Goddess in Training...

The headlines are brutal:

"ROGERS CAMPAIGN BUILT ON LIES: Captain America's Marriage a Sham"

"AMERICA'S GOLDEN BOY TARNISHED: Steve Rogers Admits to Political Marriage"

"CAPTAIN AMERICA OR CAPTAIN BETRAYAL”

But there are some people are praising the honesty, calling it a refreshing change from typical political marriages - and typical marriages, even, pointing out that a partnership built on shared values from the beginning over sparks or chemistry is a sensible and inspiring approach.

TikTok already has shops selling shirts and stickers that say “Blipped and Back,” people are clipping and posting their takes on parts of the interview, and BookTok is eating it up with many creators asking, “How long until we see the book based on this plot?”

You’ve been on BookTok, and so you know they’re speculating over more than that but aren’t surprised the sordid details weren’t included in the professional briefing.

You're trying to focus on your breakfast, but your mind keeps drifting to the swirling media storm.

You can't help but glance at your phone again, scrolling through the flood of notifications. The mix of support and vitriol is dizzying.

"You might want to put that away for a bit," Bucky suggests gently, noticing your furrowed brow. "It's not going to do you any good to keep reading all that right now."

Steve reaches over, taking your hand in his. "We knew this wasn't going to be easy," he says, his voice steady and reassuring. "But we're in this together, remember?"

You nod, squeezing his hand gratefully. "I know. It's just one thing to know it in theory and another to see it all playing out in real-time."

Just then, Jake enters the cabin, his face serious. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a situation developing."

Sophia, Lisa, and Sam enter swiftly right behind him.

Your stomach drops as you brace yourself for more bad news. "What is it?"

Jake grabs the remote from the side table and turns on the large flat-screen TV mounted on the cabin wall. The Fox News logo flashes across the screen as the sound comes to life.

"...and that's why this revelation about the Rogers' marriage is so troubling," a stern-faced commentator is saying. "It calls into question everything we thought we knew about Steve Rogers and his values."

Your heart races as you glance at Steve, whose jaw is clenched tight. Bucky leans forward, his eyes narrowed at the screen.

Another panelist, a woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair, nods in agreement. "Absolutely, John. And let's not forget their non-answer about having children. When Oprah asked about their plans for a family, Mrs. Rogers was notably evasive." She refers to you as ‘Mrs. Rogers’ with so much sarcasm it’s mortifying.

The first commentator, John, picks things right back up. "Speaking of which, we may have an answer to whether or not Mrs. Rogers wants children from some information sent to us this morning."

Your heart stops as the first image fills the screen.

The woman continues, her voice dripping with sensationalism, "Our sources have provided us with some shocking photos that seem to show Mrs. Rogers entering a Planned Parenthood clinic from two years ago. And as you can see in these images, she appears to be visibly pregnant - probably five or six months along.”

The screen splits to show a second photo - the same woman, a slightly different angle - entering the clinic, and you don’t even know how to react because these images are such high quality you would believe they were real.

"According to our anonymous source," John jumps in eagerly, "Mrs. Rogers was there to terminate the pregnancy. If true, this raises serious questions about the Rogers' values and their fitness for the White House."

“We reached out to this Planned Parenthood clinic for comment, but they would only confirm that Mrs. Rogers had been a patient there.”

“That’s enough,” Steve nearly growls, and Jake mutes the screen.

The cabin falls silent, the tension palpable. You feel like you can't breathe, your mind reeling from the accusations being hurled at you on national television. Steve's hand tightens almost painfully around yours, but you don’t protest because you’re clutching it like a lifeline.

Jake turns to face the group, his expression grim. "I know we're all shocked by this, but we need to address it head-on. We've got to get ahead of this story before it spirals out of control. We've all read the opposition research file on you," he says, gesturing to the team. "There's no record of any pregnancy or abortion in your past, and I won’t judge you either way, but did you ev-"

“Wait a minute, Jake.”

It’s Sophia who takes a step forward, her voice sharp as she says, “She shouldn’t have to answer that question to us or anyone else, period. With the negative coverage that has reared its head since last night, the bulk of it is not being directed at Steve. The fire and the big guns are being directed straight at the woman in the situation - which is unsurprising, but ridiculously unfair.”

Your eyes burn and your throat aches as tears threaten to burst out of you, but you fight to keep them in. You’re gutted by what you’ve just seen on tv, angry at the reality Sophia has pointed out, but also moved by her fierce defense of you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. "Sophia's right. I shouldn't have to answer that question. But I will, because I want there to be no doubt." You look each person in the eye as you continue, "I have never been pregnant. I have never had an abortion. Those photos are fake."

Steve's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close. "We need to shut this down immediately," he says, his voice tight with barely contained anger.

“There will be no shutting this down completely; it’s out there,” Jake counters, already typing furiously on his phone. "But we do have a press corps traveling with us who are going to want statements as soon as possible. I suggest you make them as soon as possible as it’s the most powerful option available to you to have any voice in the direction this narrative will go.”

Jake turns to you directly, and his voice softens. “Sophia was right to check me,” and at this he glances at your assistant. “I’m not going to step back, but I want to step right in line behind you and have you work directly with Lisa on what you want to say now that we’re stepping into this arena. You have a lot of power in this moment to direct the attention of this situation. And I think we all know this man,” he nods at Steve, “will back whatever you choose.”

You take a deep breath, trying to center yourself amidst the chaos swirling around you. The weight of the moment settles on your shoulders, but you feel Steve's steadying presence beside you and draw strength from it.

"Thank you, Jake," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "And thank you, Sophia." You lock eyes with your assistant, conveying your gratitude for her fierce defense.

Turning to Lisa, you nod. "Let's draft a statement. I want to be clear and direct."

Lisa sits and pulls out her laptop, ready to take notes. "What key points do you want to hit?"

You consider for another moment, then begin, "First and foremost, I want to set the record straight. Those photos are fake - but rather than saying I’ve never had an abortion, I only want to say I’ve never been pregnant. A woman’s reproductive choices are her own, and I don’t want to elevate or disparage whether or not a woman has been or wants to be pregnant, nor whether or not she’s had or wanted to have an abortion. They’re all deeply personal choices and can change over the course of a woman’s life.

"Second, I want to confirm that I was indeed a patient at Planned Parenthood, as the report stated. But I want to use this as an opportunity to educate people about the wide range of essential health services they provide," you continue, your voice growing stronger as you speak.

“This is an excellent start,” Lisa affirms, her fingers flying across the keyboard of the laptop screen as she types. “We can tie into Steve’s healthcare plans with this, too,” Lisa says.

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing at the front of the press cabin, addressing the reporters, podcasters, and bloggers with Lisa and Steve standing just off to the side of you. After making your first point that you’ve never been pregnant and that any choice about whether or not to have children is deeply personal and can change over the course of time, you move into expanding on the value of Planned Parenthood clinics since you know they’re often misunderstood, misrepresented, and that they provide beneficial services some don’t even know about.

"When I was in college, working part-time and struggling to make ends meet, Planned Parenthood was there for me. They provided me with affordable, compassionate care when I needed it most."

You pause, glancing around the cabin before continuing. "I received my annual well-woman exams there, including pap smears and breast cancer screenings. They provided me with birth control and counseling on reproductive health. Planned Parenthood has been a crucial healthcare provider for me and millions of other women, especially those who are uninsured or underinsured.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of every word. "These clinics offer vital services beyond what many people realize - STI testing and treatment, prenatal care, and even primary care and mental health care services in some locations. They are often the only source of healthcare for many women in underserved communities."

A reporter raises her hand, and you nod for her to speak.

"Mrs. Rogers, how do you respond to critics who may say your support of Planned Parenthood conflicts with traditional family values?"

You meet her gaze steadily. "I believe that supporting women's health and reproductive rights is entirely consistent with family values. Healthy women build healthy families. Access to comprehensive healthcare, including family planning services, empowers women to make the best choices for themselves and their families."

"As for the doctored images being circulated," you continue, your voice growing firmer, "they are a blatant attempt to mislead the American people and distract from the real issues at hand. This kind of dirty politics has no place in our democracy. We should be focusing on healthcare reform, economic policies, education, climate change, and how we can build a stronger country.”

As you finish your statement, a flurry of hands shoot up, reporters eager to ask follow-up questions. You field a few more, your responses growing more confident with each answer. The cabin buzzes with the rapid-fire clicks of laptop keys and the occasional flash of a camera.

After about ten minutes, Lisa steps forward, gently touching your elbow. "Thank you all for your time," she addresses the press corps. "We'll be releasing a full statement shortly with additional details."

As you turn to leave, you catch sight of a young woman in the back, her press badge identifying her as a reporter for a small Midwestern paper. She's not raising her hand or shouting questions like the others, but there's an intensity in her gaze that catches your attention. You make a mental note to speak with her later, sensing there might be a story there.

Steve's hand finds the small of your back, following you back to the staff area of the plane, and the buzz of excited chatter from the press corps fades behind you as the door closes.

Back in the relative quiet of the staff cabin, you let out a long breath, feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb away. This cabin, usually a hive of activity, seems almost serene now as some of the staff move around, working on the transcript of your press statement and the questions you fielded, jumping on social media, preparing for the events you’re all headed to once you hit the ground in Tucson.

“You did well,” Jake says.

You glance at Jake, grateful for the praise but still feeling the weight of the situation. "Thanks, but this is far from over, isn't it?"

Jake shakes his head. "You’re right. But you've given us a solid foundation to build on. Your statements were clear, compassionate, and hit all the right notes. We can work with this."

Steve, who's been uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks up. "I'm proud of you," he says, his voice low and intense. "You handled that with grace and strength. But I can't help feeling responsible for putting you in this position."

You turn to him, seeing the guilt etched on his face. "Steve, we're in this together, remember? We knew there would be challenges. This is just... a bigger one than we anticipated."

Bucky, who's been watching the whole scene unfold, chimes in. He hesitates for a moment before speaking. "I was just thinking this might be an opportunity to do more than just defend ourselves. We could use this to push the conversation forward."

Jake nods thoughtfully. "Bucky’s right. It’s like I said earlier, we've got the nation's attention right now. What do you want to do with it?"

You consider for a moment, then turn to Lisa. "Can we set up a series of interviews and speaking engagements focused on women’s health and the lack of comprehensive knowledge and education? The US has one of the worst - if not the worst - maternal mortality rate among developed nations in the world, if I’m remembering correctly.”

You turn to Sophia. “You’ve been mentioning that I should be thinking about one or two causes I want to truly champion if I were to be elected. Looks like I’m locking in on one for sure.”

Steve pulls you into a tight embrace. "You are incredible," he murmurs into your hair. "Thank you for being so strong."

You burrow into him for a moment. His praise and reassurance bolster you in the moment, but you feel the tightrope you’re walking on getting higher and higher. You can only hope you won’t fall.

Once you pull away from Steve's embrace, you notice his gaze shift over your shoulder. His brow furrows slightly, and you turn to follow his line of sight. In the corner of the cabin, Bucky and Jake have their heads close together, engaged in an intense, hushed conversation. Their expressions are grave, and Bucky's metal arm whirs softly as he gesticulates, emphasizing whatever point he's making.

Steve clears his throat. "Hey, you two," he calls out, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern. "What are you two strategizing?"

Bucky and Jake exchange a quick glance before Bucky straightens up, his steel-blue eyes meeting Steve's. "We were just discussing the photos," he says, his voice low and determined. "I want to see if I can track down the source."

The cabin seems to grow quieter, as Bucky continues. “Somebody doctored them, and they doctored them for a reason.”

Jake nods, his expression serious. "Bucky thinks he might be able to trace the origin of those photos. I’d like to know who we’re dealing with - they aren’t amateurs, and I doubt they’re officially on the campaign team of either of your opponents, but they have an agenda, and I want to get ahead of it."

"Is it even possible?” you ask. “And is it legal?"

Bucky's lips quirk into a small, wry smile. "I have some unique skills from my past that might come in handy. As for legal... well, I won’t cross any actual lines."

Steve looks conflicted, running a hand over his beard. "I don't know, Buck. We can't afford any more scandals right now."

"Which is exactly why we need to get ahead of this," Bucky argues. "If we can find out who's behind the root, we can potentially stop them before they escalate further."

Steve's jaw clenches as he mulls it over. "What exactly did you have in mind, Buck?"

"I've got some contacts from my previous line of work. They can trace the digital footprint of those images, maybe even identify the software used to create them. It's all above board, I promise."

You and Steve exchange a long look, a silent conversation passing between you. The weight of the decision hangs in the air, but after a moment, you both nod almost imperceptibly.

Steve turns back to Bucky, his voice low but resolute. "Alright, Buck. Go ahead. But tread carefully. We're walking a fine line here."

Bucky's face is set with determination. "I'll be discreet."

Bucky pulls out his phone and steps into the private cabin to make some calls.

Steve steps across the cabin to where Sophia is conferring with Lisa, their heads bent over a tablet as they likely discuss the upcoming schedule adjustments.

“There’s a Fox News reporter on the plane in our press group right now, isn’t there?” Steve asks Lisa. “I want him out as soon as we land,” Steve declares, his anger dialed back, but still palpable.

“Yes,” Lisa confirms, “Ryan Jackson. But he’s been a reasonably fair advocate for coverage of your campaign up to this point, and he’s actually the one who tipped us off about this before it went live, said his producer gave him an advance about ten minutes before with the instructions to get a response from you.”

Steve's brow furrows as he processes this information. "He tipped us off? Why would he do that?"

Lisa shrugs. "Not everyone at Fox agrees with their editorial stance. Some journalists there are just reasonable conservatives who still believe in fair reporting."

You step closer, joining the conversation. "If he's willing to give us a heads up, he might be an valuable ally."

Steve looks at you, his expression softening slightly. "You're right. I let my anger rush my judgment." He turns back to Lisa. "Can you arrange a private conversation with Ryan once we land? I'd like to thank him personally for the warning."

Lisa nods, making a note on her tablet. "I'll set it up."

You take a seat next to Sophia so you can weigh in if they need you, and Steve crosses back over to talk to Jake. The initial flurry of activity in the campaign cabin has settled into a focused hum, with staff members working diligently at their laptops or speaking in hushed tones on their phones. The plane's engines provide a steady background noise, a constant reminder of your journey towards Tucson and the challenges that awaits, and you try and steel yourself for what’s coming.

[OCTOBER 12 - TUCSON, ARIZONA]

You’ve often felt like days on the campaign trail are equal to three or four days of real life, but by the time you get to the hotel that night, you feel like you’ve lived a full week in this day from hell. The fake photos, the impromptu press conference, the endless strategizing throughout the day in pockets between the campaign events that had already been scheduled, and more interaction with the press corps - and public - as the day unfolded all blend together in an exhausting blur.

Two notable developments changed the trajectory of the day, as well. Once you hit the afternoon and had been asked some of the same judgmental questions - that would never have been asked to a man - you had shot back with your disappointment that once again, double standards were at play. “Beyond fake photos,” you had said, “this is just another display of how women in politics are treated, especially when they dare to challenge the status quo. Shots are fired at women because we’re not given equal footing with men - we’re viewed as expendable targets in a continual hunting season."

That had rattled a lot of cages and been received as a battle cry, as well.

And around dinnertime, Bucky had come back with confirmed evidence that the doctored photos had been given to Fox News by the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today* (CSFAT). He had not discovered yet who gave the photos to CSFAT, but their staff had bypassed checking their validity and wanted to get the word about you out immediately. And though the Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today hadn’t worked with their campaign staff at all, CSFAT - as it turned out - were huge contributors to the Republican candidate’s campaign.

Bucky was still working to find out who had created the images and given them to CSFAT.

But Lisa had worked used her superpowers to masterfully reveal Fox News’ source and suggest further commentary and investigation of the matter.

After that final briefing with the press, there had been a meeting to debrief the day and strategize for tomorrow, and then you had quickly and quietly snuck away as quickly as you possibly could and escaped to your room, desperate to get away from everyone and from the nightmare of the day.

But you had only dropped your phone onto the small coffee table in your room when there was a knock on your door.

You shut your eyes your shoulders slump. The last thing you want to do is answer that door.

But after another few moments of your reticence, whoever’s on the other side knocks again, and you know instinctively they’re not going away before they talk to you.

You drag yourself to the door, steeling yourself for another round of strategy or crisis management. But when you open it, you find Steve standing there, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. His face is etched with concern, the worry lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual.

"Hey," he says softly, his blue eyes searching yours. "Can I come in?"

You nod, stepping aside to let him enter.

Steve moves into the room, his gaze taking in the untouched bed, your jacket tossed haphazardly over a chair, the room service menu lying unopened on the nightstand. He turns back to you, his expression softening.

"You haven't eaten, have you?"

You shake your head, suddenly realizing how hungry you are. "No, I… I guess I forgot."

Steve's brow furrows with even more concern. "Let me order something for you," he says, reaching for the room service menu.

"Steve, you don't have to—" you start to protest, but he cuts you off gently.

"I want to," he insists. "You need to eat. And... I thought maybe we could talk. If you're up for it."

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. "Okay," you agree softly.

“Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll order us some dinner.”

You nod, grab your bag, and Steve is already picking up the phone as you step into the bathroom.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, comfy in a pair of silk pajamas, you find Steve sitting in the armchair by the couch. He's shed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, looking more relaxed than he has all day. The room service cart is beside him, covered dishes waiting.

"Feel better?" he asks, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You nod, managing a small smile in return. "A little, yeah. Thanks."

You sink onto the couch, feeling the full weight of exhaustion from the day. Steve stands and moves to the cart. He passes you a set of utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin, a drink, which you set on the end table next to you, and then finally a plate of food that makes you gasp.

“How did you know?” you ask, smiling up at him.

“That it’s your favorite? I pay attention,” he answers simply.

Steve sits beside you with his own plate, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

The two of you eat and talk - though only a little bit, as it’s evident you were both incredibly hungry. But once you’re both done, plates are set aside, and Steve shifts, angling himself to face you better, and you do the same, tucking your legs up to be more comfortable.

"How are you holding up?" he asks softly.

You let out a long sigh. "Honestly? I'm not sure. It feels like we're in the eye of a hurricane, and I have no idea what's coming next."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "I know. It's been one hell of a day."

Steve reaches for your hand, enveloping it in his much larger one. His touch is warm and comforting.

"You've been beyond incredible," he says, his voice low and earnest. "The way you handled everything today - the press conference, the interviews, the constant barrage of questions - it was nothing short of remarkable."

His thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand as he continues, and you look up into his blue eyes, which are locked on yours. "Your strength, your composure, your eloquence - it's been awe-inspiring. You didn't just weather the storm; you stood up to it and turned it into something powerful."

Steve's words, filled with such genuine admiration and unwavering support, begin to chip away at the walls you've built up throughout the day. The compassion in his eyes, the absolute confidence in his voice - it hits you like the sun, and it’s warm and powerful, but after the day you’ve had, wearing a brave face of poise and power that took more strength than you even thought you had, it’s too much.

Your breath hitches, and before you can stop it, a sob escapes your lips. Tears spring to your eyes, blurring your vision as they spill down your cheeks. Your shoulders shake as you try to hold back the flood, but it's no use. The weight of the day, the constant scrutiny, the vicious attacks - it all comes crashing down on you at once.

"I'm sorry," you choke out between sobs, "I didn't mean to-"

But Steve doesn't let you finish. He pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. One of his hands moves to stroke your hair while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. "Shh," he murmurs, "You don't have to apologize. Let it out. I've got you."

And with those words, the floodgates truly open. You cry for what feels like hours, your tears soaking into Steve's shirt. Steve holds you through it all, his strong arms a protective barrier against the world.

As your tears begin to subside, replaced by hiccupping breaths, you realize this has been the hardest day of your life.

When you came back from the Blip to find Jeff had moved on, it had been devastating. But that pain was private, shared only with those closest to you. You could grieve in the safety of your own home, away from prying eyes and judgmental whispers. And you also weren't alone in the world - millions of others were going through the similar losses, a shared trauma that bonded you all together.

But this? This was different. This was a targeted attack, aimed squarely at you, broadcast to the entire world. Your name, your face, your most personal choices - real or fabricated - were splashed across every screen, dissected not only by the media but the millions and millions of people with access to the internet and had decided to commentate as well.

You pull back slightly, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you say again, your voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

Steve gently cups your face, his thumbs brushing away the remaining tears. "You have nothing to apologize for. You're human," he corrects softly. "And you've been through hell today. You're allowed to break down."

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "I knew it would be hard, but I didn't expect this. The lies, the scrutiny, the judgment. It feels like the whole world is watching, waiting for mistakes."

Steve nods, his expression somber. "I know. And I'm sorry. I never wanted to put you through this."

You shake your head. "No, Steve. This isn't your fault. We're in this together, remember?"

He smiles softly at you. “And you’ve been so strong through everything - not just today, but every day since I met you.”

You feel a sudden rush of emotions, as if the floodgates have opened. The dam that held back your fears and insecurities has finally broken, and everything comes pouring out at once.

"I've been trying so hard to be strong," you whisper, your voice trembling. "To be the person you need me to be. The person America needs me to be. But sometimes, I feel like I'm barely treading water. Tonight, I feel like I’m drowning."

Steve's brow furrows in concern, but you continue before he can speak.

"You're Captain America, Steve. You're a hero, a legend. And I'm just... me. I worry constantly that I'm not good enough, that I'm going to let you down somehow."

Steve's arms tighten around you, and you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. It's comforting, grounding you in the midst of your emotional storm.

“You could never disappoint me,” he says quietly, but with a fervent power that seeps into you. “You may not see it yet, but I see how people look at you. With such hope, such admiration, because you’re so real to them. I got a super soldier serum that changed my life. You showed up in your life every day and worked hard and built relationships - people see that and they resonate with that. They could do it, because you could - because you are.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, Steve's words sinking in. The sincerity in his voice is palpable, and you find yourself clinging to it like a lifeline.

"I just... I don't want to let anyone down," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Especially not you."

Steve pulls back slightly, his hands moving to cup your face. His blue eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering. "Listen to me," he says, his voice low and firm. "You could never let me down. Ever. You've already exceeded every expectation I could have had."

He pauses, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "When we started this, I thought I was just getting a partner to help me navigate the political landscape. But you've become so much more than that. You're my rock, my compass. You keep me grounded when everything is moving a thousand miles an hour around us.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders start to ease, your breathing becoming steadier.

"You're not just keeping up," Steve continues, his voice soft but intense. "You're leading the way in so many aspects. The way you've handled yourself, the causes you've chosen to champion, the connections you've made with people - it's all been incredible to watch."

You take a shaky breath, feeling overwhelmed by his praise. "I'm just trying to do what's right," you murmur.

Steve smiles softly. "And that's exactly why you're perfect for this. Your moral compass, your compassion, your determination to make things better - that's what this country needs. That's what I need."

You surge close to him again, but this time wrapping your arms around his neck. He returns your embrace, his strong arms surround you completely, holding you firmly to him.

You stay in Steve's embrace for a long moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. His warmth and strength envelop you, providing a sense of safety and comfort you didn't realize you desperately needed. For the last three years, you’ve done life on your own, and you’re strong and independent and more than capable. But to be held, and in being held have someone hold part of the emotional battle with you… you didn’t know how much you needed that.

When you finally pull back, you meet Steve's gaze. His blue eyes are filled with concern, but also with something else - a warmth and tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you say softly. "For everything. For being here, for listening, for... for just being you."

Steve's lips curve into a gentle smile. "Always," he replies, his voice low and sincere. "We're in this together, remember?"

You nod, managing a small smile in return. "I do."

A comfortable silence falls between you, and you find yourself studying Steve's face. The worry lines around his eyes have softened, but you can still see the concern etched in his features. It strikes you how much he's been carrying too.

"Steve," you say softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. "How are you holding up through all of this?"

He lets out a long breath, leaning into your touch. "I'm alright," he says after a moment. "It's not easy, seeing you go through this. Knowing that my choices, my campaign, have put you in this position."

You shake your head. "We've been over this. It was my choice too."

"I know," he sighs. "But that doesn't make it any easier to watch. And then there's the constant pressure, the scrutiny. I do still wonder if I'm cut out for this. Fighting Thanos almost seems simpler in comparison."

You can't help but let out a small laugh at that, and Steve's lips quirk up in response.

"At least with Thanos, the enemy was clear," he continues. "Here, my opponents aren’t my enemies, but they have enemies attached to them - like we saw today.” He runs a hand over his beard, before he continues. "I've been in the public eye for a long time, but this is different. More personal. And I hate that today you're bearing the brunt of it."

You reach out, taking his hand in yours. "We're in this together, remember?" you echo his words back to him, squeezing his hand gently.

Steve smiles softly, squeezing your hand in return. "We are."

For a moment, you both sit quietly, the weight of the day settling around you but softer and lighter now that it’s shared between you. The room feels like a sanctuary, a quiet bubble away from the chaos of the campaign trail.

"You know," Steve says after a while, his voice thoughtful, "I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About feeling like you're drowning sometimes."

You look up at him, curious.

"I want you to know that it's okay to feel that way," he continues. "This isn't easy, and I want you to know that I see your strength, even when you don't."

His blue eyes lock onto yours, intense and sincere. "You've faced every challenge head-on and your support has sustained to me than you know on days when I’ve quietly doubted myself, too.”

The sincerity in his voice, the intensity of his gaze - it's almost overwhelming. You've spent so much time focusing on being strong for him, for the campaign, that you hadn't realized how much you needed to hear those words.

"Thank you," you say softly, your voice thick with emotion. "That means more than you know."

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I meant every word."

Steve's hand reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingers, and you find yourself leaning into it almost instinctively. And then you yawn.

He laughs softly. “Come on, it’s late. Let’s get you to bed,” he says, and stands, scooping you up in his arms bridal style. You hold on around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder for the short walk into the bedroom area of your small suite.

Steve carries you to the bed, his strong arms cradling you gently. He sets you down carefully on the plush mattress, the soft sheets cool against your skin.

With tender care, Steve pulls the covers up over you, tucking them snugly around your shoulders. His movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's savoring each moment. Your eyes are drooping closed, but you still notice the way the lamp on the bedside table casts a warm, golden glow across the room, softening the angles of Steve's face as he leans over you.

He brushes the hair from your forehead, his touch feather-light. Then, with infinite gentleness, he presses a soft kiss to your brow. His lips linger for a moment, warm and comforting against your skin. Then he places another soft but quick kiss to your cheek, and murmurs, “Goodnight,” as he pulls away.

“Mmm, stay?” you mumble in reply, reaching for him.

Steve hesitates for a moment, his fingers curling softly around yours. You can almost see the internal debate playing out behind his eyes. But then his expression softens, and he nods, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Alright," he says softly, "I'll stay."

You hear the soft thud of his shoes hitting the carpet, followed by the rustle of fabric as he removes his dress shirt and slacks, leaving him in only a simple white undershirt and his boxers.

He turns off the lamp next to you, then moves around to the other side of the room. The mattress dips slightly as he slips under the covers behind you. You can feel the warmth of his body immediately radiating through the thin fabric of your silk pajamas.

Steve's arm drapes over your waist, pulling you gently back against his chest. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, a soothing rhythm that begins to lull you towards sleep. The cotton of his undershirt is soft, the scent of him so comforting.

Outside, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren serve as a reminder of the world beyond this room, but here, in this moment, it all feels far away.

Steve's breathing evens out behind you, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against your back. His arm is a comforting weight around your waist, his hand splayed protectively over your stomach. You can feel the calluses on his palm, testament to years of fighting and sacrifice, now a source of gentle comfort.

As you drift off to sleep in Steve’s arms, you know everything is far from fixed, but the chaos of the day fades enough, replaced at least for the night by a sense of peace and security you haven't felt in a long, long time.

next part: coming 1/3

Thoughts? Feelings?

I had said there were only going to be 12 chapters, but I think we might need to push it to 13, if there are no complaints...

*The "Coalition for Strengthening the Families of America Today" is a name that I made up - or at least I tried to! I Googled just to make sure I didn't use the name of a group that already exists.

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