𝓐𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮

Waking up felt strange. Not wrong—just unfamiliar.

You became aware of it in pieces. The angle first—you were not lying down. Then the warmth, steady and close, something your sheets had never managed to replicate.

When you blinked the sleep from your eyes, the reality settled in.

You were still in Steve’s arms. Still on his lap. Both of you still in the bed.

Heat crept up your neck immediately. You forced it back down just as quickly, burying the reaction before it could surface anywhere visible.

Instead, you watched him.

His features were relaxed in a way you had not seen before, the usual tension gone. A lock of hair had fallen loose, resting against his forehead, out of place in a way that felt… human.

You did not move. Could not quite bring yourself to.

The quiet was too steady. Too comfortable.

You let it hold a little longer.

After a few minutes, his breathing shifted. Subtle, but enough. His eyes fluttered, the edges of wakefulness catching up with him.

You let your own follow a second later, feigning the same slow return.

Steve did not call it out. Of course he did not.

When your eyes met, he gave you a small, easy smile—nothing heavy, nothing questioning. Just acknowledgment.

Without making it awkward, without shifting the moment into something it did not need to be, he helped you to your feet before standing himself, rolling his shoulders out as he stretched.

A brief squeeze to your shoulder—grounding, familiar—then he stepped out into the hall toward his room.

A few minutes later, you both emerged again, falling into step without discussion. Side by side.

Kitchen first. Coffee. Then the common room.

You took the couch together without thinking about it.

Steve settled near the middle, already opening another book from his list. You dropped into the corner, back against the armrest, feet coming up automatically—into his lap.

He did not react. Just adjusted slightly, one hand settling around your ankle like it belonged there.

You focused on your tablet, scrolling through data, posture relaxed but attention sharp.

Every so often, his thumb moved—absently tracing back and forth against your ankle, slow and unthinking.

That is how Sam found you.

He walked in with his coffee, took one look at the two of you, and stopped.

Steve glanced up at the sound of his footsteps.

You did not. But you noticed him anyway.

Sam’s eyebrow lifted as he took in the full picture—the proximity, the ease, the complete lack of self-consciousness.

He stood there for a second, just… processing. Then he moved, dropping onto the opposite couch, still watching.

Steve met his look evenly. Raised a brow in return.

Sam smirked. “…we’re gonna talk about this.”

Steve rolled his eyes and went back to his book, turning the page like nothing had happened.

You kept scrolling, never looking up.

Steve’s thumb brushed lightly along your ankle again.

Sam just shook his head, deeply, thoroughly amused.

As usual, Tony was already in the lab, surrounded by a halo of glowing screens as he worked his way through the intel. The schematics you had given him hovered front and center, broken apart and reassembled in a dozen different configurations. He understood what the machine did now—its function, its reach—but the end result still eluded him. Not for lack of trying.

You stepped in quietly, drawn more by the movement of the data than anything else, and crossed the room without announcing yourself. Coming up just behind him, you leaned slightly to look over his shoulder, eyes tracking the shifting lines of code and structure.

Before you could say anything, he spoke.

“If they’re this loud, they’re compensating.”

You did not answer. You did not need to.

Behind you, the others filtered in one by one, filling the space in that unspoken way they had fallen into—no announcements, no questions. Just presence. They took seats, leaned against walls, settled into place, all of them waiting without interrupting the flow of Tony’s thoughts.

He finally turned, giving you a long, assessing look before his mouth twisted slightly.

“Also—we’re retiring ‘Copycat.’” He waved a hand through the air as if physically dismissing it. “Because now it’s just creepy. I don’t do creepy.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth, and he caught it, huffing under his breath.

FRIDAY cut in immediately, her voice calm and even. “I have been using ‘Ms. Rogers.’”

Tony did not miss a beat. “Yeah, no—stop that.”

“It is accurate.”

He set his hands on his hips, already annoyed. “It’s weird. I also don’t do weird.”

“You are the only one who finds it objectionable.”

Tony gestured broadly at the room, at everyone present—including you. “I guarantee I’m not.”

No one backed him up. Not even Natasha.

Sam, clearly entertained—especially after what he had walked in on earlier—leaned forward slightly. “I don’t hate it.”

Bucky followed just as easily, giving a small shrug. “Fits.”

Tony turned on them with a glare before looking toward Thor, then Steve, like he was hoping someone—anyone—would step in on his side. Thor only shrugged, unconcerned, and Steve, fighting the edge of a smile, said nothing at all.

Tony let out a sharp breath, thoroughly outnumbered. Then he looked back at you, decision made.

“Fine. Cipher.”

FRIDAY answered immediately, “Accepted.”

Tony closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “…I regret everything.”

“I will continue to use Ms. Rogers,” FRIDAY added, just as calm as before.

Tony snapped his head toward the nearest screen like it had personally offended him, and behind him the room broke into quiet laughter—including you.

He dragged a hand through his hair and turned back to the displays, forcing himself forward. “Alright. Enough.” His hand flicked toward the schematics. “So what’s the actual play here?”

You stepped away from where you had been standing behind him, drifting instead toward the window where Steve had settled. Falling into place beside him without thought, you leaned back against the glass and crossed your arms.

“Control.”

Tony clicked his tongue, irritation already back. “Be less vague.”

“Information flow. Narrative control. Decision shaping at scale.”

That got his attention. He turned back to the screens, eyes moving faster now as the pieces aligned. “They don’t need power if they control perception.”

“Correct.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you again. “So why target Spangles?”

You took a breath, slow and deliberate, then let it out. “He’s the lynchpin.” The word settled into the room before you continued. “Remove him, the system destabilizes.”

Tony frowned, looking between you and Steve. “You’re saying this doesn’t work without him?”

You shook your head once. “No. You unravel him.” A slight shift of your weight, your gaze steady. “The heart gets ripped out.”

The imagery landed harder than the explanation. The room went still around it, no one arguing the point.

Tony studied you for a second longer, something clicking into place behind his eyes. Then he narrowed them slightly.

“Did you seriously pull a reverse Vader on Cap?”

You just smiled.

Beside you, Steve dropped his gaze with a quiet shake of his head.

Tony turned back to the screens, rolling his eyes as he went. “Oh, I hate that I love that.”

After a few more strategy details are exchanged, the group begins to break apart, drifting out of the lab in twos and threes.

You linger just long enough to lean back over one of Tony’s consoles, slipping in a quick line of code—nothing disruptive, just enough to make him notice later.

He does, almost immediately.

“—hey—”

You’re already stepping away by the time he turns, and he waves you off with an exasperated flick of his hand. “Out. Go. Stop touching my stuff.”

You do not bother responding.

Natasha exits at the same time you do, and for a few steps the two of you move down the hallway together, your pace naturally aligning without discussion.

The quiet between you is not uncomfortable—just observant.

Mid-stride, she stops.

You take one more step before noticing, then turn back to face her.

Her eyes settle on you, steady and precise. “You didn’t break.”

You tilt your head slightly. “No.”

She studies your face, not searching for weakness—just confirming what she already suspects. “You could have.”

Your gaze drifts away for a moment, considering it—not defensively, just honestly. “Yes.”

She takes a step closer, closing the space between you just enough to shift the weight of the conversation. “Why didn’t you?”

You meet her eyes again, your voice even. “Because they expected me to.”

Something in her expression shifts—subtle, but there. The closest thing she gives to approval. “Good.”

She does not linger.

Just steps past you and continues down the hall, leaving you where you stand.

You watch her go for a moment, the quiet settling again—but lighter now than it was before.

A few hours later, you are out in the yard with a mat under your feet, moving through a slow, deliberate routine meant more to quiet your mind than work your body.

The air is still, the kind of calm that settles in after everything else has burned off, and for a while there is nothing but your breathing and the measured rhythm of movement.

You hear footsteps in the grass behind you.

Heavy, but unhurried.

Without breaking pace, you shift into a wide stance and fold forward, hands reaching the mat as your world tilts upside down—

—and find Thor standing directly behind you.

You pause for half a second, surprised.

Then you roll back up slowly, vertebra by vertebra, and turn to face him.

He studies you for a moment, quiet in a way that feels intentional rather than uncertain. “I misjudged you.”

You give a small shrug, like it does not carry much weight. “Easy to do.”

A faint smile touches his expression, something softer than his usual certainty. “You are not like my brother.”

You take that in, considering it without reacting immediately. “No.”

Thor nods once, then glances up toward the sky, as if expecting to find Loki there—or remembering him there. “He chose himself.”

His gaze returns to you, steady and thoughtful. “You are choosing differently.”

A hint of a smile curves at your mouth, something almost coy as you turn back toward your mat, easing into the next position like the conversation does not require more from you. “For now.”

Thor lets out a quiet hum—amused, but not dismissive—and turns back toward the compound.

He leaves you to your routine.

You continue your movements, slower now, the rhythm easier to settle into than before.

With the new intel pulled from the last cache and cross-referenced through Tony’s systems, the next target presents itself as something almost refreshingly simple. A smaller Hydra outpost. Minimal traffic. No heavy defenses flagged.

A quiet job.

Tony stays in the quinjet, running the operation through comms, while Thor remains back at the compound—this one does not call for overwhelming force. Just precision.

You drop in with the others under the cover of low light, boots hitting the ground soft against the packed dirt. There is no aerial resistance, so Sam lands with you, folding his wings in as he scans ahead.

The formation comes together without discussion.

You and Steve move first, naturally falling into step side by side, Bucky just behind and slightly offset, close enough to support either of you without getting in the way. Across the yard, Natasha peels off with Sam, the two of them disappearing along the opposite approach.

The perimeter guards do not last long.

You move through them quietly, efficiently, each takedown clean and controlled. When one of them gets too close, you step in, catching him from behind and locking him into a chokehold. He struggles for a few seconds—just long enough to confirm he is not getting out of it—before going slack.

You release him immediately, letting him drop to the ground instead of holding longer.

Bucky sees it.

He does not say anything, but there is a brief nod as he moves past you, acknowledgment without commentary.

The two teams converge at the inner offices, breaching from opposite sides at the same time.

Inside, analysts scramble, commands snapping through the air as two Hydra officers try to regain control of a situation already slipping out of their hands.

What follows is not messy—but it is not quiet either.

It is controlled chaos.

The room fractures into motion.

Steve drives forward, shield cutting through space with practiced precision, clearing a path as you move with him, your timing aligning without thought. Bucky pivots off your flank, intercepting anything that gets too close, his movements sharper now that he does not have to compensate for you.

Across the room, Sam drops in and out of the air in short bursts, keeping pressure on one of the commanders while Natasha threads through the space between bodies, dismantling resistance with efficient, economical strikes.

In the middle of it all, something catches your attention.

A flash of metal—small, out of place—clipped to the inside of a commander’s belt.

Not standard issue. Not for this level.

You move through the space without breaking rhythm, slipping past a strike, redirecting another, and as you pass the commander you do not slow—just reach, unclip the object, and pocket it in one smooth motion before continuing on to intercept an analyst trying to flee.

Tony’s voice cuts in over comms almost immediately. “Cipher, did you just—”

You duck under a swing, pivoting to knock the attacker off balance before answering. “Yes.”

There’s a beat of static, then—

“We were not—”

You drop another opponent cleanly, barely sparing him a glance as he hits the floor.

“It’s useful,” you reply evenly. “Biometric cipher token. Command-level access.”

That makes Tony pause.

Across the room, Sam glances over mid-fight, still grappling with one of the officers.

“…I kinda love it,” he calls, half-laughing as he knocks the man back.

Bucky huffs something close to a laugh as he turns through another strike, metal arm catching and redirecting it with ease. “Told you.”

Even Steve spares you a quick look in the middle of it, something amused flickering through his focus before he turns back to the next threat. Natasha does no comment, but there is a brief tilt of her head as she clocks it—approval filed, nothing more.

It does not take much longer after that.

With the room under control, the intel secured, and both commanders restrained, the five of you regroup without ceremony and move back out the way you came.

The quinjet ramp lowers as you approach.

You board in stride.

Inside, Tony is already halfway turned in his seat, hand out before you have even fully stepped in.

You drop the token into his palm.

He barely glances at it before slotting it into the system, screens immediately shifting as new data begins to unlock.

Whatever irritation he had earlier disappears into focus.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. “That’s… definitely useful.”

Later that night, you and Steve sit on the roof, close enough that your shoulders brush as you both look up at the stars. Your feet hang over the edge, the drop below forgotten in favor of the quiet above.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence is not empty—it settles around you, easy, familiar now.

Steve shifts slightly beside you, his gaze dropping as his hand comes up to rub absently at his cheek.

The movement catches your attention. You glance over at him.

“You did that on purpose.”

You smile. “Yes.”

He turns his head to look at you fully now, his hand lowering to rest on the ledge beside yours, close but not quite touching. “Why?”

You study him for a moment—not just the question, but the way he is asking it. Then you answer simply. “It worked.”

He nods once, but his eyes stay on you, like he is still looking for something more.

You smile again, softer this time, and turn your attention back to the sky.

“And you didn’t stop me.”

Steve lets out a slow breath, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looks back up at the stars. He does not argue it.

The quiet returns, settling between you just as comfortably as before.

The door behind you opens.

Footsteps follow—familiar, unhurried.

Steve glances back over his shoulder.

Sam.

Sam takes in the scene in a single sweep—your proximity, the way your hands rest near each other on the ledge, the complete lack of tension—and his grin spreads instantly.

“Yeah… we’re still talking about that.”

Steve makes a low, exasperated sound and turns back around, choosing not to engage.

Sam drops down on your other side, leaving just enough space to make a point of it—more distance between you and him than there is between you and Steve.

None of you says anything after that.

The three of you sit there in the quiet, looking out at the same sky, each caught in your own thoughts.

Part Nineteen

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"There you are," Peter said, appearing out of the crowd. Lettie and you both startled at his voice and he gave a short laugh. "What's got you two spooked?"

"Nothing," you said, probably too quickly. You straightened out your skirt, trying to act more calm, and asked, "How has dessert been?"

"Delicious," he answered, looping an arm around Lettie's waist. "I was hoping though to take a walk around the grounds? Tony is outside enjoying a cigar. We will have an escort of sorts. Care to join me?"

Lettie nodded and told him, "Yes, of course. Some fresh air would do me well."

Peter looked pleased and began to guide her away. She gave you a quick apologetic look before disappearing into the crowd. You sighed, disappointed and more on edge that she was gone to leave you alone with this stress. Yet, you barely had two counts of breath before you were descended upon, inquiries about where you had gone. You put on a calm charade, letting the ladies bring you back into their conversation.

<><><>

The next morning, you rose early, leaving Steve to sleep off a hangover. Dressed without the help of a maid, you gave them a startle when you came into the servant's quarters ready for the day. They immediately ceased chatter, stood and gave you a bow of the head.

"Are you hungry, my lady?" one asked you.

You shook your head, "No, not yet. When I am though, don't bother with preparing anything new. I can take one of the pastries from the dinner last night. No need to put those to waste."

As usual, they looked surprised at you not being high maintenance.

"Where is El?" you asked.

"Here," a small voice said from the corner.

He stepped out from behind one of the women, looking nervous.

You rose your head higher, trying to look like an authority figure. "Come with me."

He followed and you led him away from the quarters towards a secluded area of the house. You closed the door behind him when he came into the room and he faced you, staring at the ground.

Although you had not seen the room, you told him, "You did a good job. Thank you for doing that as quickly as you did." He rose his eyes to look at you briefly and you saw some tension leave his shoulders. A few moments passed before you asked point blank, "Have you spoken about what you saw?"

"No, ma'am," he answered quickly.

You made a sound of acknowledgement before questioning, "How am I to trust you won't?"

He still did not meet your eyes, "It's not my business. You... you aren't the first I know of. And you..."

"And I?" you prodded when he trailed off.

"Unlike some, it's not... bad." He cleared his throat. "You aren't bad. You've been nothing but try to be nice to me since you came here."

Silence fell.

When you spoke, you were gentle, "It is hard to continue to be when I have Lord Roger's looking over my shoulder telling me not to be."

"I understand."

You stepped closer to him and he looked up. Sincerely, you told him, "I appreciate your discretion on it. It is.... one thing that brings peace for me."

You were laying everything on the table to him. You could not rule with an iron fist. It was not your way. You had been in his position as a commoner not too long ago. The memory would not leave you. Being a lady, being a kind one, an understanding one... perhaps something could be made of your role to your staff.

El nodded stiffly and repeated, "I understand."

You gave him a small smile. "Thank you. You may go."

He made to move around you after giving a bow of the head. He paused and asked, "Do you want that pastry yet, ma'am?"

"Yes," you said. "Please bring it in here. With some milk."

El left the room and you exhaled deeply. That had gone far better than you imagined.

<><><>

Steve adjusted in the carriage next to you, flipping through the book he was scouring. He was checking his balances with the closest villages. Since you were heading to yours, Steve was making sure that he was not missing anything while he was nearby.

It was customary for the wife's family to host the couple for a meal of celebration when she became pregnant. It being your third month, you were still able to hide your pregnancy. And the traveling in the carriage was not posing a risk for you, which made it the ideal time to have the meal. Although, you had tried to suggest to Steve it was not necessary, you would still need to face your parents again. You knew Steve was insisting on it only for self serving reasons -- the money he was to gain on the way and to see you uncomfortable -- rather than propriety.

The man seemed still to get amusement out of getting under your skin without you being able to stand up for yourself. Regret about drawing that portrait visited you often.

But... then you would have never met Lettie.

Absentminded, you twisted the ring around your finger, watching the scenery go by, lost in memory about the last visit you had been blessed with in regard to her.

Suddenly, Steve's hand clamped over yours, stilling your movement, drawing you from your thoughts. He had closed his book and drawn the curtains on his side of the carriage. He reached past you with his free hand and drew your curtains as well.

Pulling your hand to him, his eyes crinkled with mischievousness.

"Why don't you put your hands to good use, hmm? You're fidgeting, I'm feeling.... tense," he told you. He rested your hand on his lap. "Mutually beneficial. Especially since I won't be able to reprieve myself at your parent's. I'm sure it will be like we are all sharing a room? It didn't look like there were thick walls when I fetched you. Or am I wrong?"

You sighed. "Perhaps if we are quiet--"

"That is my answer then," Steve interjected. "Come now. I want to arrive at your parent's in a good mood."

Reluctantly, you began undoing his belt. Pulling him free from his slacks, you worked him, building up a pace. He groaned quietly as his cock grew, hardening in your grasp. He rested his head back, eyes closed. His expression twitched off and on, sucking in his bottom lip.

When his breathing began to pick up pace, his arm lashed out, snatching you behind the neck.

"On your knees," he ordered you in a husk. "I don't want a mess on my clothes or my seat."

To avoid his anger, you moved quick to do as he told you. Your mouth replaced your hands, taking him deeply. Steve held tight by the back of your neck still, fingers flexing in as he brushed the back of your throat. And they dug in further when he came, making sure you got every drop.

<><><>

Your mother enveloped you into a tight embrace the moment she saw you. Despite your contempt, the familiar smell of her soap and the warmth broke you down enough to hug her back. Your father on the other hand, you were cold in your hug and did not care to pretend otherwise. He looked offended but hid it quickly, turning back to Steve, whom he had greeted first.

You gave your sister and brother-in-law hugs as well, forcing small talk and smiles for them. Your sister had many questions about the capitol. You had not divulged much in the sparse letters you had sent home. The ones you had really meant for her, although they had been addressed to your parents.

When you revealed the gifts you had brought, that made her even more pleased. Especially the outfits for your nephew, who slept in a bassinet off to the side of the room.

Steve was poised and polite, although there was a clear power imbalance. He was always served first, constantly checked in on. Anything to make sure he knew they respected him.

"It seems the two of you.... are happy?" your father commented to the pair of you when conversation had started to die down.

Steve shrugged, swooping an arm around your shoulders. "She pleases me. She adjusted quite quickly to customs and how to hold herself as a Lady. I do wish she read scripture more than choosing to sketch and chatter at teas." He turned his gaze to you. "But... she behaves. And we need hobbies to feel enriched." He looked back to your brother-in-law and your father. "Even if I do not understand the drivel about which lace pattern is in fashion currently. As if that's the most important matter to discuss fervently as the ladies do."

The three of them shared a laugh and you caught eyes with your sister. She was looking at you with some concern. You forced a tight lipped smile before taking another bite of your dessert.

On the way to bidding them all good night, your sister cleared her throat, "Y/N? A word?" She gestured outside of the house.

You looked to Steve and you clearly saw he was not thrilled about it. But he covered it with, "Be quick if you're going outdoors. You know what the doctor said about winter flus."

Following your sister, you ran your eyes around the back garden. It had hardly changed. She walked to the furthest corner from the door and faced you.

"How are you? Really," she asked gently.

The fire in the lanterns flickered around the two of you in the posts, the sound of other families getting ready for their own slumber filling the space in back yards close by.

"I have found solace," you answered cryptically.

Exhaling sharply, she saw right through it. "Y/N... this isn't a game."

"I don't think it is."

"You cannot offend him."

"I'm not trying to."

She stepped closer and whispered, "You don't ever try to offend people. But you just... do. You always have."

You scoffed, "Is that all you want to say?"

Harshly now, she told you, "No!" You fixed on her and she pleaded quietly, "Promise me you will do your best to avoid angering him. And if you do.... come home. If you can."

The weight of the last hung between you for a few moments. She was serious, afraid for you. You swallowed sharply.

Finally, you nodded, "I promise."

Then one night he passed the common room and saw Sam, Natasha, and Bruce sitting in unusual silence. No banter. No TV noise. Just concern.

“She barely touched dinner,” Bruce murmured.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “She flinched when I asked if she was okay.”

Sam sighed. “I tried joking with her. Nothing.”

Steve stood in the doorway, unease settling deep in his chest.

Natasha looked at him. “You’ve noticed too.”

It wasn’t a question.

Steve nodded once.

“She’s withdrawing,” Bruce said carefully. “That kind of isolation can get dangerous.”

Steve hated how fast the word dangerous made his mind race.

The next morning, you were gone before sunrise. Friday informed him you’d left for a supply run downtown. He stood in the kitchen for several minutes, coffee untouched in his hand, staring at nothing. Then he set the mug down and walked to your room.

He knocked first. Once. Twice. No answer. “Y/N?” he called. Silence. He should have turned around. He knew that. But something in his gut—something old and sharp and soldier-instinctive—kept him rooted there.

“Friday, unlock the door.”

“Access granted, Captain Rogers.”

The room beyond was neat in the deliberate way messy people cleaned when they were trying to feel in control. Your bed was made too tightly. Books stacked in perfect lines. Laundry folded. Desk cleared except for six envelopes laid carefully side by side.

Steve’s pulse stuttered.

Each envelope had a name written in your handwriting. Tony. Natasha. Bruce. Clint. Thor. Steve. He crossed the room in three strides and stopped short at the desk, suddenly afraid to touch anything.

“No,” he whispered to the empty room. His own name stared back at him. With fingers that felt clumsy and numb, he opened the envelope. Inside was a folded letter.He recognized the tremor in the pen strokes immediately.

Steve,

If you’re reading this, then I couldn’t figure out how to stay.

His vision blurred. He sat heavily in your desk chair and kept reading.

You wrote about exhaustion so deep sleep no longer touched it. About smiling because people worried less when you smiled. About standing in rooms full of heroes and feeling invisible anyway. About shame. About loneliness. About not wanting to be another burden added to shoulders already carrying the world.

You apologized for things no one had ever asked you to apologize for. You thanked him for kindnesses he barely remembered doing. You said he made people feel safe.

And then, at the bottom:

I just didn’t know how to save myself.

Steve pressed a hand over his mouth. He reached for Natasha’s next. Then Sam’s wasn’t there—no, Sam wasn’t one of the six. Tony’s. Bruce’s. Each one different. Each one carrying the same ache.

By the time he finished, his breathing was uneven and anger had begun to mix with the fear. Anger at himself. At the team. At you. At the fact that you had been suffering close enough to touch and none of them had broken through.

He was still standing there, letters clenched in his fist, when the bedroom door opened. You stepped inside carrying two grocery bags. You froze. Your eyes moved from Steve—to the open envelopes—to the letters in his hand.

The bags slipped from your fingers. A jar shattered on the floor. For one long second, the room was silent except for rolling glass.

Then your face hardened. “You went through my things?”

Steve took one step forward. “What the hell are these?”

“My room,” you snapped. “My desk. My business.”

“Your business?” His voice rose despite himself. “You write goodbye letters to everyone you care about and call it your business?”

“Give them back.”

“No.”

Your jaw clenched. “I said give them back.”

“And I said no.”

You stormed forward, trying to snatch them from his hand. Steve lifted them out of reach on instinct. The movement humiliated you. Your eyes flashed with fury. “Of course,” you said bitterly. “Captain America decides what’s best for everyone.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” you shouted. “Concern? Guilt? Some noble rescue mission because you finally noticed I exist?”

The words struck hard.

Steve’s expression changed. Hurt, immediate and raw. “You think I only just noticed?”

“Yes!” you yelled back. “Because nobody noticed until now!” Your voice cracked on the last word.

The anger in the room turned suddenly thin and brittle. You were trembling.

Steve lowered his arm slowly. “I noticed,” he said quietly. “I noticed you stopped laughing. I noticed you stopped eating with us. I noticed you looked tired all the time. I noticed you kept saying you were fine when you weren’t.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything?”

Because he hadn’t known how to help without pushing. Because he’d been afraid of making it worse. Because sometimes even good people wait too long. His silence answered for him.

You laughed once—a broken, ugly sound. “Exactly.”

You turned away, scrubbing at your eyes with the heel of your palm. “I’m tired, Steve.”

The fight drained out of him at once. He set the letters down on the desk and crossed the room slowly. “Tired of what?” he asked gently.

“Everything.” Your shoulders shook. “Waking up tired. Pretending I’m okay. Feeling guilty for not being okay. Watching all of you save strangers while I can’t even manage myself.”

“You are not failing because you’re hurting.”

“It feels like failure.”

“It isn’t.”

You spun back toward him, tears spilling now despite your obvious hatred of them. “I didn’t want to be one more thing wrong in this tower!”

The confession echoed between you.

Steve’s face crumpled. He reached for you carefully, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. The second his hands touched your arms, you broke. All the rage, all the pride, all the frantic defensiveness collapsed at once. You folded into him with a choking sob, clutching the front of his shirt like it was the only solid thing left.

Steve caught you instantly. One arm wrapped around your back. The other cradled the back of your head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, though his own voice shook. “You don’t have to hold it together right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He held you tighter. “No apologizing for pain.”

You wept hard enough your knees gave out. He guided you both down to the floor amid spilled groceries and broken glass, sitting with you curled against him.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. He stayed quiet except for the occasional soft reassurance, hand moving slowly over your hair and back.

When your crying finally eased into shaky breaths, Steve tilted his head down. “Look at me.”

You did, reluctantly. Eyes swollen. Face wet. Exhausted beyond words.

“We’re going to get help,” he said, steady and certain. “Today. Not tomorrow. Not eventually. Today.”

You swallowed. “What if I’m too much?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Then we carry it together.”

Fresh tears welled in your eyes.

“I’m angry with you,” he admitted softly. “Because this scared me. Because I hate that you were alone with this.”

“I know.”

“I’m angrier at myself.”

You shook your head weakly. “You don’t get all the blame.”

A small, sad smile touched his mouth. “Fair enough.” He stood, then offered you his hand.

When you took it, he pulled you gently to your feet. “Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“Kitchen first. You still need groceries.” He glanced at the broken jar and sighed. “Then we talk to the team. Then we make a plan.”

You hesitated. “You’re staying?”

Steve squeezed your hand once. “As long as it takes.”

“What’s up?” Your husband poked his head out of the bathroom window. His eyes drifted toward your chest, and he licked his lips, something other than gardening on his mind.

“Can you give me ten inches? I’m not tall enough, baby,” you asked, wiping sweat off your forehead. “I really need it, Steve. I want to reach the cherries.”

“No,” your husband said without missing a beat. You couldn’t see it, but his eyes darkened for a second when you put your hands on your hips to glare at him.

You frowned. Usually, your husband does everything to help you, especially during difficult moments like this when you need his support the most.

“No? Why not? Steve, this is not the time to stop being a gentleman. I need those cherries, and I need you to get them for me.”

“Because doll, I won’t bend in half for anyone…” Steve grinned, damn proud of his reply. He heard the joke from Bucky and waited for the right moment to tell you about it.

“Steve, that’s…” You giggled and snorted. “The most awful dad joke in the history of dad jokes.”

“Bucky said it’s a naughty one,” Steve said in defense of his not-funny joke. “It’s funny, right? I never told a naughty joke before.”

You looked at Steve in awe. He was the sweetest, and you couldn’t tell him that the joke was lame. “I still need your help, my hero. Come down here and help me with the cherries.”

“I’ll take good care of your cherry, doll,” he purred, eyes dropping to your exposed legs. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Steve appeared out of nowhere right in front of you. For once, not breaking through a wall. Bucky taught him a thing or two about stealth, and Steve made good use of it by sneaking up on you all the time.

“But you won’t kick the tree like Bucky, right? Right!” You said to your husband. “He ruined the apples.”

“Y/N, I’ll ruin more than the cherries.” Steve suddenly grabbed your waist, easily lifting you to twirl you around. You giggled and laughed, grasping for his shoulders. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll ruin your panties too.”

Steve did not joke. He threw you over his shoulder and carried you inside your house.

The cherries could wait for a few more hours…

July 5, 20XX

Yesterday was Steve’s birthday, and we all went out by the lake. It was a lot of fun just being around everyone again. I feel like I haven’t done that enough lately.

There was another group there—some kids we go to college with—and they sort of joined us. Well, Bucky was talking to one of the girls and invited them over. I was a little annoyed at that since it was supposed to be about Steve, but whatever.

The girl kept hanging around Bucky, too. Not that I can blame him for wanting someone to talk to when I was focused on making sure Steve had a good night.

You sit back, your mind trying to make sense of the entry. It falls right between the ones you read yesterday, but something about it still does not sit right.

Under your breath, you find yourself questioning it—why you just let it go. Why Bucky openly flirting with someone else did not seem to matter more.

The feelings are starting to feel familiar now, like something just out of reach, but you still cannot say you loved him then.

That realization sits heavier than you expect.

This is officially frustrating.

A soft knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts as Steve peeks in. “Hey, tiger, you ready to eat or need a few?”

His smile is normal and easygoing, none of the tension from the day before in it. You relax slightly and smile back. “I can read more later. Breakfast sounds good.”

You set the journal aside as Steve walks in and moves to pick you up again. After setting you down near the bathroom so you can use the counter for support, he steps back, giving you space instead of hovering. Once you are done, he lifts you again and carries you to the kitchen, settling you on a stool at the counter.

After last night, letting him carry you feels different. You just cannot quite put a finger on how.

“So, find out anything new today?” Steve asks, pulling out cereal and fruit and starting to cut it up.

Leaning forward, you shake your head. “Not really. Just more of the same.”

He sets a bowl in front of you and takes a seat beside you, already digging into his own. His eyes linger on you for a moment before he nods.

Still frustrated, you exhale sharply and stab your spoon into the cereal.

Next to you, Steve chuckles. “Doesn’t seem like more of the same, tiger.”

You take a bite, avoiding the question for a second before deciding to just say it. “I just cannot figure it out. I mean, they are my memories, but I don’t understand the choices she made. It really feels like a different person.”

You slump a little, more annoyed than anything now.

Steve takes a bite of fruit as he studies you. “Wish I could help you there. I know you gave me whiplash a lot the past few years. Some days it was like you wanted to ring Buck’s neck, and other days you were over the moon.”

You frown slightly. “And I wasn’t like that before? I mean, swinging from one extreme to the other over everything?”

You need something to hold onto. Even a little.

He shakes his head. “No, not really. You had other relationships, sure, but… it was different with Bucky.” He shrugs. “I always figured it was because you cared more. Nothing else really made sense.”

You take another bite just to have something to do, your thoughts tangling tighter instead of loosening.

And underneath it all is something else you are trying not to look at too closely—how easy it is to just… reset with Steve. Like nothing happened.

Like something did.

The two of you sit in that quiet for a moment, until Steve clears his throat and stands, taking the bowls to the sink.

Then, a little more hesitant, “So… the others are coming over tonight. I figured you might want to shower before then.”

That makes everything in you pause.

This moment—this exact thing—is why Peggy and Bucky did not want him taking care of you.

You push that thought away, along with the nerves creeping in behind it, and nod. “Yeah… that would probably be a good idea.”

Looking at him instead of the floor takes more effort than it should, but you manage. “Um… we could just do it now. So my hair can dry.”

You do not say that you would rather get it over with.

But it lingers there anyway.

Steve nods and moves around the island to pick you up again, talking as he walks this time. “You okay with me choosing your clothes, or do you want to get them yourself?”

That should not be as loaded a question as it is. Because just the day before, Steve put all your clothes away—even the underwear. Somehow, him picking it out and knowing you were wearing it feels… different. Not bad. Just enough to leave you off balance. But pushing his help away feels wrong too.

With a small, dismissive gesture, you answer, “You pick. I’m sure it will be fine.”

He bypasses your room and carries you into his instead, setting you down on the wide counter of his ensuite bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

You sit there for a moment, staring at the shower, trying to picture how this is going to work.

When he comes back and sets your clothes down beside a few of his own, he notices your expression immediately and rests a gentle hand on your knee. “Hey, I can call one of the girls if you’d feel more comfortable.”

You shake your head right away, the response coming out before you can think about it. “No. I would crush Wanda, Natasha would leave bruises, and Pepper would mother-hen me to death before it was over.”

He huffs out a laugh, clearly agreeing.

You blow out a breath. “I think we just need to treat it like a bandage and just… rip it off.”

Steve rolls his shoulders a little, both of you wading through the awkwardness of it all.

Oddly, even knowing you have scars now, you are more worried about your own reaction than his. You are not afraid of being naked in front of him. That part does not bother you.

It is just… unfamiliar.

Meeting his eyes and seeing nothing but concern there, you grab the bottom of your shirt and pull it over your head.

Your gaze drops immediately.

The long scar running from your shoulder down across your abdomen catches your eye first. Then the others—smaller, scattered, already fading into pale lines.

For a second, you just… stare.

You are faintly aware of Steve pulling his own shirt off, stepping closer, his hand returning to your knee, but your focus stays locked on your skin.

It does not look like yours.

Even without remembering what you looked like before, something in your stomach turns.

Steve sees it happen. The way you go still. The way your breathing changes.

He does the only thing he can think of.

Hooking his fingers gently under your chin, he lifts your gaze to his. “Hey. Talk to me.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It feels like… even my body isn’t mine. Not just my mind.” You swallow, your vision starting to tilt. “I—I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Before you can tip backward, Steve steps in, bracing himself between your knees and pulling you flush against him.

You fold into him without thinking.

His arms come around you, solid and steady, and the warmth of his skin is immediate—grounding in a way you did not realize you needed. You cling to him, breathing shallow at first, then deeper as the dizziness ebbs.

He does not rush you. Does not try to fix it.

He just holds you.

And lets the quiet settle around you both.

After a few minutes, you take a deep breath, squeezing him tightly. “Help me stand so I can get the rest off.”

Instead of answering, he pulls back, helping you slide off the edge so your feet touch the floor. With a hand braced on his shoulder to steady yourself, you step out of your pajama pants and underwear. Once he is sure you are steady against the counter, he does the same, then moves to turn on the water, letting the temperature adjust.

The lines of muscle along his back should distract you, but your gaze drops instead—to your legs, where more faint scars mark your skin. Another long one runs down your right hip. You reach out and touch it, feeling the raised flesh, trying to reconcile the emotions rolling through you.

Steve pulls you out of your head again, this time with a hand settling gently on your shoulder. “Ready?”

When you nod, he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady, and together you step into the shower. He pulls the door closed behind you, sealing you both into the small space.

You close your eyes as the warm water hits your skin, letting it wash over you, trying to let it take some of the tension with it—the not knowing, the disconnect. Steve’s arm stays around your waist, loose enough to give you space but firm enough that you know he is there if you need him.

Your eyes open again to find his already on you, a small, gentle smile on his face.

You return it faintly and glance toward the shelf, spotting the toiletries you picked up the night before. “Let’s start with my hair. That should be easy.”

He hums in agreement and reaches for your shampoo, placing it in your hand. He lets you handle it, does not take over, just stays close—steady, patient—as you figure it out again.

You swap the shampoo for the conditioner, and as you rinse your hair, you wobble slightly. Steve’s hand comes to your hip immediately, steadying you. “Thanks.”

He nods, glancing toward the shelf. “What next?”

Normally, you would shave next, but you have a feeling that is going to be the trickiest part, so you opt for body wash instead. You point over your shoulder, and he hands it to you again.

This time, though, it takes a little maneuvering.

You lean toward him, your hand bracing on his shoulder so you can reach your back, and you feel him still slightly when you get close. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the way he swallows before he quickly looks away.

He shakes his head like he is resetting, then offers you his hand again when you shift to wash your legs.

You take it, but as you lift one foot, your balance goes.

You tip backward, and even though his arm is there, the sudden weightless feeling makes you grab onto him, pulling him off balance with you. The two of you stumble, and he barely catches you both, one hand braced against the wet tile just behind your head.

Steve exhales sharply. “Careful, tiger.”

“Sorry.”

Your arms had wrapped around his neck when you fell, and for a second neither of you moves, both of you breathing through the spike of adrenaline.

Then, slowly, carefully, he rights you both.

You are closer than necessary now, and it takes a conscious effort to take a small step back.

Steve waits until you are steady before letting go completely, offering his hand again.

This time, you take it tighter. One foot. Then the other.

You manage it without incident, and when you hand him the loofah to rinse, you flick your fingers at him, sending a splash of water into his face.

He gives you an unimpressed look. It lasts all of two seconds before he ruins it by laughing.

You smile back, scrunching your nose. “Now to shave. This should be an adventure.”

Steve gives you a half grin, muttering a mock, “Women,” under his breath as he hands you the soap and razor.

“Hey, at least I don’t clog the sink once a week, mister,” you shoot back.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now get to it. I don’t have endless hot water, and I still need to shower.”

When you quirk a brow at that, Steve just shrugs. “Two birds.”

Now you roll your eyes, but you lean back into the arm around your waist anyway and start to shave. When you get to your legs again, you pause.

Steve catches the hesitation immediately. “Maybe lean back on the wall, and I can help steady you—just hold your foot.”

You try to picture it, then nod. “Okay, but if I fall and take you with me, I’m tickling you again. No mercy this time.”

He snorts at that and helps you shift, guiding you back against the tile. Once you feel steady, you lift your leg, bent at the knee, and he catches your foot while keeping a careful eye on the one planted on the shower floor.

The position sends heat creeping up your neck, but he keeps his focus where it should be—on keeping you balanced.

You work through it, trying to be methodical, just getting it done.

When you finish one leg, you press lightly against his hand to shift, then lift the other. Again, his attention flicks between your face and your footing, more concerned with you slipping than anything else. Which is exactly why you knew you could trust him.

When you finish, you stay leaned back against the tile for a second, catching your breath. “Your turn.”

Steve is quicker than you—for obvious reasons—and as you watch him, you cannot help the thought that slips in. This moment right here is exactly why they did not want this.

You were right—he is different from the sixteen-year-old version of himself. Bigger, steadier. But the way he moves… that is the same. And somehow, that makes it easier to relax, to just watch him without overthinking it.

He gets you back for earlier, shaking his head after rinsing his hair and sending water droplets everywhere.

You laugh, the sound echoing softly off the tile.

Once Steve is finished, he turns off the water and, with his arm around your waist again, helps you step out of the shower.

A fluffy towel is already in his hands, and he stays close, steadying you as you dry off, still careful with your balance. You are both a little less stiff now, the worst of it behind you, and it shows in the easier way you move around each other.

Your back proves the hardest, and after a moment, you just hand him the towel. He does not comment, just helps—quick, efficient, nothing lingering. After you finish drying your hair, you lean against the counter while he dries off as well.

Then comes the trick of getting dressed.

Thankfully, he simply hands you the pile of clothes and lets you handle it yourself, only keeping a hand within reach in case you need the extra support. Once you get your underwear and pants on, the bra and shirt are easier.

As you pull on the last pieces, Steve starts dressing himself.

You let yourself watch him for a moment, trying to find your center again. Your thoughts drift—to that dream. The one that keeps coming back. Steve standing over you, bathed in sunlight, saying something you can never quite hear.

His eyes meet yours, and you snap out of it, heat creeping into your face.

Steve does not comment. He just steps closer and picks you up again. “Couch or bed?”

“Huh?” Your brain lags behind, still half in that dream, but then it clicks. “Oh—couch. And can you bring me my journals? I want to read some more.”

“Sure, tiger.” He adjusts his grip easily. “I’ve got some work to do from home today, but I’ll be in the study if you need anything.”

He sets you down on the couch, brings the crate of journals over, and hands you a bottle of water before heading off to the study.

The quiet settles back in once he is gone.

With a small shake of your head, you pull out the oldest journal again. Even through the immature ramblings, it starts to feel… familiar. Not clear. Not whole.

But closer than anything else has.

After working for a few hours, Steve comes out to join you on the couch, but you barely notice him, absorbed in your middle school self’s ramblings. He just picks up a book from the side table you had not noticed and begins to read.

You pass a few hours like that until a knock at the door makes you both look up. “Expecting someone?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, but with you here, someone might have decided to drop by.” He stands, leaving his book on the end table. “Don’t worry.”

You nod as he heads to the door, but when he opens it, you catch the quick flicker of surprise on his face—followed immediately by something more guarded.

Your curiosity spikes. Then you hear it. A throat clears. “Can I see her?”

Bucky.

He sounds… unsure. More unsure than he had even been when you broke things off.

Steve nods and steps back. “Of course.”

Bucky steps inside, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you. You catch the way he winces slightly at the sight of you curled up on Steve’s couch.

Behind him, Steve closes the door. “I’m going to finish up in the study.” He glances at you. You nod.

Bucky notices the exchange and looks away as Steve leaves.

You drop the journal into the crate beside you and wait. This is awkward as hell, but you will be damned if you let him make you feel bad right now.

He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable, then exhales and rolls his eyes at himself before taking the chair closest to you.

“Hey, b—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening slightly before finishing with just your name.

“Hi.” You let the silence stretch just a little.

He chose to come here.

Bucky licks his lips before finally meeting your eyes. “I just wanted…” He gestures vaguely. “…to make sure you were okay. Not that Steve can’t take care of you, but… well. You know.”

You bite your lip and nod faintly. “You okay?”

He swallows and looks away, and that is when you really see it—the dark circles under his eyes. “I’ve been better.”

“Bucky—” You start, instinctively, but he lifts a hand.

“Not your fault.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Just… dealing with the change.”

Everything you have learned, everything you are starting to piece together, sits right on the edge of your tongue—but without the full picture, you cannot bring yourself to say any of it.

So you take the safer route. “The others are coming over tonight. Kind of a ‘released from the hospital’ thing. As much of a party as I can handle.”

He gives a small smile at that. “That’s good. You should celebrate.”

You fidget slightly. He looks like a kicked puppy, and you do not know if you caused that—or if it was always there. It pulls at something in you, but with everything shifting the way it is, you are not sure stepping in would actually help.

Bucky leans forward, unable to relax enough to sit back. “Uh… how is Steve doing? I mean, helping you and all.”

Your thoughts flick—unhelpfully—to this morning. To last night. You force them away.

“He’s been good. Letting me do as much as I can myself. I think we’re going to start working on my at-home therapy later.”

“Right…” His gaze drifts again.

Then, abruptly, he stands. “I should go. Um… just text me if you want. Or call.”

You watch him, wishing—just a little—that you could stand, walk him out, offer something more than this distance. But you know how that would end. “Okay. You too.”

Bucky looks at you one last time, hands shoved into his pockets, then turns and heads for the door. It closes with a quiet click.

A moment later, Steve walks back in. “You okay?”

You let your head fall back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “No. That was the most awkward thing that has ever happened… that I can remember.”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh and sits beside you, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you gently into his side.

You go easily, still tangled up in it.

“I feel bad,” you admit. “For hurting him. But at the same time… I’m so confused. Everything I think I know keeps changing.” You close your eyes, frustrated.

Steve squeezes your shoulder. “I know, tiger. I wish I could promise you that you’ll get your memories back and everything will make sense, but… life’s messy.”

He hesitates. There is more he could say. That you will find your way back to Bucky. That things will settle.

But the words catch. Because of what you said last night. Because of what it stirred up in him. And because he still has Peggy—even if they have not spoken since she walked out.

So instead, he just holds you a little tighter.

Part Six

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The scents continued to get stronger and you find yourself gripping onto the back of the sofa as you slip to your knees.

Steve's coming.

Alpha's coming, your omega and white wolf tell you as they twist and turn around each other in excitement. The witch side of you hangs back a little peeking around them, Agatha's words still flickering around in the back of your mind.

The gate clicks and your nose tells you that Steve is nearing but the others have hung back. There's a creak of the steps and then a pause.

You hear Bucky callout some words of reassurance. A huff follows and then there's a knock at the door.

You don't move. You've imagined it you must have. It's not even really 7pm yet, so you have to have imagined it. There's another knock, firmer this time.

"Omega." Steve calls out.

He might leave if we don't answer, your omega says.

You scramble to your feet in response and go towards the door. You catch sight of his shadow and hold your breath as you open the door.

Steve’s broad chest is what you first see. Your eyes scan upwards, passed his lips and to his sparkling eyes that are fixed on you.

“Omega.” He breathes out, like he’s just ran a marathon.

“Alpha.” You reply, as unsurity creeps over you and you look away and down to your feet and to the basket of food Steve is holding.

“Omega.” Steve says again, cupping your face and moving it to look at him. “I’ve waited so long for you, for a second chance.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure about this? I’m damaged goods.”

“No, you’re not. You’re mine.” Steve replies.

Your body responds at Steve’s words, and heat rushes over you as your omega practically belly rolls forward at him calling you his. Your white wolf yips and bounces around in encouragement. Overwhelmed by the sensation you sway a little as your legs tingle. Steve reacts immediately, dropping the basket and pulls you into his chest, rubbing his chin along the top of your head to scent you and calm your omega down. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You lean back and look up at him.

“Steve. Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my damn life.” He tells you, as he leans in a little. His eyes drop to your lips and he reaches to cup your face again.

You hear Bucky muttering in the background.

“I swear if he doesn’t kiss her I will.”

You both let out an amused huff. Steve looks down at your lips again and tilts his head as if asking for permission. You smile softly back at him. He runs his thumb against your lips and you kiss it in return, a clear invite for him to kiss you. He doesn’t hesitate and his lips meet yours quickly. He kisses you firmly, his hand slipping into your hair. His tongue sweeps your lips and you open your mouth to let him in. The kiss gains momentum and Steve starts to move you backwards into the house.

There’s a clearing of a throat and when you break apart and peek around your alpha's broad form, you see the pack are still watching you. Bucky’s cheeks are a little pink but he looks at Steve proudly. Sam and Pietro smirk and nudge at each other. Clint and, who you guess is his wife and mate, Laura, cover their children’s eyes jokingly. Wanda smiles at you as she curls into Natasha, who gives you a look that says ‘told you so’.

“Didn’t know you had it in you Cap.” Clint jokes, before introducing you to Laura and their children. Steve let out a laugh and shook his head, as you moved to step around him to say hello to the pack, wanting to finally meet Wanda, Laura and the pups. You'd only took a couple of steps when an arm crosses your waist and stops you. When you pull away, telling Steve you want to say hello, you find yourself over his shoulder.

"STEVE! What are you doing!?!" You yelp as he moves towards the cottage.

"You can say hello tomorrow. Right now you're mine." He tells you as he steps inside and kicks the door shut.

"What about the supper?" You ask as he sets you down.

Realising he'd left it on the porch, Steve turned to retrieve it, but was met with the door drifting open and the basket floating in.

He smiles as he watches it, before turning to you.

“You’re incredible.” He tells you.

You let out a huff of laughter.

“It’s just some object movement. I’m sure you’ve seen it done before. You have a witch in your pack, pretty sure she can move things.”

“She can, but it’s different with you.” He says, as your eyes meet. You find him looking at you like you’ve hung the moon, and your omega nudges your witch forward.

Steve moves forward and cups your face, letting out a sigh of what you think is relief.

“I’ve waited so long for you omega.”

“How long?” You ask softly.

“Longer than you’ve been waiting for me.”

You let out a shuddered breath. Steve pulled you closer and placed his lips on your forehead.

“Can we talk?” He asks.

Panic washes over you, immediately going to the thought Steve could be here to reject you. That he’s ignored the request you’d sent via Natasha. Your scent soured immediately and it hits you both in the face hard, to the point of making you both nauseous.

“No, no, no omega. That’s not what this is.” He tells you softly, cupping your face again to look at him. “.Y/N, you have my word I won’t reject you.”

Although his voice is firm this time, it’s not what causes tears to fill your eyes.

“Do you realise what you’ve just done?” You ask him.

“I gave my word to a witch, to my witch.”

Your witch takes another step, as your omega and white wolf weave around her legs.

“There are some things I need to tell you omega, about me, that may change how you think about me, about wanting something with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was rejected, and I think you should know why.”

NEXT PART

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TAGLIST

“I might need tactical support.”

Natasha’s laugh crackled in his ear. “For confessing feelings to your best friend of twenty years?”

“Seventeen,” Steve corrected automatically.

“Cute that you know the exact number.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “This was a mistake.”

“It was a mistake when you let yourself pine for nearly two decades,” Natasha said. “Knock on the damn door, Rogers.”

He stared at the wood like it had personally insulted him. Then he knocked.

A few seconds later, the door swung open. You stood there in socks and one of those oversized sweaters you always stole from thrift stores, hair messy, face bare, and somehow you looked exactly the same as the girl who used to split her lunch with him in Brooklyn and nothing like her at all.

“Steve?” you blinked. “Why do you look like you’re about to deliver bad news? What's with the flowers?”

He glanced at the flowers. “That obvious?”

“Very.” You stepped aside. “Come in.” Your apartment smelled like cinnamon candles and coffee. There were books stacked on every surface and a blanket tossed over the couch. Homey. Warm. You.

Steve stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room while you eyed him.

“You’re sweating,” you said.

“I don’t sweat much.”

“You are now.”

Natasha snorted in his ear.

Steve yanked the comm out and shoved it in his pocket.

You frowned. “Were you talking to yourself?”

“No.”

“Interesting answer.”

He handed you the flowers like a shield. “These are for you.”

Your expression softened immediately. “Steve…”

“I know they’re not great flowers. The guy at the store said they were cheerful.”

“They are cheerful.” You smiled, and it hit him straight in the chest. “Thank you.”

You set them down carefully and turned back to him. “So,” you said slowly. “What’s going on?”

This was it. He had rehearsed speeches. Thoughtful speeches. Charming speeches. A few dignified speeches. Instead, what came out was, “I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Your face went blank. Then your eyes widened. Then you froze completely.

Steve felt every bit of confidence leave his body in one violent rush. “Oh,” he said quietly.

You still didn’t move.

He took a step back. “Right. Okay. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you.” Still nothing. His chest ached. “I just thought… Nat said I should stop waiting for the perfect time and I guess she was right, but maybe this was the wrong time and—”

“Steve—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He was already backing toward the door now, panic making him ramble. “Really. Forget I said it. We’re fine. We’re still us.”

“Steve.”

“You don’t feel the same, and that’s okay, I just—”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” That stopped him dead. You were staring at him now like you wanted to shake him. “I froze because I’ve imagined you saying that to me since I was sixteen,” you said.

He blinked. “What?”

You crossed your arms, cheeks pink. “I froze because I thought I was hallucinating. Or having some kind of stress-induced episode.”

Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. “You…” He swallowed. “You imagined me saying it?”

“For years,” you said. “Which is humiliating now, so thanks for that.”

“I thought you didn’t—”

“I thought you didn’t.”

“I’ve been in love with you since you punched Tommy Garrison for calling me shrimp.”

You gasped. “I was nine!”

“It was very romantic.”

“I chipped a tooth.”

“You were magnificent.”

You made a strangled laugh and covered your face with your hands.

Steve was still staring at you like the world had tilted. “So…” he said carefully. “You feel the same?”

You peeked through your fingers. “Unfortunately, yes.”

He crossed the room in three strides. “Unfortunately?”

“Well, now I have to deal with the fact that my best friend is Captain America and annoyingly handsome.”

He smiled so hard it almost hurt. “Sounds difficult.”

“It’s a burden.”

Then his expression softened. “Can I kiss you?”

You dropped your hands. “Took you long enough.”

The kiss was warm and careful at first—years of friendship handled like something precious. Then you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He made a surprised sound against your mouth. When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, you pressed your forehead to his.

“You know,” you murmured, “Natasha absolutely knows about this already, doesn’t she?”

Steve sighed. “Probably.”

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table. You picked it up and snorted. “What?”

You turned the screen toward him.

Natasha: Finally. He owes me twenty bucks.

Steve groaned. You laughed, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the couch. “Come on, Rogers.”

“What now?”

The common room in Avengers Tower held a rare, delicate hush, the kind that lingers after chaos has faded and everyone retreats to lick their wounds. Only hours ago, the alarms had blared, and the team had moved as one through smoke and chaos, adrenaline sharp and decisions sharper. Now the echoes of shouted orders and the sting of close calls still lingered in the back of your mind, mixing with an exhaustion that wouldn't quite let go. Dim lights cast gentle shadows, the city unfurling endlessly beyond the glass, while you curled at one end of the couch, feigning interest in the same page for the tenth time.

You didn’t notice Steve at first. For someone his size, he moved with surprising quiet, his presence making the furniture look fleeting and insubstantial. He lingered in the doorway, uncertain, one hand braced on the frame as if weighing whether to step inside your solitude.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice soft, careful. You looked up too quickly. “Oh, hi. I didn’t know anyone else was up.” “Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, stepping inside. He gestured toward the couch. “Mind if I…?” “Yeah, no, of course. Sit.” He settled on the far end, leaving a careful stretch of space between you. It was always this way: every movement measured, every gesture thoughtful, as if closeness might shatter something fragile. Silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t completely uncomfortable. It just felt full, as if there were too many things neither of you was saying.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, gaze drifting toward the skyline. “You did well today. On the mission.” You blinked. “Me?” “Yeah.” He nodded, a small, earnest smile forming. “You always do.” Heat crept up your neck, and you looked down at your hands. “I almost missed that shot. If I’d been faster, you wouldn’t have had to step in.” He frowned slightly, as if you’d said something that didn’t make sense. “That’s what we do. We’ve got each other’s backs.” “Yeah, but…” You trailed off, unsure how to explain the tight knot in your chest. “You shouldn’t have to cover for me.”

Steve’s expression softened, but there was something uncertain in it, too. “I wasn’t covering for you.” You didn’t argue, but you didn’t quite believe him either. Another pause. He shifted slightly, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You know, back in the day…” He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “I used to think just getting to stand next to people like you would be enough. Didn’t think I’d ever actually belong here.” You glanced at him, surprised. “Steve, you lead the team.”

He shook his head quickly, almost dismissively. “That doesn’t mean I’m… I mean—” He hesitated, clearly struggling to put it into words. “Sometimes I still feel like that kid from Brooklyn. The one everyone overlooked. The one who couldn’t keep up.” His gaze dropped for a moment, lost in memory. “I remember once, during a schoolyard game, they picked teams, and I was always last. I ran as fast as I could, but it never felt like enough. Even now, some nights, it feels like I’m back there, trying to prove I belong.” Your chest tightened. When you looked at him, all you saw was strength and certainty, the kind that drew trust from everyone around him without question. “I don’t think anyone’s overlooking you,” you said quietly. He huffed a small, self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, well. Hard to shake old habits.”

You stared down at your book again, though the words blurred together. "I get that." You nodded slowly. "I mean, not in the same way, but…" You swallowed. "Everyone here is incredible. You, Natasha, Thor, even Tony in his own way." A reluctant smile flickered. "And then there’s me." You remembered fumbling with your communicator during last week's mission, when your hands shook so badly you had to force yourself to keep going. Even now, you wondered whether the team had noticed, whether there was something about you that just didn't measure up. But you also remembered mapping out the escape route in the middle of chaos, your calculations steady and quick when the team needed direction. It was easy to forget that your skills—your quick thinking, your ability to see patterns others missed—were the reason everyone made it home.

Steve straightened slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean, ‘and then there’s you’?” “I mean…” You gestured vaguely at yourself. “I’m not enhanced. I’m not a legend. I mess up. A lot.” His brows knit together, like he genuinely couldn’t process what you were saying. “You’re one of the best people on this team.” You let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “That’s nice of you to say.” “I’m not just saying it,” he insisted, a little more firmly now. “I mean it.” Your eyes caught his for a heartbeat, something raw and delicate sparking in the space between you. Just as quickly, you both looked away.

Because that was the problem. It was never just admiration. Both of you knew it ran deeper, and that truth tangled everything in quiet complication.

Steve’s hand curled slightly against his knee, like he was debating whether to reach out, then thought better of it. “You don’t… have to prove anything,” he said, quieter now. “Neither do you,” you replied before you could stop yourself. That caught him off guard. “Me?” “You act like you still have to earn your place here,” you said softly. “Like you’re not already… everything people look up to.” He shook his head, a faint crease forming between his brows. “You don’t understand.” “Then help me,” you said, almost a whisper. He hesitated, then looked at you again, really looked this time. There was vulnerability there, shown in a way he didn’t usually allow. “I just…” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to mess things up. Not here. Not with… anyone who matters.” Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression carefully neutral. “You won’t.” “You don’t know that,” he said gently. “I’ve been wrong before.” “So have I,” you admitted.

Silence settled again, heavier. There was so much left unsaid. Your gaze lingered on him a moment too long. You remembered that night after the raid downtown, when the two of you had sat on the rooftop as sirens faded, sharing energy bars and confessions in the dark. He had pressed a Band-Aid to your bloody knuckle, fingers warm and careful, and for one shaky second, it felt like the city had shrunk to just the two of you. Since then, he has always found reasons to be near, but never quite close enough. Every almost-touch felt like a boundary neither of you dared to cross.

Steve cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “It’s late. You should get some rest.” “Yeah,” you agreed, even though you weren’t tired at all. Neither of you moved right away. Then, slowly, you stood, setting your book aside. He followed a second later, keeping that same careful distance. “Goodnight, Steve.” “Goodnight.” You turned and walked toward the hallway, resisting the urge to look back.

Behind you, Steve watched you leave, his chest aching with something he both feared and wanted: the hope that you might feel the same way he did, and the worry that admitting it would break the fragile connection between you. He couldn't bring himself to say it, too afraid of losing something he barely dared to reach for. Yet, as he lingered in the quiet, Steve felt a stubborn spark flicker deep inside—a sense that he could not stand in this uncertainty forever. Maybe next time, he would find the courage to close the distance, to risk the honest words hanging on the tip of his tongue.

Because how could he, when he was so sure you deserved someone better?

Steve had to go into work, and not wanting to leave you alone, he had asked Wanda to stay with you while he was gone.

That had been a few hours ago. You were glad for it.

The two of you sat on the couch, a small stack of magazines spread out between you, flipping pages and talking about everything you had missed over the past year—fashion, shows, movies. Wanda talked with her hands, animated and bright, and it made you smile without even thinking about it.

“—I’m serious,” she was saying, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “You have to watch it. It’s a must-see.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, alright. Maybe next time I need a babysitter, we can do a full movie marathon.”

Wanda gave you a look at that, one brow lifting slightly, but she let it go with a small nod. “That sounds like a good plan.”

Her attention shifted to your glass, and she leaned forward, already reaching for it. “You need more water.”

You caught her wrist lightly before she could stand. “Not yet,” you said with a small smile.

Then your expression turned a little more playful. “So… tell me more about this guy of yours. Sounds like it’s getting serious.”

A soft blush crept up Wanda’s cheeks, and she ducked her head just slightly, smiling in that quiet, genuine way of hers. “Yeah. He’s… good. We still hit bumps, but—for the first time—I think he actually wants to work through things with me.”

You leaned back into the couch, studying her for a moment before nodding. “That’s important. Real relationships take work, not just attraction.”

Wanda nodded, thoughtful—

A knock at the door cut through the moment. The two of you stilled. That had not been expected.

You glanced at each other, a flicker of confusion passing between you before Wanda pushed to her feet. “I’ll get it,” she said.

You watched her go, something in your chest tightening just slightly for no reason you could name.

Wanda reached the door, pulling it open—And froze. Just for a second. Then she stepped back, letting whoever it was inside.

Peggy steps inside and spots you immediately. Her gaze takes you in—quick, precise—cataloging everything: you on the couch, in pajamas, settled in like it belongs to you. Like this is normal.

Behind her, Wanda shuts the door a little more quietly than necessary, then turns back with wide eyes, clearly caught off guard. She crosses the room and sits beside you again, a little closer than before.

You clear your throat, trying to cut through the tension before it can settle too deep. “Hey—Steve’s at work.”

Peggy continues further into the room anyway, the silence stretching and becoming heavier with each step. She perches on the arm of the chair rather than fully sitting, posture composed, deliberate. “I didn’t realize you’d already moved in.”

Wanda goes still beside you.

You do not look away from Peggy. “Yeah. A couple days ago.”

Her gaze flicks briefly to Wanda, calculating. “I can stay until Steve gets home,” she says evenly. “If you need to go.” The offer is polite. It is not kind.

You tense, your shoulders tightening as you glance at Wanda—not quite asking, but hoping.

Wanda catches it. For a second, she hesitates. Then she gives you a small, apologetic look as she pushes to her feet. “Yeah… okay. I should probably head out.”

Your shoulders sink, just slightly. She leans in to hug you, gentle and quick, then heads for the door—moving just a little faster than usual. The door closes behind her. And just like that—it’s quiet. Too quiet.

Peggy and you sit across from each other, the space between you suddenly feeling like it could spark at any second.

You glance back at Peggy to find her taking in the room, her gaze moving slowly—deliberately—over everything that marks your presence.

Your things. Your place. In her boyfriend's home.

Eventually, her attention returns to you, a tight smile settling into place. “So… you settling in here alright?”

You take a breath, keeping your voice even. “Yeah. Steve’s been a big help.”

She nods once, like she expected that answer. “Any new memories?”

You know what she means. Not Tony. Not the others. Bucky.

You hum lightly, giving her just enough. “Yeah. We had a dinner party last night. I’m starting to remember Tony.”

Something shifts—just slightly—at the corner of her mouth. “I bet he loved that.”

A small laugh slips out before you can stop it. “He took it well. As well as Tony does anything.”

For a second, it almost feels like a conversation. Almost.

Then the front door opens abruptly. “Hey, tiger—I’m back—”

Steve’s voice carries easily into the room, warm, automatic—

Until he sees her.

He drops his keys into the bowl by the door, the soft clink louder than it should be, and turns—

And everything in him goes still. His posture tightens, like a string pulled too taut. His eyes flick to you—Just for a fraction of a second. But it is enough.

Peggy sees it. You see the exact moment it lands. She exhales, quiet but heavy.

Her voice cuts through the room, quiet but sharp. “You didn’t tell me she’d already moved in.”

Steve drags a hand through his hair, already tense. “We haven’t talked since she did.”

Her mouth twists at that. “You could have called. Or texted.”

He looks at her then, something harder slipping through. “I thought you wanted space. I was giving it to you.”

She lets out a small scoff, but instead of answering him, her gaze shifts—settling on you. “And how are you feeling about all this?”

The question lands heavier than it should. For a moment, you just look at her, caught off guard by the sudden turn. Then something in you steadies. You sit a little straighter, meeting her eyes without wavering.

“Steve’s my best friend,” you say, voice even. “I didn’t plan any of this. But I’m not going to pretend—for you or anyone—that I don’t need him right now.”

The words settle into the space between you. Next to you, Steve’s expression softens, just slightly—but it is enough. Peggy sees it.

She closes her eyes for a brief second, a quiet exhale slipping out of her before she looks back at him. “You’ve already chosen.”

Steve’s head snaps toward her. “It’s not like that—”

She lifts a hand, cutting him off before he can finish, and for a second it seems like she might say more. But she does not. Instead, she turns and heads for the door, her voice calm as she tosses the words over her shoulder. “I think it is.”

The door shuts behind her with a soft click that feels louder than anything said. Silence settles in its wake.

Steve stands there for a moment, staring at the door like if he waits long enough it might open again. Then his gaze flicks to you, uncertain, caught between staying and going.

You already know which one he needs. “Go,” you tell him quietly. “Talk to her.”

He nods and is out the door a second later, calling her name.

Peggy stops but does not come back, turning to face him instead, her arms folding tightly across her chest. “What?”

Steve slows as he reaches her, stopping just a couple of steps away, like he is not sure how close he is allowed to get. “We need to talk about this.”

She shakes her head immediately. “There’s nothing to talk about.” Her voice is steady, but there is something tired underneath it. “You’ve always put her first. This time I just can’t ignore it.”

Her gaze drops for a moment, a frown pulling at her mouth before she looks back up at him. “I’m tired of being second best, Steve.”

The words land heavier than anything she has said so far.

Steve swallows hard, his hands sliding into his pockets like he needs somewhere to put them, something to hold onto—but there is nothing he can say to argue with her. Because she is not wrong. “So what then?” he asks quietly.

Peggy exhales, already turning away as she reaches for her car door. “It’s done, Steve.” She pauses just long enough to look back at him. “We’re done.”

He tips his head back for a second, eyes lifting to the sky like he is trying to steady himself, then looks back at her. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

Her expression softens, just a little. She gives him a small, sad smile—something that might have been forgiveness in another moment—before slipping into the car. The engine starts. And then she is gone.

For a long moment, Steve just stands there, staring after her as the car disappears down the street, the sound fading into nothing.

The quiet that follows feels too big.

He lets out a sharp breath, like he has been holding it in too long, then turns and heads back inside. You are right where he left you, watching him now, concern written plainly across your face. He leans back against the door for a second, like he needs it to hold him up, and gives you a small, resigned smile. “She broke up with me.”

“Oh, Steve.” The words come out softer than you expect, your chest tightening as he pushes off the door and walks back into the room. He moves slower now, like something in him has shifted, and drops onto the couch beside you.

He leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I never planned this, tiger.”

You hesitate, then tilt your head against his shoulder. “I know.” That is all there is to say.

The two of you sit like that for a while, the quiet stretching but not uncomfortable—just heavy, full of things neither of you are ready to put into words.

Eventually, Steve exhales and pushes himself to his feet. He does not look at you as he heads toward his study, disappearing inside without saying anything. The soft click of the door leaves you alone again.

You sigh and reach for your journal, flipping back to one from your freshman year—the one you had been working through earlier. After a moment, you find an entry and begin to read.

January 27, 20XX

I thought it would be different—high school, I mean. But more and more it just feels like the same thing with better gossip.

Apparently Steve and I are the topic of the week, which is ridiculous because we’re just friends. Even Sam has been teasing me about it.

You lower the journal into your lap, your thumb tracing absent circles along the edge of the page. It does not tell you anything you did not already know.

You and Steve had always been close. Closer than most people probably understood. Closer than you had let yourself examine too closely.

And now—Now there is nothing left to hide behind.

Part Eight

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“Want to try a piece?” I asked. “I can cut this last little bite in half.”

Bucky shook his head and looked down. I shrugged and ate the rest of it, and turned my attention to Steve, who was smiling at me. The sandwich had been pretty spicy, and my mouth and lips felt pleasantly hot still, so when he leaned closer, safely hidden in our little corner table in the relatively quiet off-hour, I couldn’t help but grin as I leaned in to meet him.

About an inch away, he suddenly realized his impending mistake and held me back. “Wait– no!”

I tried so hard to get to him, but I had no chance. “Spicy kisses! Spicy kisses!”

“No! No spicy kisses,” Steve said, but he laughed even as he fended me off. “Have you been drinking hot sauce? I can smell it from here.”

“Hhhhhhhow dare you,” I said, trying to breathe on him on the first word so hard I lost my breath. I stopped pushing at him and folded my arms as I sat back. “I didn’t love the sandwich, but the jalapenos were still good.”

“Did they double layer them?”

“Nah, the spread was spicy too. It was all right.” I noticed Bucky was staring at me, and I looked right back at him. “What?”

He cracked a small smile, and dragged one of his French fries around the plate. “You are so weird.”

I made my eyes as big as I could and clasped my hands together under my chin. “Thank you,” I said like it was the sweetest thing in the universe. I then got a fry to the face. I picked it up and ate it. “Yum.”

“Asshole,” he said, but he still had a little smile.

“Do you like hot sauce?” I asked.

He turned blank. His ‘thinking’ face, I assumed, because it came out fairly often and never seemed bad, unless he immediately followed it by leaving. Right now, he just sat and mulled the question over. “I…don’t know,” he said and squinted suspiciously at the condiments.

“It’s okay; Steve’s got no taste,” I said and took a ketchup packet, a hot chili sauce packet, and mixed the contents together.

“Gross,” Steve muttered. I rolled my eyes. Mr. No-I-Don’t-Need-Anything-To-Go-With-My-Aioli could shove the hypocrisy.

I pushed the very basic spicy ketchup towards Bucky, and nodded at his fries. “Just try one,” I said. “You’ve got a nice big soda to wash it down with if you don’t like it, but it’s good.” I snaked a fry bit, dipped it, and ate it just to show him it wasn’t poison.

Bucky stared at it for a few seconds, looked at me to make sure I wasn’t dying (and I strongly resisted the urge to fake poison because I was still figuring out what his buttons were, even though it would have been so funny), and tentatively dipped a tiny corner of his fry into it. He chewed way longer than was necessary, waited, then dragged a full fry through it and ate the whole thing.

Bucky looked at Steve. “Wimp,” he said.

“Hey!” Steve said but I could barely hear him over my own laughter. The experiment was a success, as Bucky smugly continued eating his fries with his new ketchup concoction.

Amused and dodging Steve’s half-hearted attempts to take a swipe at me, my mind started to wander. I’d gotten Steve into some new things. What else did Bucky have yet to experience?

~

Food was– well, not safe, but probably the easiest thing to be adventurous with. It felt a little silly in some ways– Bucky had listed off at least ten countries as some of the places he explored while he was off finding himself– but also, Bucky was a guy who, at least at this point in his life, only lived on the bare minimum, so how much had he explored really?

Today I had a bag of candy while I was hanging out with Steve. Steve had had his own bag, a big one at that– and had devoured about all of it as soon as he sat down. Tony could joke about Werther’s all he wanted, but I didn’t know anybody who could put away peach rings like Steve did.

Bucky sauntered in just after the sun had gone down, paused only a moment in the connection point where he could have easily gone for the bedroom, and chose to come in and sink into a chair across from the couch. Willingly spending time with me around– someday I was going to stop being surprised by that, but for now, I’d take the compliment.

“Hey Buck,” Steve said with a soft smile. “How was the time out?”

Bucky shrugged, and glanced at me. I held up my candy assortment, and picked one out. “Want some candy?”

He stared at the piece in my hand. And then blinked several times. Then he scrunched his nose. “Why’s it look like that?”

I almost made a smart comment about how he had been in the world for a while, surely he had seen candy in passing, but then I thought– I didn’t actually know that, I didn’t know what it meant to put your brain back together and what you did and did not notice or remember, so I stowed the sarcasm for the moment. “You’ve never had blue raspberry?” I held the piece and the bag closer towards him. “This is a travesty that must be rectified.”

Bucky looked at the itty-bitty little piece of totally unthreatening candy and grimaced. “I think anything calling itself “blue raspberry” is probably the real travesty,” he muttered.

I couldn’t actually argue that. “Are you sure you don’t want to try one?” I asked. He hesitated, but after several seconds, shook his head. “Okay,” I said, and ate the piece. “If you change your mind, let me know before the bag is gone.”

“What if I want one after the bag is gone?”

“I could try and feed you like a baby bird, but I don’t think any of us would enjoy that.”

He crinkled his nose, but his lips turned up with it. “Gross.”

I laughed and almost threw a candy at him– but thought better of it and popped it into my mouth. Steve snorted, and I leaned back and dangled a piece of candy next to him. He recoiled like it was radioactive.

“Wanna be adventurous?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“No,” he said, and even scooted away.

Bucky was by my shoulder in a second. He hesitated, but held his hand out. I tried to stifle my smile, but I placed the one single tiny piece of candy in his massive metal paw, and after several seconds he still didn’t budge.

“Hey, was cough syrup still laced with cocaine when you two were kids?” I asked, filled my hand with candy, and put all of it into my mouth.

Bucky gave me a glare, then lightened up just in time to say, completely deadpan, “I don’t remember,” before tossing it back into his mouth.

I cackled so hard I started choking and thus completely missed his reaction, while Steve tried to figure out how to pound on my back without breaking it.

~

“Hey losers,” I said, not looking up from my game as the door opened and two familiar treads came in and stopped at the entry. Bucky grumbled something under his breath and, while I couldn’t hear it, I could imagine what it was. “Steve texted me so calm down mother.”

“Still should check,” he grumped.

Suddenly a package was tossed in my lap. I jerked back– thankfully after I had escaped virtual death, so I was able to pause and investigate. It looked like a bag of mixed candies, with a name I had never heard of. I looked up and Bucky was standing nearby, looking around the room.

“They’re citrus,” Bucky mumbled, keeping his eyes away from me as he sat down in the chair.

“Neat. Thanks!” I said, and as soon as the game stopped saving, I exited out for the main TV menu. Steve came back from the kitchen with several drinks, handing one off to Bucky and then one he slipped into my lap before he moved to sit on my other side. I popped the tab. “Hey, Bucky– do you like music?”

He grimaced. “Some, I guess,” he said nonchalantly. “Some of it’s just a lot of…noise.”

“Hm,” I said as I took a sip from my drink.

Bucky suddenly had eyes on me like he was a hawk. It was kind of freaky, but I didn’t flinch. “What,” he said flatly.

“What?” I asked. I picked up the remote and turned my head towards the TV. “You guys have anything you want to watch?”

Bucky kept staring at me, I could feel it. Unfortunately for him, it only made me want to smile so big. Steve did, in fact, smile. He also rolled his eyes and stole the remote right out of my hand. “Knock it off Buck,” he said as he started navigating menus like a man on a mission. “You’re only encouraging her.”

“Shush; let him fuel my mischief,” I said and snuggled in next to him.

Bucky rolled his eyes, but when I peeked again, he looked relaxed. “Your nonsense, more like,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Same diff,” I said, and chucked one of the candies at him.

Over the next few days, I made three new playlists that I then shared selectively with Steve. The first one was “B – Calm, Easy, Quiet”; the second was made after a little hemming and hawing and titled, “B – All the Noise (To Drown Out Thoughts)”. The third one was made without any hesitation, but shared with a little– “B – If He Has A Sense of Humor”.

All of them were a mess of genres and traversed across multiple eras. The first was a collection of slower, quieter, deeper songs. The second was full of frenetic, screaming, and otherwise super messy songs that might be the exact thing he had grimaced about…but also might come in handy. You never knew who needed a little metalcore, and sometimes neither did they. The third was just me being a little shit. Who knew so many oldies were about memories? I threw in a few about how swell fellas are too. For the romantic in him.

Bucky: You think you’re funny do you

I sent back a lot of emojis full of obnoxious smiley faces, flowers, suns, and kissy faces. A few days later, he sent me a link to a playlist. I listened dutifully to the whole thing, and every single song was just a bunch of machine grinding noises masquerading as EDM.

My boyfriend had great taste in men, I had to admit.

~

“Hey, look at this,” I said to Steve as soon as I got inside his apartment. He backed away, giving me room to set my bag on the counter, and belatedly I realized he had been coming to greet me with a hug. “Oh, hi,” I said and kissed him quick before turning back to my goodies. “Hey– check this out.”

“Should I be afraid of how excited you are, or excited too?” he asked, slipping one arm around me as he leaned in to look.

“You can be both,” I said and pulled two packages out of the bag. They were gift sets, one an assortment of tiny shampoo bottles, and the other an assortment of tiny liquid soaps. Steve squinted at them, which was not unfounded– the packaging was very bright pink and more geared for the girliest teenager you knew. However.

“Why?” he asked, tone loaded with suspicion, and gave me a stare to match. Maybe he was spending a little too much time with Bucky. Normally I got at least a minute to lead in to my shenanigans.

“I remembered you have that stupid interview in a few days,” I said, and indeed, he winced at the mention. Some right-wing douchebag masquerading as a “centrist”. What else was new. “So I got you these.”

He kept looking at me, even though his lips twitched a little. “Still doesn’t explain.”

Because I was trying to find a suitably dramatic and hilarious way to explain it, but all I could do was shrug. “Well, I know you hate that guy, and I found out he has some thing about men smelling ‘feminine’ or whatever,” I said. “Apparently he went off on it for like, a half-hour on some trash alpha-male podcast or something, so this–” I held up the package of shampoos, “Is gonna make your hair smell so girly.”

He definitely looked more intrigued– just as I knew he would. “I got the soaps just in case– I know you’re fussier about that, but they’re all super frou-frou, so if you can stand the smell, it’s a really easy way to get on his nerves right from the get-go, before even shaking hands.”

I set the package back down and waited for, at the very least, faint praise for my thoughtfulness. But when Steve looked at me, it was with that sort of melting expression of adoration that made me so soft, but seemed way too much for something this small. Poor thing must have been more stressed about this stupid interview than he was willing to say. “I love you,” he said earnestly.

“I know.” I gave him a quick kiss. “And I love you too.” But when I went back to the bag, I hesitated.

“What else?” Steve asked and put his chin on my shoulder. “If you want to dress me, we’ll have to discuss that a little bit more.”

“You are a grown-ass man who can dress himself.” I played with the bag handle. “How’s Bucky with scents and stuff?”

Steve chuckled and kissed the side of my head. “He mostly sticks with the basics. What’d you get him now?”

“Well, for one I thought he might like to try some of those.” I gestured at the stuff I gave Steve. “He isn’t super macho tough guy, and he might genuinely like them. But I also got…” I pulled out three more gift sets. Shampoo, soap, and also lotion, because fuck it, why not. “He doesn’t indulge on his own. But I don’t want to be pushy, you know? I just think…”

“You’re overthinking,” he said, quiet but firm. “They’re great. I’ll tell Bucky you got them for me to try and that I’d appreciate the help in working through them.”

“You don’t have to lie.” I leaned back into him. “He’ll see right through you anyways.”

“Yeah.” He kissed me. “But it’s the thought that counts.”

~

We never talked about it. I had no idea if he even bothered to try the soaps, but that wasn’t really the point. They were for him, not for me, and if he liked them, great, he could talk to Steve about it to get more, and if not, no harm done.

We were out again, at a pizza place this time, late one night. Or early in the morning– I wasn’t really paying attention to the clock anymore. Bucky was quieter than usual, but he hadn’t ditched us yet, which I took for a good sign, even if I did want to kick Steve under the table for the way his eyebrows kept creasing. I didn’t know what was going on with them, but if they didn’t want to bring it up, then I was perfectly happy to let it rest. Bucky and I were friendly enough, I thought, but I was nowhere near nosing in to all his various moods.

So while I wasn’t as obnoxious as I could be, I still behaved like myself. I ordered all the food while Steve was distracted, and made sure Bucky had a lot of fun things to try, with a few safe standbys just in case. He picked at his food quite a bit, and every time he finished eating a slice he would wait until Steve gave him another one– until Steve got really into telling a story about Clint, and Bucky waited and waited and waited, his eyes flicking towards the remaining food. Steve didn’t notice quick enough, so I took a chance and put a slice on Bucky’s plate, not sure if he would take it from me or not. But Bucky relaxed his shoulders, gave me a short nod, and started eating again while listening to Steve talk.

He ate quickly enough that I was able to slip him three more slices without Steve noticing, all of them different. The fourth one though, Bucky put his hand out. “Not that one,” he said, making Steve stop, blink, and look around in confusion.

“You’ve had it before?” I asked and started sifting through the other pizza boxes. Most of them were empty– a hazard of eating out with two men who could chow through food in ways even competitive eaters could only dream of.

“I’ve tried some things without you,” Bucky muttered.

It didn’t sound like a dig, but it did make me pause. “You don’t have to try everything I give you,” I said.

“I know,” Bucky said. “But I…like it.” He frowned and looked focused in a way that let me know there was something else there. But he shook his head. I was curious, but didn’t press. Hopefully he’d tell me someday. “And you think of things sometimes Steve doesn’t.”

“So it’s okay to keep doing?” I said. Bucky nodded. I grinned. “Excellent.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He looked at Steve, and then at me. “Maybe I take it back,” he said cautiously.

“Too late!” I said and picked up a piece of pizza. He’d drop that ‘maybe’ eventually, but for now, I wondered what it would take.

~