than the baby and everything that surrounded that ordeal, was pulling your brain out of slumber. You could almost feel your neurons firing up, the electric currents running in your skull. You had missed this. It felt as if your eyes were sharper, as if the ship on the screen was whispering to you in a different language that you had not previously understood but was now a part of your body, coursing through your veins. As Admiral Pike clicked a rough blueprint onto the screen, you could see the surgical precision of the ship’s weaponry systems even before he started explaining it. They were designed to cut exactly where they needed to strike, no doubt to utilize an enemy weakness if the ship was able to do so on the scouting trip, should the target be deemed malicious. You could tell the trajectories from the way the torpedo chutes were aligned, the way the ship would maneuver; you were no stranger to blueprints but even this rough draft seemed to give away its secrets with a newfound easiness, and you felt your eyes narrow as you listened to Admiral Pike talk about the technical properties.

It was all floating in your mind like you were watching a movie in 4K definition, able to see and visualize everything, your mind sharper than you could remember it being ever since you had gotten pregnant, and perhaps even before that. You could even go so far as to imagine how a small swarm of these ships would fly, how they would be moving like a school of fast, predatory fish. In your imagination, their enemy was a Chitauri ship, one of the ones that looked like an invertebrate with their carapace-like outside, and you remembered, almost as if you had been there to watch the things unfold, how the Chitauri troops moved, where they had attacked. Of course, you had only seen the recordings of the Avengers fighting in the city, partial at best, but your mind was rapidly patching together an image of these ships fighting in that battle. The angles of attack, the flight vectors, the patterns, your mind capable of tracking the details as if you were watching moving dots on a radar, and clearly, you had gotten a much clearer impression of New York City during your short stay if you were able to do this now.

One day, the father of your child might be facing a similar situation again. Steve had once told you, with a bashful look on his face, that according to the treaties and pacts that had been concluded by several interstellar organizations and also the superheroes that didn’t wish to join the Avengers Initiative, that if push came to shove, he would be the one to call the shots and lead. That if all the world would come to war, he would be the tip of the spear. If all the world would come to war, the troops would fall behind him.

He could do it, and it was obvious that he would have help.

Just like you had thought, the second Admiral Pike stopped taking general questions, he was swamped with people that wanted to talk to him privately. They flocked to the front, and even as it looked just a little overwhelming, he didn’t seem to mind. Obviously, he had the face of a soldier, so you suspected he was capable of showing exactly the emotion he wanted to, but something about the smile on his face seemed genuine.

Behind him, a computer model of the Tempestas was still rotating like on screen like a visitor from the future. You lowered your gaze to the notes you had taken during the lecture, as he had walked you through the technical specifications he was able to share. Despite your worries that the bump might get in your way, you’d been able to type as fast as usual, and it even seemed like your notes were more organized than they usually were. You had gotten used to reviewing and consolidating your notes after lectures to deepen the learning impact but it seemed like these were pretty much ready to go into your archives. Apparently the baby brain wasn’t as bad as you had thought, and sitting down in one position for an hour hadn’t stiffened you up.

You scrolled up, looking at the notes, and raised your eyebrows at the quick sketch you had taken down in the middle of the lecture, showing the general structure of the main propulsion system used in the Tempestas. Clearly, the touchscreen functionality of the Stark laptop and the pen that had accompanied the device was much better than your previous tablet’s: the image was crystal clear, every quickly-drawn line exactly where it should be. An exact copy of the image that had been on the screen for probably less than fifteen seconds, part of the rapidly flashing images that highlighted some of the most interesting design points. The admiral had just smiled when the technical questions about the systems had turned very specific, clearly in good humor even as his own abilities to answer ran out. Oh, please, I’m just a farm boy from Mojave, with the fortune of working with some very bright minds. Mr. Rittmeyer, our lead engineer, was unfortunately sick today and wasn’t able to make it, but I’m certain the engineering team would be happy to answer your question as much as they’re allowed to, if you send them an email, he had said, pulling up the email addresses you had scribbled down, too. When people had marveled at the ship, he hadn’t missed a single opportunity to pass the praise on to his team.

You closed your eyes briefly and recalled some of the blueprints he had shown you: the fuel systems and the hydraulics that adjusted the wings — another thing of absolute beauty, something that was almost closer to a bird’s wing than a plane’s with its joints. The maneuverability of the ship had to be amazing. It was apparent that your brain was really enjoying this endeavor, because it seemed like you could recall the images in photographic clarity.

Something was tickling your mind. You scrolled back to the jet engine drawing, glancing at it, then the admiral where he stood, and back to the sketch. According to Admiral Pike, the engine was capable of reaching and sustaining Mach 7.6, which made it the fastest engine in a piloted aircraft, and since it was a new generation of supersonic combustion ramjet, you didn’t doubt that for a second. But they were wasting potential, weren’t they? You’d expected someone to ask about it in the general questions section at the end of the lecture, or bring it up with the admiral now, but that didn’t seem to be happening. As you were sitting in the first row, you were able to hear at least most of what Admiral Pike was conversing about with your student colleagues, and none of them was bringing it up either.

Odd. Certainly they would’ve inhaled Howard Stark’s research journals just like you had — Tony had given them to public domain use a long time ago, so that anyone who might be able to elaborate on his father’s ideas could access them. As such, they weren’t in any way something that you had some privileged access to due to what had become your life recently. Were you wrong on this? It seemed glaringly obvious but no one else was mentioning it, so it was entirely possible you were overlooking something that should be staring you in the face. Sometimes it was easy to miss something that was plain in hindsight; you certainly knew the feeling of finding a ridiculous mistake in a long equation after a long time of staring at it, unable to tell why it wasn’t working until you realized that 7 plus 9 didn’t equal 15.

But as you stared at the blueprints and compared them to your mental pictures of the hydraulic systems, you weren’t able to pinpoint any fault in your theory. Your eyes drifted back to the admiral, still surrounded by three students.

“I’m sure he’d love to hear your thoughts.”

The soft voice that came from right next to you almost startled you. You had completely forgotten about the existence of the woman as the lecture had started. She was still in her seat, seemingly not in a hurry to go anywhere, and as you turned your head towards her, she had an encouraging smile on her face.

“Oh, yeah, sure, he doesn’t strike me as a guy who minds dissenting opinions,” you said. “Just thinking if I do have something here before going up to him. Since it’s a crowd, apparently. I mean, no surprise he’s popular. Not only was that one hell of a lecture, he also looks like the platonic ideal of an admiral so no wonder everyone wants a chat and a selfie.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose a little, but her smile didn’t disappear.

“The platonic ideal of an admiral?” she said, and you weren’t entirely sure it was wise of her to encourage this but your mouth was already running ahead of your brain.

“Yeah, you know. All tall and wide-shouldered and in a uniform, not a hair out of place. He’s probably on a recruitment poster somewhere,” you smiled, and the woman returned your smile with something twinkling in her eyes.

“I agree with that assessment,” she said.

“I mean, obviously,” you said, gesturing towards your stomach since you were certain she had recognized you when you’d taken a seat, “I’m just making observations. But it wouldn’t be the first time a handsome man is the face of a military effort. He does remind me of Steve a little, actually.”

You were babbling, but the woman didn’t seem to mind. A voice in the back of your head reminded you that you should probably watch your tongue, in case she was one of those people that would wish to be in your good graces to funnel information to the press, but that didn’t seem plausible. She’d opened the conversation by encouraging you, after all, and it had been you that had brought Steve up. Despite all your recent encounters with assholes, she was in all likeliness just friendly. Motherly, even, and gods knew you could use some of that, even for a brief moment.

“Does he?” the woman said, and she had one of those smiles that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe.

“Yeah, same demeanor and everything. Same way of carrying himself,” you said. “Oh, I think he’s done, I should go talk to him before he leaves. Nice meeting you.”

You grabbed your bag and twisted the hinge of your laptop around so that it became a large tablet, something you could use while it rested on one arm. You’d already stood up and started making your way towards the admiral when it occurred to you that it would have probably been polite to ask the woman’s name. But as a part of your brain had been chewing on the jet engines, your social modules hadn’t been working as well as usual — and that was saying something.

“Admiral Pike? Excuse me? Would you have a brief moment?”

As you were the last student that had come to talk to him, he had already gathered his things and grabbed his leather briefcase, about to make his way out. But even as you interrupted the process by stepping closer, he didn’t appear frustrated. You’d listened to him talk to other people with patience and genuine interest in their insight, so that wasn’t really all that surprising. He’d been polite even to Jackson, who had of course once again thought no genius on Earth matched his and had stepped forward with an onslaught of ideas ranging from terrible to unfeasible, obviously attempting to get in the admiral’s good graces. A part of you had expected Jackson to snark at you as he had left the auditorium, but instead he had hurried past you as fast as he had been able to, not even looking at you. Which, considering who he was, was a very welcome change to your earlier interactions with him.

“Of course,” he said, straightening up and nodding at you. “What can I do for you?”

You introduced yourself and told him you were from the graduating class, and if he recognized who you were and who you were with, he didn’t acknowledge it in any way.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, glancing at the tablet screen on your arm, his eyebrows raising just a little as he saw the quick sketch. “Don’t tell me you’ve somehow gotten your hands on our full blueprints. IT is going to throw a fit.”

From the tone, it was obvious that he was joking, and you met his smile with one of yours.

“Likewise, Admiral. And no, I haven’t, I jotted that down during your presentation,” you said, and something about the notion seemed to surprise him a little even though you weren’t sure why. “But that was actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not sure why you’re electing to use the supersonic combustion ramjets here, or dual-mode scramjets more like it, since they’re getting help from the ramjets. And I mean, obviously, they’d have to, because a scramjet needs a certain initial speed for the fuel combustion to work.”

A farm boy from Mojave as he might be, he was clearly aware of the basic principles of the propulsion system used by the ship, both the benefits and the limitations. He nodded in that manner people always did when they were hearing things they already knew, but the look on his face was still open, inviting you to continue. He could tell you were going somewhere with this.

“And it’s obvious that whoever designed the fuel management system knows their way around an engine — the progress compared to previous models is staggering. It is a very advanced scramjet, but if you take that fuel management system apart and consider it as an individual thing, it could be modified to an inertial thruster; sure, it needs work, but the basics are there, the system just needs to be closed. You could use a combination of the modified system and a cavity thruster to achieve faster, more cost-efficient flight,” you said, tapping at the parts of the system on the blueprint that would need to be modified.

The admiral was listening intently. Certainly, you might be crossing a line, calling into question the entire design principle, but he had come here in search of brilliant minds. And it was just obvious to you now, something you couldn’t understand they had overlooked.

“Doesn’t a cavity thruster of that type violate the conservation of energy?” he said.

“Well, what I’m thinking is not a perpetual motion machine, unlike some of the prototypes that have been proposed over the years. It’s not a truly reactionless drive as we are not here to violate the laws of physics today; it would get its initial spark from the chemical reactions of Badassium,” you said, and the admiral raised his eyebrows. “I know, I know, it does have a proper name in the periodic system these days but that’s what Tony wanted it to be called and in my opinion as the discoverer, he has the naming rights.”

Admiral Pike smiled. Before you could decide if you should give him a quick reminder about the discovery of the element, how Howard had theorized about it and Tony had finally brought it to reality, he was speaking again:

“I won’t argue with you. But alright. If we used this system, how large of an increase in speed we would be talking about? I’m certain there are other alternatives to our system, and I’m certainly not claiming to have the expertise to say that this would not work,” he said. “But considering budget and time restrictions, I would need a very good reason to call for the overhaul of the entire engine at this point in development. Not to mention the potential costs to the maneuverability of the ship.”

You nodded. Of course, he would have to consider those things, but despite them, his openness was still there. He wasn’t presenting the arguments because he wanted to thwart your train of thought; he was simply giving you the constraints under which he — and by extension you — had to work in the situation. It was nothing new to you, since it was one thing to draft concepts such and whole another to bring those concepts into life.

But you had this. It was as if you were looking at the entirety of it through a newfound lens, everything revealed to you in some sort of otherworldly Eureka moment that had pulled back the curtains. You knew how the system would work — you could already tell how it would work in real life conditions, how the benefits and the weaknesses would look , as if you were already looking at a testing report.

You had always been sharp, but clearly hanging around Tony had done wonders for you. You picked up the magnetic pen from the side of the laptop and drew a quick sketch, every line going where you intended, the pressure of the pen on screen just right. Steve had given you some drawing lessons, but you hadn’t realized you’d gotten this good.

“The maneuverability won’t be a problem. The hydraulics of the wing system will need a little bit of tweaking but I believe that this drive could even provide improved directional thrust, although I’d have to do some drafting to give you the specifics. But I am reasonably confident I could get you Mach 12, perhaps even 13.”

Admiral Pike looked up from the sketch at you and blinked. His eyes were wide open, every word that left his mouth careful.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said. “But Mach 7.6 is somewhere around 5800 miles per hour. And Mach 12 is about 9200 miles per hour. You’re telling me we could get a sixty percent speed increase with this?”

You nodded.

“You’re not wrong. That’s what I’m saying. I know I don’t have much yet for you to go by, the idea sort of came to me, but I can’t come up with a reason why this wouldn’t work, considering the principles of physics and the properties of Badassium.”

Admiral Pike kept looking at your face, and there was still disbelief on his. No, surprise. He had obviously not expected this, and honestly, neither had you, but as so many times before, you’d just jumped at the thought. Like you’d said to Steve an eternity ago in the gala, what mattered were the ideas and anything else was decorations.

“If you can get me Mach 12 without a significant compromise to the maneuverability of the ship, I can promise you I will get you a corner office at the Extraplanetary Operations Command’s headquarters,” he said.

It was your turn to blink, your mouth dropping open just a little. He didn’t need to tell you that he meant the offer; obviously, with his rank, he would have the weight to pull it off if you wanted it, and yes, you had started considering an internship at the Extraplanetary Operations Command after what you had seen today but this might not be about an internship, and how would that look with everything else, you didn’t even know where the EC had its headquarters, and god, you were pregnant and…

And if you let this slip, you would regret it. Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but some day, always wondering what would have happened. Pregnant as you were, you were not alone, and Steve had assured you time and time again that he would be there for you. You’d make it work. Somehow? Right? Even despite the fact that he had just given up his job and you were considering taking on something like this?

Admiral Pike smiled, reading into your silence.

“Oh, you don’t have to answer now. I understand there’s a lot to consider. I was just saying that this is remarkable, and I’m entirely prepared to treat it as such. Would you perhaps join me for a late lunch today, so we could discuss more about the opportunities and the flexibility the Extraplanetary Operations Command would be able to offer you? I’d take you out for a coffee now but I’ve got some obligations I can’t dodge, unfortunately. Not even for this.”

A lunch, with him. It seemed somehow more intense than a coffee, and even as it wasn’t precisely unheard of in terms of networking, you were also unfortunately aware of how not all men understood the difference between networking and making advances. He was married, yes, and he really didn’t strike you as the greasy type, but you weren’t exactly known for your people reading skills.

Something must’ve flashed on your face, because he smiled wider, the expression in his eyes growing warmer.

“Join me and my wife, that is,” he said. “She’s with me here in Boston; we had a chance to make a little vacation out of it. I won’t be able to get Mr. Rittmeyer — our chief engineer — here within the time constraints and with his illness but I could very well set up a meeting in the future. He’d be delighted to hear this input.”

You breathed out in relief.

“Sure. Yes. That sounds great, if I’m not intruding on the plans of you and your wife. I could even take a deeper look into the notes I made to see if I overlooked something,” you offered.

“That would be great,” he said, smiling somehow fatherly. “But it’s not a pop quiz.”

“Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t bring my A game, Admiral Pike. I didn’t get to where I am by being lackluster,” you grinned.

“I certainly don’t think so,” he smiled. “Any recommendations for a good place to have lunch here?”

You considered for a beat, running down the short list of restaurants you were familiar with to begin with. The deli you had ordered food from when you had been fixing the door was a great restaurant but that didn’t seem like something where someone of his standing would feel at home , and it wouldn’t be a good place to talk. And all the places like that were uncharted territory to you.

Should you have been considering if you could afford this? You probably should have, but then again, even if he wouldn’t pay — which he likely would, considering that he’d been the one to invite you — you had Steve’s credit card on your wrist and one text to Tony would probably not only take care of your bill but also buy you whatever restaurant you were lunching in.

Money didn’t bring happiness, but it did bring a lot of comfort, a lot of reassurance. You would be able to focus on the actual matter of the meeting instead of worrying if ordering an appetizer was going to eat up your grocery budget for an entire week. It was much easier to divulge from plans and wing it when someone would be there to catch you if something bad happened.

“Sorry — I haven’t eaten out an awful lot,” you said.

“That’s not a problem. Give me a moment, would you?” he said, and at your nod, looked behind you at the woman who was now the only person that had lingered in the hall. “Leah?”

Leah. So, she was with him, just like you’d thought, likely working with him. That meant that you probably should have considered your earlier commentary a little more carefully, as usual. Clearly, hanging out in the Tower had done you no favors on that front. You turned so you could see both her and the admiral, and as she started making her way to you, there was a small smile tugging her mouth up, something amused glimmering in her eyes. Yes. You definitely should’ve considered more carefully. If she was his colleague, he would hear —

Then she reached the two of you.

“That was a great presentation, love,” she smiled at him, and you could swear he preened at the praise.

You just caught the look in the admiral’s eyes before he leaned his head down, and she snuck her hand to the back of his neck and kissed him. Lingeringly.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

It certainly wasn’t a peck on the cheek, but it wasn’t anything that made you uncomfortable, either. Nothing about her calm, relaxed demeanor was giving off any vibes that this was her trying to assert her position, that she somehow considered you a threat — an idea that seemed laughable in the face of the warm look that had flashed in Admiral Pike’s eyes as he’d leaned in for a kiss. No, it was a simple gesture between two people very much in love, a proud wife kissing her husband after a lecture that had been a roaring success.

Which meant that you hadn’t practically thirsted over him to the face of his colleague but his wife.

Tony seriously needed to hook you up with some sort of teleporting device to get you out of these situations, when your mouth got ahead of your brain. Had you just blown everything?

As they separated, and both turned towards you, the admiral’s arm slipping around his wife’s waist, you rushed to speak:

“Mrs. Pike, I am so sorry, that was so inappropriate of me, I never…” you swallowed, shifting your weight. “I didn’t sleep all that well last night, clearly my filters are off, I’m sorry, I…”

You trailed off, and the admiral was now looking at you with obvious curiosity as it hit you that he had absolutely no idea what you had said to Mrs. Pike. Apparently, your tendency of keeping on shoveling when you had dug yourself into a hole had remained intact even after everything that had happened over the last two months.

“I’ve heard worse,” she said, a smile twinkling in her eyes. “It’s completely fine. And actually, it’s Director Pike, but please, call me Leah. I certainly can’t blame anyone for noticing that my husband looks like ‘the platonic ideal of an admiral’, because I very much agree.”

The admiral smiled at that, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself. Wait? Director Pike? The name was familiar, mentioned in passing by the Cap Quartet, and back when the first headlines about you and Steve had broken out, she’d offered her help. You remembered Steve’s words:

There are options, safehouses, Tony has a villa in the French countryside, and Director Pike has reached out to me to invite us to their house if we need a break. I ’m tempted to say yes just for the cooking.

That had to be her. And even as the idea of running into yet another connection to the AI didn’t exactly fill you with excitement, it wasn’t the fault of the Pikes’ that you had desired to get out. And they would have rushed to help you back then, never having met you, which counted for a lot.

“Director Pike of the Office for Interstellar Outreach?” you asked. “You work with my…”

Husband-to-be? Fiancé? Boyfriend? She caught the hesitancy on your face and released you from your misery.

“Yes, we do collaborate with the AI, Head Strategist Rogers included,” she said, and you expected her to ask how Steve was doing, but instead she just turned to her husband. “Declan sent me a list of good lunch places; turns out we have our pick.”

Declan was probably their household assistant or something like that, or the executive assistant of either one. With their ranks, they likely employed an army of people, both in their workplaces and at their home.

“Anything you’re in the mood for?” Admiral Pike asked you.

You shook your head, afraid of what would come out of your mouth if you opened it, but as he kept looking at you, you had to speak:

“Nothing in particular, no. I’m happy with whatever,” you said, and the admiral nodded, turning back to his wife.

“Was there sushi on Declan’s list? I could go for some tuna,” he said.

“I’m not sure sushi is the best idea today, love,” Director Pike — Leah — said gently, and the admiral’s eyes snapped back at you, a chagrined smile spreading onto his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t —“

“No, Admiral, it’s absolutely fine, I’m certain that a high-end sushi place will be able to accommodate my… condition,” you said, grimacing internally at the choice of words but pulling more attention towards your state just felt inappropriate in a professional setting.

As if there wasn’t enough of that going around already. But the admiral smiled, easy and relaxed, in a manner that suggested he didn’t mind at all, and his next words confirmed it:

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “While that’s probably true, we wouldn’t want you feeling left out. And please, call me Chris. Your pick, then, sweetheart?”

Leah tilted her head.

“I’ve heard great things about this steakhouse,” she said. “I could pull a few strings and get us a private room for easier conversation. And you don’t need to worry — the Interstellar Office is privy to the broad strokes of the ship development the Extraplanetary Operations Command is doing, so you can speak freely.”

You nodded, grateful that you didn’t have to wonder about it. And considering that you were firewalled out of the AI’s core systems, you couldn’t accidentally reveal anything, either.

“That sounds great,” you said.

“Where should we pick you up?” Chris asked. “Are you staying on campus or somewhere else?”

You gave them the address of the hotel and agreed on a tentative time — three hours from now, so it would be a rather late lunch. Perfect. You’d have time to go to the hotel and change, and before that, do some preparation and tend to something you thought it would be best to tend to.

As you said goodbye and made your way outside, the fall sun seemed to shine just a little bit brighter on your face.

Chapter Text

To call it the ruins of what used to be your life would’ve been rather melodramatic, but still, seeing the renovation crew buzzing around the Stark Building and hearing the loud hum of industrial dryers had still twisted something in your gut. It had been a home for years, and it had also been the place where you and Steve had taken certain irreversible steps forwards. So of course it was a little bit of a bummer.

Not to mention the fact that your attempts to actually get into the apartment had been blocked by a polite but firm manager. She had informed you that yes, it was technically still your apartment, but at this stage, letting anyone who wasn’t part of the crew inside the building was unsafe. You’d tried to argue about needing your things, and had received a puzzled look from her.

Which was how you had found out that the apartment had been emptied while you had been sailing between the stars, unconscious. Which, now that you thought of it, made complete sense — but with the whirlwind of everything that had been going on, it had just slipped your mind.

You had to take care of this, and then return to the hotel to change and prepare for the meeting you’d have with the admiral and the director. Technically, it could have waited, since you had not made any firm plans about your return to New York, but you’d gone through the hassle of mentally preparing, so it was best to get this over with.

You dug out your phone and typed a message.

You (Tue, 12:21 PM): Hey, Tones, I tried to get to the apartment and they told me that there’s no stuff here?

His reply was instantaneous, which was probably a privilege not awarded to many.

Tony (Tue, 12:21 PM): I had that taken care of. I told you.

You (Tue, 12:21 PM): Nope, you didn’t.

Tony (Tue, 12:22 PM): Oops. Well. Anyway. I hired a service to salvage what was salvageable and pack it up into a storage unit. They made the inventory lists for insurance, too. I’m still waiting on the decision.

Alright, that had been kind of him. And granted, you hadn’t really paid attention to the whole thing, either. On some level, you had been aware of the fact that it was something that needed to be taken care of, but it had gotten buried with all the other stuff you had had going on. And, now that you thought of it, you had been able to trust that someone from your new family would take care of it.

You’re not alone, Steve murmured in your head, and you smiled just a little, running your fingertips over your stomach before answering Tony.

You (Tue, 12:23 PM): Alright. Thanks for handling that. Any chance you could tell me where that is?

Tony (Tue, 12:23 PM): No problem, kiddo. I’ll send you the details.

The details followed shortly. ‘Storage unit’ had had you envisioning some sort of large complex outside the city, but luckily, the place was a short walk away and wouldn't add much time to your errand. The site said that it had been renovated from an old office complex no longer in use, and the images showed clean, well-lit corridors with numbered green doors about twelve feet from each other.

Tony hadn’t asked how you were doing. Apparently, despite all the difficulties people living in the Tower seemed to have with several kinds of boundaries, your request for space was being honored. That was promising, for the future when you got your thoughts in order and would be ready to deal with this again.

That would happen, right?

Right?

You pushed the thought away. It had only been one night away from home, and granted, it was the longest span of you and Steve not talking since he had gotten back from his mission and found out you were pregnant, but it was still only one night. Today, the lecture and the upcoming meeting with the Extraplanetary Operations Command were steps in the right direction of reclaiming the part of you that had nothing to do with your blessed state or the Avengers, but they weren’t going to fix everything instantly.

You would need to talk with Steve, eventually. After you figured out what exactly was making this so hard to deal with for you.

You could’ve taken a car, but the storage unit wasn’t that far away, and besides, it was nice to just be out and walk. For early November, the day was surprisingly sunny, crisp and cool, and being out and about was good for your spirits. Sure, you had a long conversation waiting with Steve, on how you were going to handle things if you got an internship, or a job even, with the Extraplanetary Operations Command. You didn’t even know where the headquarters were, if you’d be able to commute from the Tower, and…

You wrestled your thoughts back under control. Admiral Pike had clearly been impressed by your suggestions, and he had brought flexibility up himself — even as you had no idea what to expect when it came to a military organization’s attitudes around pregnancy, the admiral himself had seemed like a good guy. And not that you were ever going to play the card, unless you absolutely had to, but you had some pretty serious backup in your corner now. You’d figure it out, even if it meant one more change in the life that had already been turned upside down on so many fronts. But this, if you did get the job, would be a change you had chosen yourself and that had not just happened to you.

The storage building was mostly automated. A guard at the door checked your ID and verified that you had a legitimate reason to be here — luckily Tony had remembered to include your actual name in the documents, and not Mrs. Rogers — but other than that, you didn’t have to interact with anyone. The unit itself, located on the third floor of the building, was secured with a numpad lock, into which you punched the series of ten numbers Tony had sent you.

You pushed the door open. It wasn’t a large unit, about the size of your walk-in closet back in the Stark Building, but it could easily hold the meager remains of your earthly possessions. Everything was packed neatly into identical cardboard boxes that were stacked and labeled, and sourly, you thought it was probably the most organized state your things had ever been in.

It wasn’t much. Most of the stuff that had survived was things like cutlery and dishes, designed to be washed. You smiled at the sight of your silly novelty mug collection. Judging from the number of boxes labeled ‘Clothing’, it had been possible for them to save most of your wardrobe before the moisture had turned it moldy and stale. You hoped your gala dress was in one of the boxes, since it had cost you a pretty penny, and it fit you really well.

It had made Steve’s knees weak. Or rather, you in it had. But still. You smiled at the memory — being back here, no matter that you were here because you were taking a break from thinking about all things Avengers, was bringing the memory of that first night back in full force.

Not much of what your apartment had looked like was left now, though. That did feel like some sort of a metaphor to your life right now, a little too apt. No appliances. No large furniture. No technology of any sorts. The sheer scale of the destruction hit you with newfound force. The insurance claim had been filed. Certainly, it would cover some of it, but a lot of your things had been old or second-hand; there was no way the payout would be enough to replace everything. If you got that internship, the paycheck would be needed.

Steve would take care of you, you were sure of that. With marriage on the horizon, what was his would be yours, too, and he didn’t seem like a guy who believed in separate finances, based on what you were already seen. You had free housing in New York, with free medical care, and Steve’s take-home was 600k a year; there certainly wasn’t any reason to believe you and your baby were going to end up lacking anything. By New York standards, you were comfortably in the upper middle class with just his income only. But still, you wanted to contribute, even if it would be a small portion compared to what he was bringing in; you wanted your own stream of income, yours to use on a whim even as Steve would never lord his money over your head.

You set the thoughts aside to be examined later. As you were on a schedule, you needed to make quick work of going through the contents of the storage unit. With only your messenger bag, you weren’t going to be able to bring a lot of things with you, but again, you hadn’t come here to haul your possession anywhere, more to look at what you still had. Although they were just things, were things you had chosen and bought, and in a way, they felt like another connection to who you had been before your life had turned completely upside down.

You did find a small box of books that hadn’t been too water-damaged, and that was stretching it. Most of them still had wrinkled pages from all the moisture that had been in the apartment. Briefly, you went through them, noticing that Night-Thoughts wasn’t among them. It wasn’t too much of a loss, strictly speaking — the book had been a paperback edition you’d gotten on clearance for a few bucks, and you could likely order the exact same edition online without too much trouble. None of your books had been priceless first editions, but it had been a collection that you had curated with love over the years, and losing it stung.

Apparently, there had been extra room in the box — despite being labeled only ‘Books’, it also contained some things that had been on your desk. The trophy you’d gotten winning the science competition that had guaranteed you the full ride at the Institute; a rock you had picked up from your hometown before moving to Boston.

And a large glass jar full of dried rose petals.

You swallowed. The jar had been airtight, closed with a patent lid, so it made sense that it hadn’t much minded being subjected to a flood of biblical proportions. You remembered that magical morning so well, Steve waking you up with soft kisses and coffee, so that you wouldn’t think he had just snuck out. The flower delivery that had arrived two hours later, the way your heart had swelled in your chest at the sight. The card rested inside the jar, too, the writing on it out of sight but the star logo perfectly visible. You remembered Steve’s words that night when he had found out about the pregnancy.

I want you to know that I took that picture out of my compass on Sunday three weeks ago. Keeping it there didn’t feel appropriate after falling for someone else. Falling pretty damn hard, that is. And nothing about that has changed this week, or tonight.

He had fallen for you that night, and he had said nothing about that had changed. And while you weren’t exactly doubtful of the depths of his devotion to you and Little Star… You still couldn’t help but feel a little wistful about the fact that you had only gotten that one, glorious gala night of just being you and Steve, without any third party in the equation. Was that horribly selfish of you? No, you didn’t think so — after all, it was common for people to want to get to know each other properly and spend time together as a couple before getting in the family way. It wasn’t just you wanting that.

Did Steve, in all his unwavering conviction, ever think about that? Ever miss just being your boyfriend instead of also the father of your baby? You should ask him, you should talk to him, you knew you should, but if he didn’t feel like this… Then you weren’t so sure you could tolerate the disappointment in his eyes. He’d never be hurtful to you, but you couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him, even if it wasn’t on purpose, even if it was just your feelings. This was his dream, everything he had wanted, and you wanted it to be worth it for him, after he had waited for so long. You’d gotten thrown headfirst into this, and considering Steve’s morals, he considered his wagon hitched to this post after he’d gotten you pregnant. For him, there would be no second-guessing, and he would never leave you unless you told him you wanted that. As far as he was considered, you had irrevocably become the person he would spend the rest of his life with.

Which meant that you had to be worth it.

You swallowed, looking down and brushing a hand over your bump:

“No take-backsies, huh, little one?”

Despite all the reflections that had gone through your head as your hands had gone through your things, you had still managed to stick to your schedule. You had had to take a car from the warehouse to the hotel, which had also made it easier to bring the rose petal jar and a small selection of books that would hopefully make your hotel room feel like a home. It was paid for you for a week, so you had no immediate need to think about how long you would be staying there. True, you needed a long-term plan, but before that, you had the meeting with Admiral Pike to focus on; any planning would also be dependent on the outcome of that conversation.

The car had arrived in a timely manner after you’d ordered it from the app. You had only had to stand on the sidewalk for a few minutes, which you had used to look at your synced notes from your phone, halfway hiding behind the rose petal jar on your arm. You’d paid for it with your own card and rushed up to the hotel room to get changed for the meeting and do some more preparation.

You had gotten changed into one of the dresses Steve had bought you; a nice, flowing piece in a shade of green that flattered your complexion, with short sleeves. It was a maternity dress, but for now, it was very subtle — just by looking at you, no one could’ve been sure you were pregnant. You had done your hair in a style that gave you confidence and dabbed on some light makeup. Nothing too fancy, just enough so that you wouldn’t be sticking out like a sore thumb in a high-end steakhouse. The effortless elegance Director Pike had exuded even in a simple dress might’ve been out of your reach, but you could still do your best.

After the necessary preparations, you still had time to review and elaborate on the engine sketch you’d done for Admiral Pike in the auditorium and do a little research on the Pikes themselves. The sketch would be the keystone of your proposition, which meant that it had to be good. The drawing capabilities of the laptop’s touch screen were quite remarkable — if Tony ever wanted to branch out, you could imagine digital artists willing to pay good cash for this kind of equipment. Transferring the ideas from your brain into the screen felt effortless, as if your hand hadn’t been there in between and the device was just downloading your thoughts; visualized lines became reality as you zoomed into the drawing, added details and little notes you could walk the admiral through, emphasized certain parts with color.

Satisfied with your work, you headed out right on schedule. The Pikes had gotten your private phone number along with the address of the hotel, and Leah had texted you that they were on their way with the car. Your mind was still chewing on the last details of the blueprint; you walked through the lobby in a familiar haze of intense concentration, all nervousness drained out of you. A closer look at the blueprints had convinced you that Mach 13 wasn’t a pipe dream, and yes, that would be a lot to promise but you knew this certainty of things simply falling into place. Even as it had never hit you when you were working on something of this complexity.

And then you stepped right into a storm.

The second your foot hit the sidewalk, a blinding flash went off, and it took you a few seconds to realize that no, you weren’t staring into the heart of a star but into a small sea of reporters and paparazzi. Your heart lunged up into your throat, your pulse rapidly thundering in your ears. It took you a second to start to process actual sentences from the cacophony of intrusive questions directed at you, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.

“Miss, is it true that you and Captain Rogers have broken up?”

“Miss, any comments on if he’s going to be involved in the life of his child?”

“Were you ever actually pregnant?”

You looked at what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of people and flashing lights, all aimed at you, your heart stuck in your throat and your chest tightening. You’d faced them before, true, but it felt as if the sharks had smelled blood in the water and had known that Steve wasn’t with you. Had someone tipped them off? Had you been seen during your trip to the warehouse?

Your StarkWatch was on your wrist, one tap of the emergency button would open a connection to Steve, he’d be here within minutes, but even he couldn’t teleport. And as much as you wanted him there, as much as you desired to warm your hands in the nuclear explosion that overtook him whenever he needed to protect you, he would not be there every time you left the Tower, and you didn’t want him to be.

You would have to learn to live with this, too.

And you needed to do that fast.

Had you been too naive, assuming that you could take this trip without drawing attention to yourself? Why were they saying that you had broken up, what was happening? The most probable reason for all this was that they’d seen you alone and drawn their own icky conclusions about the fact that your pregnant self dared to leave the proverbial kitchen.

What would you do?

What the hell would you DO?

The hotel was private property, they couldn’t follow you there and if they tried, they’d just be thrown out but you imagined the shots of your fleeing back on front pages tomorrow and online in less than half an hour. And besides, you needed to make it through them, you had an appointment and —

“Sources inside the Avengers Initiative are saying that Captain Rogers is stepping down from his Head Strategist position. Is it because he’s so heartbroken over your breakup? How do you feel after depriving Earth of its mightiest defender?”

The speaker was a tall, wide-shouldered man that had stepped closer to you, the leader of this cluster of vultures. He enjoyed this, his form towering over you, and some sardonic part that had still not frozen in your head speculated that he probably knew down to the millimeter how close he could get without being hit with a lawsuit.

“Miss, want to tell our readers who gave you the rose petals? I’m certain they would appreciate every juicy detail!”

So they had seen the rose petals. The details of the picture were starting to take form, but that didn’t make you relate to deer in headlights any less. You needed to say something. But what? To whom? Certainly you couldn’t address them all at once? The cacophony of their shouted questions tore through your eardrums, the flashing cameras, the way this whole scene was making people stop on the street and god, you wanted Steve, you needed Steve, Nat, Bucky, Sam, Tony, someone, anyone. But they were all far away, you had left and now you were on your own and you had no idea how to get out of this.

“Miss, any comments on the claims that Tony Stark is your real father? After all, you did receive a stipend from him!”

You heard the sound of a heavy car door slamming closed somewhere far away, and then the sound of hurried heels on the pavement that was so sharp it seemed to cut through all the rest of it.

“Miss, there have been rumors about Rogers and Romanoff,” the man directly in front of you said. “Anything you could tell us about their relationship? A source says that they’re currently on their way to a romantic holiday.”

You were still standing there, frozen in place, staring into the inferno of public attention raging in front of you, unable to say or do anything. Nothing about what they were saying was true but how could you even begin to convince them when you weren’t able to even open your mouth, when they wouldn’t believe you anyway.

“Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me,” a polite voice said, and you watched the crowd part to form a path with no idea how anyone could achieve that.

For a moment, you thought that someone from the Tower had come for you, that you’d had eyes on your back but that didn’t feel like something Steve would do no matter how worried he was, then who…

“Excuse me,” Director Pike said to the man that was right up in your face, effortlessly maneuvering herself in between you and him.

She was standing diagonally in front of you, facing the paparazzi, and she held her right arm to the side, as if shielding you. Despite the fact that the paparazzo was a head taller than she was, she met his eyes with a calm look in hers. Calm, but unyielding, like water that could not be forced to compress into a form.

“I strongly suggest that you give the young lady a little bit of breathing room and back off,” she said.

“It’s a public place, ma’am, I am protected by the law,” the man replied. “It is my right to take —“

She cut him off, and you had no idea how she did that, because her voice didn’t rise one bit. In fact, the smile stayed on her face, and nothing about her demeanor would’ve hinted this was anything other than polite conversation over cocktails.

“Oh, certainly, it’s a public place; we wouldn’t want to be breaking any laws here, would we?” she said, smiling, and suddenly you realized that the sharks had run into something that made them look like aquarium fish. “Laws such as the Planetary Security Act, which explicitly forbids the press from speculating on the whereabouts of the Avengers under penalty of treason. I’m certain no one wants to go to court over that.”

“Oh I’m sure that that doesn’t apply to…” the man replied.

But he wavered; you saw him lick his lips, and Director Pike — Leah — still smiled at him, the look in her eyes asking Are you? The crowd behind him appeared to have lost some of its steam — he’d been leading the charge, and they likely couldn’t tell what was happening here and what Leah had said, and so their shouting had transformed into restless murmur.

“That would limit the…” the man continued, and Leah turned to you, ignoring him.

“Want to get out of here?” she murmured softly.

You nodded to her, your words still failing you. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, gently guiding you through the wall of people and it occurred to you that this was definitely a skill you needed to learn. But right now, you were just grateful that you didn’t have to do anything but follow where she was taking you. Admiral Pike was holding the small limousine’s door open, his eyes stern in the face of this, but he had simply been observing, not getting involved. He hadn’t needed to.

When the heavy door of the car closed behind you, you almost collapsed into the closest seat, one with the back facing the driver, who was behind a darkened glass. Leah sat down opposite from you. Chris had gone around the car and entered from the other door. He took a seat next to his wife and was now observing you.

“Are you alright?” Leah asked.

“Yeah, sure,” you breathed. “I’m sorry you had to get involved in that mess. I don’t know where this came from. I got… I had a jar of rose petals in a warehouse, from a bouquet from Steve, and I fetched that and I don’t…”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Chris said, his jawline tense, and there was that familiarity again. “It’s really not your fault they don’t have the smallest semblance of decency.”

You leaned your head against the comfortable seat, attempting to collect yourself and stop your hands from shaking in your lap. The car slid gently into the street. You needed to focus. Everything they’d just said was just talk; you weren’t hurt, you were safe with the Pikes in the car.

“I didn’t know you’re a lawyer?” you asked Leah, and she smiled, a twinkle of mischief not unlike the one in the auditorium appeared in the corner of her eye.

“Oh, I’m not. I could’ve been, though; perhaps in another life,” she smiled. “I was heavily involved in the creation of that law, though, on behalf of the Interstellar Office.”

“So it does work that way? The law you referenced?”

“It doesn’t,” she grinned. “But he didn’t know that.”

You exchanged a look of co-conspirators before you let your eyes fall back closed again.

“A shame. I could’ve used something like that, for the insurance. I don’t get it, this is seriously the first time in weeks I am anywhere without Steve, and they’re speculating on us having broken up? I don’t… I just don’t get it. It’s like I’m not my own person to them anymore, like I don’t exist outside the baby and Steve and I don’t…”

You pressed your eyes closed tighter, trying to stop the burning while you searched for words. You shouldn’t have been talking about this, not with them when your relationship was supposed to be cordial and professional, but it just might be that that ship had sailed in the auditorium. They had been supportive about you slipping there, and you were so tired of trying to handle all this.

“It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is,” Leah said gently. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this circus on top of everything else.”

Yes. Everything else. While your superpregnancy hadn’t been publicly discussed — the very brief PR statement that had been released after your collapse in the park had made some vague hints about blood sugar and fainting — it was obvious that they both knew the truth at least to some extent, which made sense considering how closely they and Steve worked together.

“Thanks, but I’ll be alright. It’s not the first time,” you tried to dismiss, just as an incoming message made your StarkWatch buzz.

You turned your wrist, reading the message from the screen instead of bringing out the hologram display. Since it had come through the AI’s internal systems, FRIDAY had automatically added the sender name regardless of your contact list. You suspected that ‘Harriet the PR Shark’ wasn’t something she had dubbed herself as, which likely meant that Tony had set the nickname for her. In turn, that likely meant that any and all communications you had had with anyone who didn’t have your number saved had been shown as coming from ‘Mrs. Rogers’. No wonder the front desk had been so fast at getting you everything you wanted.

Harriet the PR Shark (Tue, 02:36 PM): I'm on it. Don’t worry. You keep doing you, and you let me handle them.

It was impossible to think that someone could smirk through a text message, but that was what you felt coming through the screen. You trusted her, even after having such a brief conversation with her. The words ‘terrifyingly competent’ crossed your mind, which applied to a lot of your circle these days.

And then there was just ordinary you dropped in the middle of all this extraordinariness just because Captain America had happened to fall into your bed one fateful night.

So many incredible people around you and you still couldn’t handle it better than this.

You should answer Harriet. You should pull yourself together and stop being melodramatic when you had no real reason to be upset and you especially should not feel like you were about to cry in front of what might be your future boss and his wife, who would also be one of the people you would work closely with.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Leah asked.

Her voice was very soft, and again, the words ‘maternal warmth’ popped into your mind. You’d met her that very day, and you practically had no relationship, but something about the gentle sincerity in her grey eyes and her calm presence made you feel like you could trust her; she hadn’t made a big deal about who Steve was. And you knew that if you told her that no, you didn’t, she would drop the topic.

“Yeah. It’s… It’s just a lot. It’s a lot lot on some days. And I… I’m not a superhero. I’m not used to this.”

Something cracked. You could almost hear a door creak open somewhere in your chest, the closet where you’d stuffed all the weird, confusing, exhausting emotions to focus on what was important. Words started falling off your lips as the adrenaline from being ambushed drained away:

“Everyone is so supportive. I mean, the press is the press but everyone close to me, Steve, Steve’s friends, Tony, the people at the Tower, the faculty personnel when I’ve had to ask for extensions… Everyone is so, so nice, and I’m just not sure if I’m cut out for this because I’m just a mess despite the fact that everyone is constantly taking things off my plate.”

“It seems like there’s a lot on your plate, still,” Chris said. “Becoming a parent would be a big change in your life even without all the stuff that’s attached to it.”

You nodded. His words made sense, and briefly, you wondered if they had children. It didn’t feel like they had, since in a conversation like this, they would’ve likely drawn from personal experience if that was the case. Their public bios hadn’t mentioned it, which likely meant that your hunch was right, but it still seemed rude to ask. Or assume one thing or another about their wishes or their motives on the subject, with how very personal it was. Considering that your reproductive choices had been making front page news lately, you were even less inclined than before to make others’ choices your business.

“Yeah, sure, that’s true. But I’m… I’m privileged, in a lot of ways. I’ve got no worries about the financial impact of this, I’ll have access to childcare right there in the Tower, and I have literally the most cutting-edge medical care on Earth available. I’ve got a support network, these days, I’ve got a partner who is about 500 percent on board with all this and trying everything he can to make this as easy for me as possible… I’m not dealing with this alone and unsupported while worrying about money, so it feels so… ungrateful to feel this way when I have every reason to be happy and just relax and enjoy this. And I feel like I’ve failed if I can’t. I feel like I’ve already failed as a mother and Little Star isn’t even here.”

The last sentence came out of you as halfway a sob, and Leah reached across the space between the seats, resting her hand on your forearm. You felt tears roll down your cheeks as the thought that had circled your head finally took form when you’d uttered it out. God, you needed to get a grip. At least you had managed to not lose it completely.

“I think you’re being awfully hard on yourself for being human,” Leah said softly. “I do see your point in counting your blessings, and I think that’s a good thing to recognize, but none of those things will change the emotional impact of your entire life being turned upside down. I don’t think you’ve failed at all just because you’re overwhelmed. Anyone would be.”

“It’s Steve’s life too,” you said, sniffling. “And he’s just fine.”

“Is he?” Chris murmured.

You turned to him, blinking. Sure, Steve had mentioned the feelings of selfishness around subjecting you and your future child to everything that came with the fact that he was an Avenger, but at no point had he expressed doubts that had anything to do with anything other than your health. How many times had he proposed to you already?

“He’s saying that this is everything that he ever wanted. And I believe him,” you said, the defensive note creeping into your voice almost of its own accord, even in the face of Chris’ gentle eyes.

“I don’t think he’s lying,” Chris replied. “But I’m just thinking… When you’re used to being the one in command, the one that everyone’s life depends on, you put on a certain kind of… mask. You have to project calm and strength, you have to appear as if you have everything in control and the plan is working out just like you intended it to. Because if your troops don’t think you have the reins in your hands, that’s when it all starts falling apart. It was a process to learn how to let go of that in a private setting.”

You looked at his face, the strong, calm blue of his eyes. Admiral Pike. He very likely hadn’t become that by sitting behind a desk; just like Steve, he had been in the thick of it probably more times than he would’ve cared to be, and perhaps it took a strategic leader to know a strategic leader.

You drew a long, centering breath in, swallowing around the lump in your throat as air started flowing easier again.

The admiral’s words sent a cascade of thoughts falling through your head, as if the first domino had been tipped over and now you could simply examine the wave that followed. Distantly, you wondered where this was coming from, if it was simply the safe environment you were in allowing you to distance from the immediate emotional reaction, or if it was another bout of that odd mental clarity that had seemed to follow you today, even as you hadn’t slept all that much.

You thought about the crib in the guest bedroom, the future nursery, the physical talisman Steve had gotten when you had been under, so that he could feel like things were going to be okay. You thought about the armageddon that had lit on his face when the jerk in the restaurant had called you trash. You thought about all the times he’d tried to buy you things, all the times he’d proposed to you, the nonchalance with which he had suggested buying a house and the explanation that had followed, how everything he had been doing had been to ensure that you would be alright, to project that everything still was and always would be alright.

You thought about the words carved inside the ring, his solemn vow that he would do whatever it took to ensure that you could still follow your dreams. At no point in time had you doubted that promise.

Steve’s heart was certainly in the right place, and you had no doubt that his efforts had very little to do with duty. Sure, you wondered if this was how things would have developed if there hadn’t been two lines on a pregnancy test that fateful afternoon. But once there had been, the order of priorities in Steve’s world had fundamentally changed in a way that wasn’t just him going through the motions of doing the right thing. He wanted this, he truly did, and maybe, just maybe, he might be overdoing it because he was scared that this, like so many things in his life, would be taken away from him if he made one mistake.

Because behind a perfect soldier that had become a symbol, a demigod, a beacon of hope for the world in uncertain times twice over, was a man who had lost everything and then drowned. A wonderful human with whom you had been granted the privilege of sharing your life, with his quirks and flaws and a tendency to be a little overbearing at times. Even as it felt like you and Steve had known each other for a long time, it still really wasn’t a long time.

You remembered standing with him that first night you’d slept over in the Tower and listening to the timid confession that you were the first one that had ever made it this far. His face that morning when you had made him breakfast, how he’d looked like he was afraid that this happiness would just vanish into thin air in front of him like a mirage of a desert oasis. And as if through a dream, an echo of the terror in his voice when the feto-maternal microchimerism had kicked in and you’d collapsed in his arms.

And maybe all that meant that he wasn’t handling all this perfectly, either. Maybe he was just more used to soldiering on than you were, wanting you to be able to trust him to handle things because he felt like that was the only thing he could do, when the physical side of things fell irrevocably on you. You swallowed, your cheeks burning at the thought. You’d gotten so caught up in your own thoughts and fears that it had never really occurred to you that Steve might have his own things to process here too, the least of which certainly wasn’t learning to be vulnerable in front of you. He had been the star-spangled man with a plan for so long that doing that, even in the privacy of your own home when it was just you, was going to be something for him to adjust to.

“I see,” you said slowly. “That’s something to think about, Admiral.”

He nodded, not pressing any further. You took the clean tissue and a small pocket mirror Leah was extending to you and checked your makeup, dabbing the mascara away from under your eyes. The car came to a stop.

“Thank you,” you said after a centering breath as you handed the mirror back. “For… All this.”

“You are very welcome,” Leah said.

You nodded. The vortex of thoughts still swirled in your head but right now, there was no point in wallowing in them any more than you already had. As kind as the Pikes obviously were, these were things that you would ultimately need to talk out with Steve himself, and any further speculation on the state of things would’ve just felt wrong. And besides…

“If you don’t mind, for this one lunch, I’d rather take a break from being the future Mrs. Rogers,” you smiled a little ruefully. “Considering we have matters of shipbuilding to discuss.”

“Of course,” Admiral Pike smiled. “So why don’t we go inside to get started? I’m dying for a good rib-eye.”

Red was still throbbing in Steve’s vision when he stepped out of the elevator and into the Quinjet Hangar. He was striding forwards, every bit a man on a mission, the shield strapped on his arm on top of the blue button-down. His personal vehicle was parked further back, right behind Tony’s, and he reached it in ten seconds, turned the corner around it, about to —

“You’re not going anywhere, Steve.”

Nat’s voice was even, as if she had just informed him that the communal kitchen was out of milk. She was leading against the Quinjet’s shiny side right where the door was, her arms crossed in front of her chest, and the expression on her face was just as calm as her words had been.

“The hell I’m not,” Steve growled.

“The hell you are,” she replied, raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

Steve attempted to stare her down, receiving no reaction other than making her examine the state of her manicure. Natasha Romanoff was one of the very few people on the face of the Earth who didn’t respond to the ‘Son, just don’t.’ routine. Strictly speaking, he outranked Nat, even if that was only by a hair, and also strictly speaking, he could’ve physically moved her aside, if not without difficulty. But he did neither, instead breathing harshly out and looking at her:

“When did you even get back from your mission? How did you know I was —“

“Because I’m not stupid, Steve,” she said, looking up at him again. “Which makes precisely one of us.”

“I need to protect —“

Nat looked straight into his eyes, not letting him finish.

“What you need to do is stand down. What you need to do is let her know that you trust her, that you don’t consider her fragile. Just because she’s caught in the middle of this storm doesn’t mean she can’t handle it.”

“I know that she can,” Steve said. “She can do anything. Of course I trust her, she’s made of some seriously strong stuff and —“

“Does she know that you think that?” Nat interrupted. “Because I do think that the fact that you just gave up your job without informing her about it to devote your time to motherhenning around her might be sending quite a different signal.”

He turned his gaze away, refusing to answer, which to Nat of all people definitely was answer enough.

“Who told you about this?” he grumbled instead. “You were off the grid.”

“The guys keep me updated on your antics; I had time to read up on it while on my way. Didn’t you promise her some breathing room?”

Yes. Yes, he had, and nothing about that had changed, it was just… He sighed, the headlines still floating in his eyes and bringing a bad taste to his mouth.

“Stop acting like I’m going up there to drag her back to the Tower. Of course I am not. But we’re in this together and I need to be there for her when the fucking press wants to tear her to shreds for no goddamn reason at all except for that she’s got something to do with me.”

His voice must’ve given away something, because some of Nat’s exasperation gave way to something that was almost gentle when she looked at him:

“You need to be there for her in the ways that she asks you to be,” Nat said. “You don’t need to pre-emptively guess everything she might need, to try and shelter her from every bad aspect of this situation.”

“That is my job! To protect her. I got her into this situation, Nat. I need to do what I can to fix it, so that it isn’t any harder for her than it already is. That it isn’t any harder than it has to be.”

The words came through gritted teeth, but Nat wasn’t the one to waver in the face of that.

“No, that’s not what you need to do; not this way. And the two of you got into this situation. Steve, how many times do we have to say this to get it through your thick skull? She needs to understand that everything isn’t just about the baby. That the world doesn’t revolve around Little Star and that you don’t expect it to.”

“Of course it’s not just about the baby. She’s incredible and I love her for so many other reasons. I would never think that she needs to be protected because she can’t handle this, I just don’t want her to have to if I can do something about it. Whatever burdens I can take away from her, I have to. Because it’s my baby too and it’s so goddamn unfair that everything is falling onto her plate.”

Nat raised her eyebrows again.

“Have you told her all that?”

“I…”

He turned his head away again, and Nat crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Steve, have you told her all that?” she repeated, not raising her voice.

Steve made a grumbling, inaudible sound that probably told Nat all she needed to know.

“…I was trying to get my actions to do the talking,” he said finally, his cheeks burning. “Stepping back to take more of the parenting responsibility when Isaac is here so that she can finish her studies and start her career, trying to make sure that she doesn’t have to worry about anything like finances or the press or anything —“

“So, you didn’t,” Nat said. “Which means that she’s dealing with a ton of things that are very overwhelming for her while believing that you aren’t overwhelmed at all, at least not about the baby’s arrival and all the changes it’s going to cause. That it’s no different to you to leave your job than it would be run a simple errand. And that means she’s likely feeling like she can’t express those feelings to you because she’s scared that it’ll make your I-need-to-fix-everything complex kick into even bigger gear.”

Alright. When Nat put it that way, it made sense. And it wasn’t like he had been completely unaware that this was a lot; that was precisely why he’d tried his best to make sure he wouldn’t add to your emotional labor by making you decide what he needed to do. But perhaps, in that process, he’d unwittingly pushed you away and created an atmosphere where his actions made it harder for you to express your thoughts.

He blinked at Nat, who looked at him with twinkling, all-knowing eyes.

“How do you…”

“I’m good. That’s why you hired me,” she smirked. “And because this team needs someone who isn’t 200 pounds of muscle and dumbassery. We love you, Steve, and she does, too, but right now, you need to be a little more Steve to her and little less Captain America, alright?”

Steve swallowed and drew a breath in a futile attempt of trying to get past that tightness of his chest.

“I love her so much,” he said. “I love her, and it feels like everything I do is wrong. And now she’s alone in the middle of that storm and —”

Nat reached up, taking his face in between her hands. There was something gentle in her eyes.

“No one is doubting that you love her, Steve. It’s obvious to everyone that you two are so gone over each other; it’s disgusting,” she said, and the expression on her face told that it wasn’t. “But you need to understand that you can’t protect her from every part of this, and if you try, it’s going to cause more harm than good for her.”

God. The sheer thought of not being able to protect you made something red flash in his eyes. Provide. Protect. That was what he had promised to do, and he would, he just needed to find a way to do that without making an even bigger mess out of things, but how —

“Talk to her,” Nat said. “Ask her how she’s feeling. Ask her what she needs from you. Tell her how you feel about her.”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle, even as the sound was joyless.

“Some days I’m very glad you’re on our side.”

“Only on some days?” she smirked, making him chuckle again.

He needed to stand down. He needed to wait until you had had some breathing room, and then you could have a proper conversation about things. He felt his cheeks burn as he recalled the past weeks. He’d been so focused on making sure that you would still be alright despite everything related to Little Star, that he had inadvertently made most of it, if not all, about the baby.

But the baby was months away. You and Steve, however, were there right now. And perhaps it was time to pay more attention to that; the magic of the gala night had been no accident, or no uncaring hand of natural selection, no matter what Dr. Vinterberg might say to that. There was so much more to this than the baby.

And perhaps the thing he needed to do, the best thing he could do right now, was to remind you of that.

“Besides, she’s apparently not alone,” Nat said, turning the screen of her phone towards him and pulling him out of his thoughts.

He ignored the sordid headline that called him Captain Deadbeat — well, at least they were attacking him and not you — and forced himself to push aside the red overlay in his vision so that he could see the image.

You were being led away by a gentle arm on your shoulders. Director Pike was leaning her head towards you, shielding you from the direction that the picture had been taken from. Steve had never been so grateful to see her. He wasn’t sure when you and Leah had started talking, but perhaps she and Chris could provide you some support he couldn’t.

“I didn’t know that the Pikes were in Boston,” he said.

“Chris did a guest lecture; I can only guess that Leah managed to come with him and they made a little getaway out of it. And I guess your baby mama made an impression.”

Steve smiled softly. Of course you had. He still remembered the way you’d knocked a hall full of very smart, very successful people off their feet with your speech.

“I’m happy to see that.”

“I am, too,” Nat said.

“I still have to send her a message,” he said. “Just so she knows —“

Nat pointed at him with her forefinger, her face for a brief moment very, very terrifyingly clear on what would happen if her instructions were not obeyed.

“One message, Steve,” she said. “One short message.”

But she did trust him, at least enough to turn her head away when Steve typed the message. He centered himself with a calm breath. One short message. He could do it. And he would trust that you would be fine, that you could handle it, that you would call him when you needed him. He’d be right by your side the second you did, and he’d tell you everything he had just thought, no matter how much it terrified him to admit that he wasn’t so sure about the best plan of attack. Now, he needed to manage his own fears and not make you deal with them.

I saw the headlines. Let me know if you need me. I love you.

Send.

He breathed out, and Nat turned before she gently patted him on the back.

“C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. I’ll make you a mug of hot chocolate.”

Chapter Text

Despite the press ambush, you had managed to calm down enough to have a good conversation with Chris and Leah. You’d been able to walk the admiral through all the specifics of your ideas, using the sketch you’d made earlier as visual support, and to answer almost all his questions. And that almost had only been there because there were some things where you’d need field testing to be able to really make a confident estimation about their effects. In those cases, too, you had been able to provide an educated guess.

And finally, when you had finished your presentation, Chris had leaned back in his chair with a crooked, happy smile on his face:

I’d like to make you an offer, he’d said. I know you can’t give me an answer right now, but I imagine you’d like to have some specifics to help you make a decision.

You had nodded, appreciating him being considerate of your situation. Unfortunately, according to what you had read, it was far from unheard of for women to face negative career consequences and be subjected to much more scrutiny regarding their reproductive choices than fathers-to-be were. As your pregnancy was nationwide news — as you’d again realized when stepping out of the hotel — whatever came out of it you would have to face headfirst. Any sort of flying under the radar had gone out the window the second the first headline had started circulating online.

But Chris, or Leah for that matter, wasn’t the one to hold something like this against you. You could tell as much even after spending only a few hours with them. The only reason why your pregnancy had even been referred to in the conversation — and only after you had already mentioned it yourself — was because they had understood that your life was one big stormy sea of turmoil right now, with literally everything changing, and that you had other factors than the offer to consider.

But despite being aware of your other responsibilities and commitments, the offer that Chris had given to you had been a good offer. A great offer. Certainly, the private sector would’ve paid you more — hell, Tony would’ve probably given you an offer similar to what he paid Steve, if he had thought that would be a way to win you to work for the AI and the adjacent Stark Industries. But with no student loans to consider, thanks to the full ride you’d gotten, and with Steve being there to bankroll all the baby-related stuff — and being quite adamant about doing that, regardless of how much or how little you’d make — you could afford to consider money less than someone else about to graduate might have. And the money was decent, too, eighty-five thousand a year for now, with a contract clause that would bump it up to a hundred and twenty thousand as soon as you graduated. The benefits were good, not that you needed a health care plan outside the Tower. The great, super-affordable policies that Steve had put in place for the families of any employee of the AI now included you, as the expectant mother of his child, and would also cover Little Star once he was born.

The main appeal was that this would be something where you could work at something cutting edge with the clearly very impressive scientists that were a part of the Extraplanetary Operations Command, and that this would be yours. And listening to the thoughtful, focused questions Chris had had for you, it was no surprise that he had managed to get so many formidable minds to agree to work for him.

“And that corner office, of course,” the admiral had added after a tiny pause, a smile twinkling in his eyes. “I do try to be a man of my word.”

The Pikes had dropped you off with the car, and after seeing that some of the reporters were still lurking around the hotel, Chris had insisted on walking you from the car to the lobby. You had let him do so, although not without reminding him that there would be a possibility for some sordid headline regarding that. With a smile that had again reminded you of Steve, Chris had told you that they could bring it on — if the press wanted to come at him for ensuring that someone defenseless got safely back to their quarters, they were welcome to do so.

You almost wished the press would be so stupid. Your research had proved to you that the Pikes were probably more affluent than some European royalty thanks to Leah’s family money, but despite their public jobs, they were still private citizens in a way that Steve wasn’t.

And so, you walked through the door of your suite in quite a daze, your head spinning with everything that had happened that day and everything you had learned. Information was coming and going in waves, one thing being brought to the surface followed by another association that pushed the previous one out. It made you feel jittery, like you were overcaffeinated, even as Little Star had gotten you to kick the habit almost completely. Your skin was tingling, and even the smooth silky fabric of your dress felt like it was getting stuck on your skin and rubbing you the wrong way. You made your way into the bathroom of the suite and drew yourself a bath, pouring in about half a bottle of a bubble bath mixture that smelled delightfully woody and checking that the temperature stayed within the safe limits for a pregnant person.

The embrace of the warm, smooth water was bliss against your overloaded skin. You floated in its embrace with your eyes closed for a moment, enjoying the luxury of a bathtub that was even more gigantic than the one Steve had in his bathroom — your bathroom. After some time had passed and you felt like you could regain your focus again, you reached for the phone you’d brought to the little shelf above the tub and opened it up.

One message from Steve had arrived today. As his messages had a different vibration pattern than others’, you’d taken a quick glance at it when you’d been on your way to the restaurant. Mostly to ensure that it wasn’t him announcing that the world was ending and he was needed — you’d hate the idea of him going into a battlefield thinking you were mad at him.

Because you really weren’t. Everything was just so much. You needed to talk with him; even if you weren’t feeling ready, you needed to talk about the offer you’d gotten and about its effect on the relationship you had with Steve.

And maybe it was okay to not feel ready. Maybe you never would, just like with Little Star. Maybe no one was ever really ready to bring a whole new person into this world and be responsible for them.

You (6:06 PM): Love you too. I think we should talk. Tomorrow good?

Right now, you weren’t really feeling up to a conversation of that gravity and length. The bath had suddenly drained all the strength from your muscles, as the adrenaline that had been buzzing inside you ever since you’d walked up to Admiral Pike in the lecture hall was leaving. Despite the early hour, you were craving sleep.

Steve’s answer, just like you expected, arrived almost instantly.  

Steve (6:07 PM): I could come there tomorrow afternoon, if that’s alright with you? In the morning there’s a meeting I really can’t dodge.

After the press had attacked you, it was certainly no secret that you were in Boston, even as you’d seen that Steve had turned off the location tracking and hadn’t been able to tell where you were based on that.

Funny enough, it made you feel better that he wasn’t ready to drop everything for you. Likely, the meeting had something to do with another message you’d gotten from Harriet, about the rumors the AI had just put out. Steve was retiring from his position, Sam was taking over, and Harriet the PR Shark had strategically whispered them into some well-chosen ears now to get the heat off you. There’d be a press conference in the morning; Steve would be the one to face the press, not you.

And even as you’d been uncertain over his need to handle everything, you were very, very glad that he was handling this.

You (6:08 PM): Tomorrow afternoon sounds good. Here’s the info for my hotel. Are you sure you want to do the press thing without me?

Steve (6:08 PM): I’ll be there around 1400. And unless you specifically want to be here, yes, I am. Let them ask their intrusive disgusting questions to my face for a change.

It made you smile; you could just see the way his jaw had tensed when he’d typed that, how he’d glare at the reporters in the press conference in such thorough disappointment that you almost felt bad for the tabloids. Almost. Something primal and satisfied purred inside you as you thought of that stern, protective expression.

You (6:09 PM): I love you. We’ll figure this out.

As of now, you weren’t entirely sure what ‘this’ entailed, but you would.

Steve (6:09 PM): We will. I love a pretty damn strong dame.

You (6:10 PM): Oh, should I be jealous? When are you going to introduce me to her?

Steve (6:10 PM): Har har. Look in the mirror, gorgeous, for introduction. And maybe just a little bit for me, too. Miss you.

You smiled; it had been precisely one night of separation, but now that you thought of it, the idea of curling up to Steve’s warm body after the bath, in pleasantly smooth, cool and clean sheets, sounded like heaven, too. And maybe some other things before falling asleep, things that those strong hands of his could do in addition to ripping to pieces anyone who would ever try to harm you. Resisting the sudden urge to snap a rather scandalous photo for him, you typed:

You (6:11 PM): Miss you too. Kisses.

He sent you some back, and then you put the phone away, gazing at the marble wall opposite you. The bath, and the job offer, and being out and about doing something that was just for you, had made you feel so much better. It was like something was smoothing out inside you, the wildly fluctuating emotions settling down and calming the storm. This morning, you wouldn’t have expected to arrive at a place of confidence so fast, but floating in the water, everything seemed to be clicking in place.

Floating. Something about that tickled the back of your head, an association that waited to be drawn.

You needed to read up on pregnancy and mood swings, but for now, you just wanted to finish your bath and sleep.

Even as you told yourself that it was ridiculous to be nervous when expecting a visit from the man that was practically your fiancé, you were still feeling uncharacteristically jittery again the next morning. You had even skipped the morning coffee, expecting a headache to follow, but it hadn’t come — perhaps your nerves had also pushed that aside.

The only other thing besides Steve’s arrival that you had been able to think about were the plans for the new system that you were drafting for the Tempest. And so, you had foregone any plans to go out to the campus after breakfast in bed, and instead sat down in the spacious office of your suite to get down to work. Steve would be joining you in the afternoon; you’d exchanged a few short messages in the morning and made plans to have a late lunch ordered into the room so you could talk in private. It was hard to start to feel cabin fever in something that was as big as this room, even as that meant you would not be venturing out before the evening.

After you’d let the front desk know that Steve could be let up to your room, you had turned off any notifications from the StarkWatch and enjoyed a blissful silence in your bubble of engineering, where things followed the predictable, unchanging laws of nature and mathematics.

The knock from the door of the suite startled you back to reality. The passing hours had felt like a blink, and you looked at your watch to ensure that it really was 2 PM — or 1400, as you’d quickly gotten used to the 24-hour clock the AI used. It was. You had been sitting down for almost five hours and had not moved an inch, and you weren’t even that tense and stiff when you got up. Being in the flow state apparently did wonders for you.

As you crossed the suite’s hallway, your nerves came flooding back, and an attempt to tell yourself that you were being silly didn’t help much. Distantly, another occasion when you’d been nervous to open the door for Steve, all the way back before he’d known about Little Star’s existence, floated into your mind. It had gone well back then, too. It would go well now. Steve had proved himself worthy of your trust a million times over; the two of you only needed to figure this communication thing out.

You allowed yourself only a quick glance through the peephole before you opened the door, because if anything was more ridiculous than being nervous to see your almost-fiancé, it would be standing on the opposite sides of a closed door with him.

Steve. In a blue button-down and grey slacks that were almost as much his trademark as the various Cap suits were. He’d thrown his leather jacket over his shoulders, but it was open; likely, the Quinjet was parked somewhere nearby and hidden with whatever witchcraft-level cloaking technology Tony had used to achieve practical invisibility.

You know, it really wouldn ’t be that hard, a certain type of nanobot adapting —

You pulled your thoughts back before they could venture too far down that path. Steve was still standing in the hallway, and you were still looking up at all the 6’4 of him. He looked good, in a way that mixed another feeling into the nervousness you were feeling in your stomach.

“Hi?” he finally offered with a small smile. “You look beautiful. As always.”

God, leave it to him to start off with compliments when the last time seeing him had involved you literally running out of the room and the building he resided in. Warmth trickled through your chest; its tendrils reached outwards from your heart like the light of a star, shining on the empty space you’d felt there and filling it with something you weren’t quite sure how to describe. Steve had that effect on people; just his presence made you feel like everything was going to be alright. And yet, you knew that you needed to give him a place where he could let go of that, too.

And this conversation might be the start of it.

“Hi. Thank you. You look good too. How did the press conference go?” you replied, moving to let him in.

He walked past you and you pushed the door closed after him, locking it before turning back to him. He discarded his jacket and stopped to stand in the foyer of the suite, facing towards you. The way his gaze surveyed the room before he huffed a quiet chuckle told you that he wasn’t surprised that this was where he’d find you.

“Tony,” you raised your brows, even as he already knew.

He simply nodded, no further explanation needed. As you padded to him, he answered your earlier question:

“Well. The rumors were already spreading so it wasn’t quite the ordeal it was when Tony told the press that he was Iron Man, but I feel like we got pretty close,” he grinned. “I’m officially stepping down at the end of the year.”

He breathed out at that, giving you a slightly self-depreciating smile as you reached him. Even as he was clearly feeling bad for springing this change on you before talking about it with you in private, it was without a doubt a big change for him, too. He would hang up the shield; not forever, but temporarily at least. What felt like a long time ago, in the bedroom of your home in the Tower, you had realized that he would do it for you, if you only asked. It would’ve come anyway at some point, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so fast.

Much like many other things.

But while he could’ve perhaps gone a better way about announcing this to you, it was the first time in Steve’s life he was really doing something where he was putting himself first, instead of others. And granted, it was an attempt to put you and Little Star first, but it still counted as him prioritizing his private life above the need to save the world. It had to be weird as hell.

“How are you feeling about that?” you murmured as you stepped very close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

The sigh that left him at your touch seemed to originate from the very depths of his soul. The palms of his hands found the small of your back, pressing there and radiating warmth through the thin fabric of your dress. It occurred to you that perhaps you should’ve felt weird about touching each other right now, but it wasn’t there when you felt him against you. This was Steve, the man you loved, the father of your baby.

The love of your life.

He was yours. He would always be. Anything you were now experiencing were the simple bumps in the road of two lives merging together — and creating a third — and there was nothing you couldn’t conquer together, when it was him.

Where had this calm been yesterday? Or the day before, when you’d needed to get out of the Tower?

“I don’t know?” he breathed out. “It’s a lot. I think it’ll take time for the feelings to really hit. And I have… I’m going back to therapy, at least for a while, with all the changes and everything going on. Sam’s doing it too — we’re trying to set somewhat of an example about how it’s okay to do that when experiencing big life changes. If you want to do that, too, by yourself or as a couple thing for us, the Tower has great options. If you… If you want to come back.”

Sam had been a mental health advocate in public, and you could easily imagine that his attitude and openness towards seeking support like that had probably helped Steve, too. You knew that Steve had been in therapy after he’d gotten out of the ice, but going back was probably something that Sam had sold him — and knowing Sam, he had very likely known that Steve needed it because of the baby, too, not just because of the Cap thing, but the latter would be something he would more easily admit. You needed to send Sam a gift basket, along with an apology for causing a scene in the negotiation room when everything should’ve been about his promotion, which was a great achievement on its own.

“I think therapy is a great idea; it might not be the worst thing for me, either. But about the living arrangements, there’s… something we need to talk about,” you said.

You could feel the tension hitting Steve’s every muscle, as if he was preparing for a blow that could knock him off his feet. He was still holding you very gently, but his eyes searched your face. Even as you were scared to utter the words out loud, you blurted them out to spare him from having to think any of the worst-case scenarios that were obviously already running through his head:

“Admiral Pike has offered me a job in the Research and Development Department of Extraplanetary Operations Command. And if I take the job, it means that I’ll have to be in Maryland at least some days of the month. They want me to start as soon as possible, if I accept the offer. He’s willing to work around the pregnancy thing.”

It took a second for the words to really hit. He stared at you, blinking, and your heart almost started racing before the smile exploded onto his face. It lit up his features, somehow impossibly making that gorgeous inner light of his shine all the brighter. His hands moved from your waist and cupped your face even as he pressed a kiss to your forehead before retreating back, only a little bit. Only enough for his hands to tilt your face up as you met his glowing gaze.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmured. “That’s amazing. I knew the Pikes were in town, from the headlines, but I didn’t know that you’d talked with Chris about a job. Do you want to take the offer?”

It was your turn to blink at him. The way he said it seemed to say that the only thing that you should consider was if you did want it or not.

“So you’re just okay with this?” you said. “Even with the Maryland thing?”

He nodded, his brow furrowing a little.

“Of course. We’ll make it work, somehow. If… If you want to come back to the Tower, you can take a Quinjet down to Maryland when you need to. Or we could… we could look at an apartment or something there, as a second home of sorts. If that’s what you want; it’d be easier when you need to stay overnight. I’ve been to the state when I’ve attended parties at Pike’s Point — it’s a beautiful place. Is it the Discovery Base where you’d be working?”

You nodded. The Discovery Base, and the little town of scientists that surrounded it, had sprung into existence when the EC had become a thing, much like the Manhattan Project had once created Los Alamos.

Steve was rattling things off like it was no different than going through options for movies to watch tonight. And even as you had trusted in the fact that he would be supportive, this complete nonchalance at the potential practical difficulties this decision could bring still caught you off guard. You’d expected a longer conversation to come out of this, even if it was only due to needing to get your ducks in a row. He caught on to your silence and now there was something fragile in his gaze.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t be okay?”

You sighed, trying to get the swirl of emotions inside you to take some sort of concise form.

“I… I don’t know. I knew… I knew you’d support me but you just gave up your damn job for this baby,” you said. “And that job has kind of defined who you are for a long time, and I can’t… I just feel so scared that I’m not worth it, this is not worth it, and that you’ll end up regretting this. Regretting that it’s me you’re stuck here with.”

You weren’t even done with your sentence when you saw the horror on Steve’s face, as if the very thought that you were thinking you were not worth it was something repulsive. He was yours, irrevocably, and nothing would ever change that. What was it like to live with that kind of clarity in one’s head? And yet, even as that question passed through your mind, you thought about Admiral Pike’s words about how hard it was to let go of the commanding officer who had it all under control once one was in a private setting.

“Why on Earth would I regret it?” Steve said, his words continuing with self-evidence that made something twist in your chest: “Of course you’re worth it. Of course this is worth it.”

There it was again, his of course. Well. You might as well get it all out, now that you had come this far with your confessions.

“We never… We never really had time to examine our long-term compatibility, did we?” you said, sighing. “When we got thrown headfirst into this after spending like six hours together awake. And I… I’m just scared that you’ll end up disappointed. That after waiting for so long to get your happy ending, your family and a wife and everything, that you’ll end up thinking it would’ve been better with a different person. Because I know you, Steve; you’re mine, after all this happened, and in your head, nothing will ever change that. I know what all this means to you. I just really hope I can live up to those expectations. That you aren’t with me just because of the baby and I know that you aren’t that person but I also know that you kind of are, and I just… I guess I would’ve wanted to know if you would’ve wanted to be with me nevertheless, without all this. If you would’ve wanted to marry me eventually for me, and not just the… package deal.”

You were certain you were repeating yourself, if not in words, then at least in the message, as the sentences kept falling out of your mouth. Steve was listening to your every word like this was a mission briefing, but he was letting you ramble without interrupting. When you finished, he sighed from the very depths of his soul.

“I haven’t done a very good job at showing you that it’s about other things, too, have I?” Steve said, shaking his head. “I am sorry. It’s… there’s been a lot going on.”

Despite yourself, you snorted a laugh. An understatement of the century, that, and seeing your smile made Steve’s furrowed brow relax a little. He returned your smile with a sheepish grin of his own, one that told you that he definitely understood that he might’ve been downplaying things just a little.

He shook his head. He definitely wasn’t wrong about the fact that so many things had happened. The gala night seemed like it had been a lifetime ago, but had this been a normal pregnancy, you wouldn’t have even been in the second trimester yet. The scare Steve had gotten when you had stopped answering him, the shock as you’d found out that you hadn’t had the IUD like you had thought, the biblical flood in your apartment and moving in together, the medical coma and the changes your Little Star had brought with him, the press chaos… It was no wonder that Steve had been scrambling to make everything alright, as much as he could. And you had, too. You’d been trying your best to somehow keep going amidst it all, and the relationship itself had fallen to the wayside. And you yourself had asked to keep things low-key when it came to your relationship, and Steve had still done his absolute best to arrange romantic surprises for you. Like you had done for him. He continued:

“Nat told me that this might be going on. When I… When I was about to come here yesterday when the headlines hit and I saw how upset you looked in the pictures,” he said, his face an odd mixture of anger and something bashful at the admission. “And she pretty much dragged me out of the Quinjet hangar by my ear.”

The image probably wasn’t literal, but had it been, you had no doubt that Natasha Romanoff could pull it off if anyone could. Not for the first time, you were very, very glad that she was on your side of things.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to rush to my rescue,” you said softly. “The moment I was hit by that storm, my first thought was that I wanted you there. Because you always keep me safe.”

“You could’ve called me,” he said, just as softly. “You can always call me.”

“I asked for space,” you replied. “It felt unfair to you to just call you back the second I needed you. And I… Things got solved before I really had time to really figure out what to do. Honestly, deciding between crossing Nat and crossing Leah Pike would be a pretty damn hard call to make.”

You huffed a laugh to emphasize your words, shaking your head. Nat wore her collected cool like a knife tucked up to her sleeve; Leah’s calm was a part of her, like a serene garden that blossomed inside her chest.

“I’m glad she was there for you. She and Chris both,” Steve said.

You tried to listen to the tone of his voice, if there was anything hidden in it, resentment that you’d accepted support from someone else when rejecting his. But he wasn’t that person; you knew that already, and even if it pained him that he couldn’t be there for everything, couldn’t just fix everything, he also was glad for anything that helped you. As long as you were happy.

That kind of devotion made your throat feel all choked up. Even amongst everything — especially amongst everything — you needed to remember that Steve wasn’t the person to do all these things so he could then rattle off all his terrible sacrifices to anyone within a ten-mile radius. He was doing all that to make you happy.

And right here, right now, with his hands cupping your face, it felt like the only issue you might ever have with that was that he needed to be happy too.

“They were,” you said. “Gave me a lot of food for thought. I figured that’s kind of their superpower, helping people figure their things out.”

“That would track,” Steve said.

His thumbs were caressing your face, and he let out a slow breath, gathering his thoughts. You spoke into the silence, not because it necessarily needed to be filled, but because there was something you really needed to say:

“And it’s not just your job to show me that — it isn’t just your job to be romantic. And I didn’t let you in; I didn’t tell you that I had all these thoughts. I wasn’t really allowing myself to acknowledge them either. I’m just…” you felt your eyes tingling, your voice turning thicker, but you forced the words out. “I’m just feeling so overwhelmed and like I’m already being a bad mother and he’s the size of an avocado!”

With that, you broke down into sobs that racked their way through your chest, and without hesitating for a second, Steve pulled you against his chest. His arms closed around you, and his hand was caressing your back as you sobbed into his shirt, and he murmured comforting sounds into your hair.

“You aren’t a bad mother. And you won’t be. We’ve got this. I promise,” he whispered.

There had been so much you had wanted to say, so many doubts that were circling and circling your head like vultures waiting for the sleepless nights, and yet, in the face of Steve’s gentle embrace, they all seemed to if not drift away, at least fly out into the distance. He wasn’t the man to lie to you, so he really did believe that you weren’t already failing this cosmic test from whatever laughing god that had vanished your IUD away and made the condom fail on top of that, on the first night you had spent together with Steve. He believed that you had this, and by gods, he would fight anything and everything that tried to get in the way of that.

“How am I going to raise a baby if I can’t even make mashed potatoes?” you murmured into Steve’s shoulder.

He clearly remembered the wallpaper-glue-like consistency of the concoction you had made during the date you had had in your apartment, and despite the situation, he chuckled.

“I make pretty good mashed potatoes. Our little team has it covered,” Steve whispered. “We’re a team, remember? You don’t have to do everything. Especially not on top of carrying our baby. I can see that you’re overwhelmed, and it’s okay to be that; all of us are sometimes. But what do you need me to take off your plate to feel better?”

As he said the last words, he retreated, only enough to be able to look at your face again. His thumb gently swept your tears away, and you swallowed, trying to come up with a way to say what you wanted to say that didn’t make you sound like a complete jerk.

“Steve, I’m not overwhelmed because I have too much to do. I’m overwhelmed because I’m having all these emotions and doubts and fears and other priorities I’m trying to fit together with this unplanned baby thing, and it seems like… You’re not showing any of that. You have been all fine and dandy with this the second you knew, bankrolling everything, proposing, wanting to get a house, giving up your job as a superhero, all that. I’m overwhelmed because I feel like I’m failing some standard of parent-to-be when I have these doubts and you don’t. That having this baby is such a monumentally happy occasion for you that it triumphs over all the hard stuff and all the questions about us, and when I’m… When I’m not sure about that, then I’m failing. That that means I’m not cut out for this.”

Steve sighed long and hard, somewhere from the depths of his soul. You saw his jaw tense, the tendons of his neck stand out, his shoulders drop back, as if he was preparing for a battle, and a shiver of fear ran down your back. Steve would never ever intentionally hurt you, not even with his words, but was this the moment he would tell you that what you had just said meant that he didn’t want to do this, not as a couple? That because you had all your modern insecurities about whether or not having a baby together was or wasn’t enough for two people to get hitched for life, it wasn’t something he could live with without compromising his own values?

“I have my doubts,” he finally said, words coming out somehow tightly but not because of anger. “I have a lot of doubts, but they aren’t about us or what you call our long-term compatibility. Back where I come from, dating for a very long time to measure that just wasn’t a thing; you just built things where the foundations were solid. So it is easier for me to accept this as a starting point of a long, happy, married life together, because I saw it happen a lot. True, I saw other kinds of fates, too, but I don’t… I have never thought that could ever be us. I could never resent you the way I saw some people resent their spouses.”

“Why not?” you asked with a voice that was very, very small — not a tone of confrontation but a tone of wanting so desperately to be reassured.

“Because I love you too much, and I have loved you from the moment I danced with you for the first time. That’s not a way to treat anyone, least of all the person you love and you’re supposed to care for,” he replied, his voice and eyes turning softer now, tension bleeding out of him. “I love you. I have never, never thought it’s just a package deal. That magical night at the gala, I saw an incredible woman on track to fulfill all her dreams, someone as sharp as a razor blade and drop-dead gorgeous, someone who wasn’t afraid to be just who she is. That’s who I fell for, and that’s who I still see in front of me every time when I look at you.”

“Steve,” was all you managed to get out from your choked throat and while trying to hold your tears back, but luckily, he didn’t expect you to reply yet.

“This,” he continued, with something infinitely gentle in his voice, his hand settling on the curve of your stomach like a caress, “is something beautiful we created together and one more giant reason for me to love you, but it isn’t why I fell in love with you and it isn’t the only reason why I want to be with you. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I know for a fact that you’re going to be an amazing mother because of who you are, as you.”

Speechless, you blinked at him, and now that the tears spilled over again, they were no longer tears of fear and doubt, but happiness and love. Steve’s warmth seemed to radiate from his hand and make little paths all over your body, enveloping you in gentle sunlight.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “So, so much. Let me in, love. Let us solve everything together.”

You set your own hand on top of Steve’s, slipping your fingers in between his, and briefly, you wondered how long it would be until your Little Star could understand that he was going to be a very loved child once he emerged. But Steve sighed, drawing your attention back to his face, and the battle-look you had seen earlier was somehow hovering just underneath his pondering expression.

“I can’t put more things onto your plate, honey. You’re dealing with enough as it is,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to worry about my problems in addition. They don’t have anything to do with me thinking that I don’t love you; you can rest easy.”

It seemed like Admiral Pike had been right about Steve’s nature and the fact that Steve was having a hard time letting go of the man-with-a-plan role in a private setting. You wondered if you should send the admiral a fruit basket, or something.

“Steven Rogers, you can be one stubborn mule,” you huffed, one side of your mouth curving up. “I wasn’t there in the forties but I would imagine that that ‘building on top of good foundations’ also entails people working together and supporting each other. We’re a team; I think someone mentioned that in this very conversation. The definition of a team is people who solve their problems together.”

Steve huffed a sound of amused exasperation, and there was a grin in his eyes if not on his lips when he glanced at you. The expression told you that he understood he was being, if not a hypocrite, at least unfair towards himself.

“You know, if you ever wanted to make a career switch, you could absorb Nat’s skill set in like a week,” he shook his head.

You had seen Nat in action, if only in the public footage of Avengers’ missions, and having seen the things she could do in close combat, you seriously doubted that statement. But regardless, you leaned into it, tapping your foot and tilting your head.

“Not to mention I’m the goddamn mother of your child, so I have the prerogative of knowing what’s in your head, if it’s got anything to do with our family.”

“Blackmail included,” Steve laughed, but you could see you were getting through his defenses.

Blackmail or not, you were right, and Steve could see it. You let your voice soften again:

“Let me in, love,” you repeated. “I’m here for you. I promise I won’t think any less of you. I could never.”

He looked at you, breathed in, licked his lips. Obviously, the words he was about to say weren’t coming out easy, and you gave him the time he needed, staying silent.

“It just feels like it goes against everything I’m supposed to be,” he sighed.

“You said it’s alright for me to have my feelings of being overwhelmed. Why would it not be alright for you to be human?”

“You said it yourself; you aren’t a superhero,” he said — not an accusation, but a gentle reminder of the difference of what was expected of him.

“I didn’t fall in love with Captain America, the perfect man with a plan. I fell in love with you, as the human being that you are. That’s who I want to be with; that’s who I want our son to know, too. I want him to know that he’ll be loved even when he’s not perfect, and the only way to achieve that is to set an example that it’s alright to struggle. To doubt. To be a person and not just a symbol.”

You reached up to frame his face with your hands, and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. He sighed again, but this time it was not a sound of exasperation but the peaceful breath of someone who was letting go of a burden.

“I feel so goddamn helpless,” he blurted out. “You are going through all this, all these physical changes and having to rearrange your entire life over such a short period of time and right now there’s just no way I can share the burden evenly because I can’t take the physical stuff off your plate. But also there isn’t much else that I can do, and so I’ve tried to make sure that everything else that I could do would be as smooth sailing as is possible, that you wouldn’t have to worry about me or money or the press or anything. I’m scared, honey. I’m just scared that something will go wrong and I lose you, or we lose the baby, or that you’ll resent me because this happened to you because of me and nothing will ever be the same for you after this.”

Relief slammed into you with his words. It hit you as if it was a physical object crashing into you, draining all the remaining tension from your muscles, and as you relaxed, the words just escaped your mouth:

“Oh thank god.”

He raised a brow, as the reaction was clearly not something he had expected. Dimly, you realized that they were the perfect echo to his words at your apartment a million years ago when he had finally understood what was wrong with you. That there wasn’t anything wrong with you, not in a way he had been afraid of.

“Honey?” he asked softy, inviting you to explain, so you did.

“I…” you managed. “All this time, all those feelings I’ve had, I’ve been ashamed of them because I thought you weren’t scared of anything that has to do with this. I was pushing them away and trying not to think about it. It felt like everything else was so tiny to you in comparison to this that I… I was feeling guilty that it wasn’t, not to me. I was scared that you would think I wasn’t going to be a devoted enough mother because I want to have a degree and a company and all that when you gave up your job and all that."

It was somewhat of a paraphrasing of what you had already said, but highlighting that you had been scared of his reaction, too. Forcing the words out of your mouth felt like trying to pull a thorn from your throat, but they had to be said. And while the next words came easier, they were just as important:

“But you have been amazing through this. Everything you have done for me, from being there for me to making sure I don’t have to worry about the finances to sitting there with me on the bathroom floor when I’ve been nauseated, has made me feel very, very supported and loved. There has been so much that I have been so immensely grateful for, and in a way, it has made it harder to deal with the feelings because I’ve felt ungrateful.”

With that, something broke in the air. He looked at you, smiling despite his glistening eyes, pulling you flush against himself before pressing his forehead against yours.

“I’ve lived a very long, very odd life. I’ve gotten to do a lot of things along the way. It… It feels natural to me to transition from focusing on that to focusing on this, because a marriage to an amazing woman and a family were the only things I hadn’t gotten until all this started unfolding. Of course it’s different for you. And all this time I’ve been trying to make sure that you’ll have the opportunities to do those other things, too, to let you know that I’ve got this and you can go be the superstar engineer I saw that day in the gala. And Isaac and I will have dinner ready for you when you get home,” he said. “I’ve carried that shield through more wars than I would’ve cared to. I can put it down for a while. I might… There might be some end-of-the-world stuff I can’t dodge but for the rest of it, I’m ready to take a break and be a father to Isaac and a supportive husband to you. If I only am able to be that.”

“Of course you are, love,” you said, your voice thick with tears.

Steve hugged you even tighter, as close as he humanly could, and when he spoke, he whispered the words into your hair as if to hide them there:

“My own father died in the war before I was born. I always wanted my own child, if I was ever so lucky to have one, to have something more than that. And I hope… I hope that despite me growing up without a father, I can still be a good dad. And I’m doing everything I can to be that.”

He had never mentioned this, but of course, it made perfect sense. And as much as you would’ve liked to blame it on the wildly fluctuating hormones — which were probably the culprit behind all the weird stuff that had been going on for the past days — you were certain that regardless of them, your eyes would’ve welled up with tears with his words. You breathed in, reaching to peel his arms off yourself and then cover the backs of his hands with yours. You brought them to your stomach, pressing his palms over your little bump.

“Steve. You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you said. “Ever since I saw how you reacted to the positive pregnancy test, even in the chaos of that day, I have known that like I know two plus two equals four. This baby could not have a better father than you — and I could not ask for a better father for my children than you. We are both so, so lucky to have you.”

“I want to be worthy of you,” he said. “Now, and in the future.”

You swallowed.

“You are. And you always will be. I love you. We’re going to be okay.”

“I love you too. We’re going to be okay,” he echoed.

And when his hands left your belly only to come up to cup your face and pull you in for a kiss, you went to him, soaking in the feeling of being loved and cared for and understood. It laced the kiss like the finest of champagnes, and when his hands started gathering the hem of your dress up, you breathed a yes against his lips.

The kiss continued even as you made your way to the bedroom, stopping only for the brief pauses required to shed your clothes one by one. And when you felt how his weight settled on top of you on the bed, how his hands touched you like the finest, most delicate statue, how his mouth worshipped every inch of your skin, how desire throbbed in between your legs and dripped off your fingertips as they traced every line of his body in turn, it was impossible to think that either of you was there for any sort of obligation.

And finally, when he made your mouth open in a whimper of his name when he sheathed himself inside you, the sensation of fullness was followed by an immense sense of peace, security, love.

In the face of whatever obstacles to come, he was yours. You were his. And that would always remain, unchanging, solid like the laws of nature.

Chapter Text

You couldn’t recall the last time you had felt this recharged. It was certainly possible that it was simply the fact that the first trimester of your pregnancy was starting to pass — at least considering the accelerated timeline — and you’d read that many had gotten relief from their worst symptoms when that happened.

Or, it could be the absolutely great rest you’d gotten in the giant hotel suite bed with Steve’s arms wrapped around you, after having drifted off into sleep feeling entirely loved and thoroughly satisfied.

You’d slept without dreams for almost twelve hours, and when you had finally woken up, Steve had already been awake. He hadn’t bothered getting up, and the novel in his hands had nothing to do with the Avengers Initiative; it had been wonderful to see that he had also had a chance to relax. Realizing you were awake, Steve had put his book away and smiled at you. He had suggested ordering a giant breakfast from  room service — unless you wanted to head down to breakfast while it was still being served. You’d chosen to remain in bed, so that you and Steve could be close and there was no need for clothes. Or more clothes than his blue button-down you’d slept in, and the boxer briefs that Steve had slept in, that was.

The continental breakfast had been delicious, and when you finally dropped your fork, you were stuffed. Steve gave you a gentle chuckle in response to your happy sigh and moved only enough to put the breakfast tray on the floor next to the bed. Then he was back behind you so that you could sit between his legs, your back against his chest, a tablet in your hand and a traditional paper newspaper in his. Conveniently, since you had stolen his shirt, his upper body was bare, which meant that you could press yourself against his chiseled, warm muscles and drop your head back so that it rested against his left shoulder.

“I love you,” you murmured.

The position left the right side of your neck open for him, too, and he seized the opportunity to move the shirt’s collar aside and kiss your neck. You hummed with pleasure, even as the touch was more a soft caress than anything asking for more, and craned your neck up to look at him. Fuck, how had you gotten so lucky? His blue eyes sparkled down at you, and his blond hair was still ruffled by the pillows.

“I love you too,” he said. “Anything you’d like to do today?”

You set your tablet down on the bed, having skimmed most of the morning news during  breakfast, and Steve folded away the newspaper he had been reading. Before meeting him, you would’ve never guessed how lovely the simple task of reading next to each other and eating a meal, even if neither of you spoke, could be.

“Will you get cabin fever if we just stay here? The room’s paid for seven days and after the day before yesterday, I really don’t feel like going out there,” you grimaced.

The press release that Harriet had drafted, explaining that Sam would become the Head Strategist for the AI upon Steve’s parental leave had gotten some of the heat off of you. Even as the press’ attention span was short, you were fairly certain some reporters were still camping outside of the hotel. Steve’s eyes flashed with protective darkness, and you felt his muscles tense.

“Not at all,” he said. “I might go to the hotel gym at some point, though. Unless I feel like getting my exercise by throwing a few punches in well-deserved directions.”

He wasn’t serious, but the idea of him just absolutely decking the members of the press outside still made some age-old instinct inside you hum. Without much thought, you caressed over the little bump, and Steve’s hand settled on top of yours.

“I feel like it’d be rather impolite of us to cause Tony to have a brain aneurysm after he paid for the suite, dear,” you grinned, and Steve laughed.

You had missed this simple closeness, these kinds of simple moments that were just for the two of you even amongst all the craziness and the baby stuff that was going on. You stretched your arms before shifting your position, moving to lie down on the bed and resting your head on Steve’s thigh. He looked down at you, his fingertip tracing the lines of your face with the gentlest of caresses.

“I really need to paint a proper portrait of you one of these days,” he murmured. “You’re gorgeous.”

You smiled at the compliment, kissing his finger when it came to your lips. You had thought that the pregnancy glow was just an urban myth, something that had been made up so it was easier for people to deal with all the changes in their bodies, but you had to admit there was some truth to it. Your skin hadn’t looked this good in a long time, if ever; even this morning, looking into the mirror as you’d brushed your teeth, you had looked like you’d walked right out of a beauty spa.

“Will it be a naked portrait?” you smiled, coaxed on by his easy laugh. “A tasteful naked one? Something like a pin-up picture?”

“Oh, if I am to have a naked portrait of you, it’s going to be entirely tasteless,” he smiled deviously. “A little something just for me.”

Your cheeks burned at the open desire on his face, flaming in his eyes despite the smirk. You weren’t certain if that was something you two would ever get around to actualizing, but just the thought of you bare in front of him as he sat behind his canvas, your body a siren’s call to him, was making something stir inside you.

“Oh my, Captain,” you hummed. “I had no idea you were quite this indecent.”

“Are you uncomfortable with the idea?” he said, and you shook your head.

“No, not at all. It’s… not something I’ve ever thought about before but I’m not uncomfortable with it,” you said. “I’ll file that one away. Unless you brought your painting supplies with you?”

“Unfortunately not,” he said. “I could technically go fetch them but I like the idea of doing that one at home, whenever we feel like doing it.”

Home. The word made you smile, and another idea, one that had floated in the back of your mind ever since Steve had mentioned it yesterday, surfaced. Sure, it was a bit too early, as you still had no official written contract with Admiral Pike or the EOC, but still… It wouldn’t hurt to look, and that’d cost you nothing. And Admiral Pike really didn’t seem like a man to make promises he wasn’t intending on following through with. The job was yours, and you only needed to sort the paperwork out.

“So I was thinking, maybe we could take a look at some rental property advertisements in Maryland, near the Discovery Base?” you said. “I’ve never had to really look for an apartment, with my accommodation taken care of by the full ride, and well, now, you and Tony. And I’d like to take a look at things that are within my budget, and a second opinion can’t hurt?”

Steve nodded. The back of his hand caressed your jawline.

“Of course,” he said. “I’d be happy to help.”

You got up only for long enough to fetch the laptop you’d left in the study yesterday, and settled back against Steve’s chest with the laptop on top of your thighs, so that Steve could look over your shoulder at the screen. You typed in a password and flashed your finger at the fingerprint reader.

“Good morning, Mrs. Rogers,” the artificial intelligence built into the machine said politely as the screen lock opened.

You were pretty sure that Steve was smiling behind you, and really, the name was growing on you. But it wasn’t on the agenda today; you started the browser and pulled up the biggest property advertisement site in the country.

And swallowed, your cheeks burning.

Even while being away from the Tower, you had been making use of all the scientific journals and online libraries that the AI paid for, not to mention their own research database — parts of which were available to the members of the general public, such as you. So, the laptop  was still routing internet through the AI’s virtual proxy network, mimicking that you were at the Tower, and the site loaded to show a front page full of listings of houses within the state of New York.

And oh, wasn’t that…

You drew a hasty breath and quickly started typing ‘Maryland’ into the search bar. But before you could even finish the eight-letter word, Steve’s hand gently touched your shoulder, making your fingers go still on the keyboard.

“Which one was it?” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your shoulder through the fabric.

“What?” you said quickly — far too quickly to fool someone of Steve’s perception. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Honey.”

Steve’s voice was still gentle, but you knew you had been caught, and he wasn’t going to just let it slide. And alright, the house that had briefly been on the screen, featured in a carousel on the site, had been gorgeous. But you had also seen the price tag. It was nowhere near the category of 'a reasonable starter home for a new family’ that you would be eventually purchasing with Steve if you decided to move out of the Tower. You swallowed, trying to arrange your words to communicate that effectively, but Steve was faster than you:

“The one that looked like an old farmhouse?” he asked, and now there was just the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

His palm caressed down your shirt-covered arm, and you swallowed again before finally nodding. It was useless to even attempt to lie to him, and more importantly, you didn’t want to. He wouldn’t fault you for having some implausible dreams or being attracted to something, and you certainly weren’t expecting to —

“Pull the listing up,” Steve said, and you craned your neck so fast that it was a marvel you didn’t pull a muscle.

”Steve, we can’t —“

”Let’s just take a look at it,” he repeated with a grin on his face. “I’m not asking you to take a mortgage with me. There’s no harm in looking, you said it yourself.”

Alright. Yes. He was right. There would be no harm done, especially since you knew you would eventually be shopping for a house with him. Viewing a listing — even if it was a pipe dream — was something that might give you good points to discuss. It would offer you a tangible way to get a feel of what you wanted and did not want and go over any things where you might need to find a compromise and meet in the middle. Having a conversation over your respective priorities sounded like it was in line with your previous agreement to communicate more openly and honestly with each other.

And the idea was wonderfully domestic.

With a few clicks, you navigated to the ad that you had briefly seen on the home page, and couldn’t help smiling just a little at the property’s beauty.

“It looks like it has a soul,” Steve said, his mind clearly in the same place as yours.

“Yeah. It really does. And the location looks like it’s reasonably private,” you continued, looking at the old farm property surrounded by some forest.

You could see your children running around in the grassy yard; you could see Steve with a tool belt on, fixing the fence that had collapsed in places. It brought to your mind a ranch, even as the location in Upstate New York was far away from the Wild West — a large, open floor plan that had a stone fireplace, lots of real wood, and earthy, natural tones. Sure enough, it was in need of some updating, especially the kitchen and the bathrooms, which meant that the price tag to live there would climb even higher than it was to just purchase the property. With the renovations, the total cost would probably be nearly one and a half million dollars.

Money you certainly did not have, and yet, you couldn’t help scrolling down to the information.

“That’s about half an hour away from the AI Campus,” Steve noted.

The Avengers Initiative Compound and the campus that surrounded it — all of which had been built upstate to support the Tower as the number of people on Tony’s payroll grew — held most of AI’s Research functions these days. You filed the fact away almost guiltily since you weren’t supposed to think about that. By the time getting a house was relevant, this house would be long gone from the market. Even if it was a bit of a fixer-upper, it would certainly be snatched away quickly. Especially since it wasn’t that far away from the AI Campus; while there were a lot of housing opportunities there, too, it was probable someone was looking for more peace and quiet.

“That’s true,” you replied. “Looks like the road to it is in alright condition, too.”

“I’d love to have a garage, so I could do some maintenance for my motorcycle,” Steve said, pointing at the two-car garage building on the side. “Preferably without Tony leaning over my shoulder and giving unsolicited advice.”

You laughed, even as the image of Steve working on his bike, his hands all greasy and his sleeves rolled up, certainly made your blood quicken. You would have time for all that, eventually. Now, you needed to reel in your thoughts.

“It’s beautiful, what can I say,” you shrugged — the little you could, since Steve was leaning his jaw on your shoulder as he watched the screen. “But the site’s full of pretty, expensive properties. Drooling over them wasn’t what we came here for.”

Steve made a low humming sound that told you he acknowledged your point but he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. You clicked one more image of the house open, showing a large master bedroom with an ensuite bathroom attached to it. Of course, the images were styled for selling the property, and the bed there wouldn’t come with the house. Still, you could almost see you and Steve among the blue flannel sheets, enjoying a languid breakfast in bed just like you had this morning, as the sun poured in from the windows and the kids were still asleep.

Steve’s fingers slipped in between the buttons of the shirt you were wearing, warm fingertips touching the skin of your stomach in a caress. The bump was still somewhat subtle but definitely there, and it wasn’t long before there was no hiding your pregnant state even with the most carefully crafted clothes.

“Sometimes the best things in life happen without a plan,” Steve murmured, his head turning so that his lips could feather your neck. “Sometimes the universe just thrusts them into your lap and you don’t know how you got so lucky.”

Before you could answer, his hand was moving. He lifted the laptop to the side before opening the bottom buttons of the shirt, so that he could then slide his hand down your stomach. His hand was so big and strong, his other arm caging you gently against his chest — securely, but never imprisoning, never truly infringing on your freedom and your authority.

“And I wasn’t just talking about our Little Star. It’s you, honey; I want to give you the world.”

“Steve,” you breathed, eyes closing as you leaned back, falling bonelessly against his chest when his fingers brushed over your lace-covered mound.

“Shhh, gorgeous,” he whispered. “Just enjoy.”

His hand continued slipping down, caressing over the entirety of the apex of your thighs before he turned his wrist and brushed over the inner side of your thigh instead. You were growing wet for him, your muscles tensing in anticipation; he had learned very quickly how to get you there. Even with that considered, he felt even more intense than before, everything in you burning for him as he continued to slowly touch you everywhere else but where you needed him. Every sensation was pouring in with the intensity of a scorching sun, and you were eager, pliant. The tease of his caress made you clench around nothing in desperation for more, more, more, anything, everything.

“I love you so much,” he said huskily into your ear when he slipped his fingers into your underwear. “You are everything to me.”

Two fingers trailed down your folds, caressing your entrance, and a pleased growl rumbled in Steve’s chest when he felt how wet you were for him. His hips rocked up, his hard length pressing into the soft flesh of your butt — evidence that he was enjoying this just as much as you were. You whined when the pads of his fingertips found your clit and started rubbing lightly. Blindly, you grabbed hold of Steve’s thigh to hold on to something, your nails digging into the firm muscle, and he chuckled.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

Even through the haze that was now clouding your vision, you knew he wasn’t talking just about pleasing you with his touch. You arched for him when the movement between your thighs grew faster, hissing a curse through gritted teeth.

“You’re not playing fair,” you huffed, the moan that followed taking even the tiny bite you had managed to get into the statement right out of it.

“No. I’m playing with the best strategy,” he chuckled onto your earlobe in reply.

You lifted your arm backward, needing to touch more of him, and cupped the back of his neck with your palm. He was solid like a rock behind you, something you could always lean on, no matter where the years and decades that would come took you.

“Steve…”

“Let me give you everything, honey,” he whispered. “Let me make sure you’re safe and sound and happy. It’s not because I think you are weak; it’s because you deserve it all.”

You registered the words; knew them to be the truth. And yet, every cell in your body was vibrating with anticipation when the hand that touched you was bringing you closer and closer to a release. You weren’t quite sure you could survive it; the intensity of it all, the heat of Steve’s body, the words he was speaking, the desperate, tingling pressure building until it felt like you would simply collapse under it.

What was it again that you had been so worried about, had fought so hard against? It fell further and further away as you ascended towards the peak with Steve murmuring dirty praise into your ear, his fingers never yielding.

“Such a good girl; so perfect for me. I love you, beautiful,” Steve rasped against your temple. “I love you more than anything.”

It was that confession that finally tipped you over the edge. The climax that had been building in your core cracked apart like a star finally collapsed into a supernova and exploded in white, fierce light. It scorched over you, making you tremble and whine Steve’s name, and he kept touching you until you were a panting, hazy mess in his arms.

You slid down just a little, only enough to meet Steve’s eyes above you. The devilish smirk on his face was something no one could’ve connected with the pure nature of Captain America, but that was the best part of it — this side of him was yours and yours only. No matter how the press hounded you, you would always have these little pockets of privacy.

As you were still lying on his lap, the way his cock pressed against your body didn’t fly past you — but he wasn’t making a move to roll on top of you and pin you to the bed. Instead, he brought a finger to trail your face just like he had done before; caressing along the jawline and then over your lips, nose, brows in the gentlest of touches. Saving this moment of your languid bliss to his memory, tactile and otherwise.

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I need you to know that,” he murmured.

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered, finding his other hand and squeezing it. “I love you.”

His eyes were dark and hooded, his mouth ever-so-slightly parted, and he could’ve been an angel from a Renaissance artwork. God, how you loved him — it filled your chest until you were almost about to burst from the sheer intensity of it. There was a tightness in your throat, a lump you swallowed past.

“I bet the house is haunted, too,” you said, but the lazy smile on your smile was already betraying the true meaning of your words to Steve.

“Well, I’ve fought aliens, and gods, so a ghost would provide some nice variety,” Steve chuckled.

You grinned as you moved to straddle Steve’s lap and wrap your arms around his neck. The smug expression on his face gave way to an open-mouthed moan when you, as slowly and teasingly as you could, rocked your soaked core against the front of his boxers.

“I’ll email the real estate agent and ask for a showing once we’re done with the more important things,” you said, leaning in for a kiss.