it was nice while it lasted

You’ve seen Steve one-on-one both inside and outside of work throughout the last month. 

He comes to play with the animals, preparing to adopt one and bonding with each one to find the one that connects with him the most. At first, you thought he and Major would be a perfect match. German Shepherds are intelligent, able to follow commands well and they look like a suitable pair. However, the canine is still on the aloof side, and you’ve realized that Steve needs a dog with a kinder demeanor. 

The smaller dogs are a little too intimidated by him. Despite playing, they can’t quite keep up with his wide strides as he joins you for daily walks and playtime is underlined with aggression as the little dogs try to assert some semblance of dominance over him. 

Cats are even more withdrawn, not complimenting Steve’s need for a softer, sociable companion. You laughed as he attempted to engage with them using various feathered toys and a laser pointer and failed in nearly every attempt.

“She likes you,” you remark as he sits on the floor with Willow, smiling as the golden retriever pup playfully nips at his palm. 

“I think I like her too,” he agrees with a nod. 

The clock beeps on cue, earning some whines and howls from the animals as the work day comes to a close. You begin to cover the carriers and get everyone settled for the night. As you turn to look at the puppies, Steve is putting Willow in her kennel and giving her a few more pets before shutting the door. 

You finish closing up, setting the alarm and locking up the shelter. 

“Can I join you for dinner tonight?” Steve wonders, feet tacked onto the sidewalk next to the front door.

Smiling, you nod.

- - -

Seated by the window in the diner, you place an order with the waitress before she clears away the menus. Steve is people watching on the street and you hate to disturb his peace, but the question is gnawing at you.

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

His head twists quickly to look at you, eyes attentive as he gestures for you to proceed with your question.

“Is this…” The beginning of the question begins to sound silly in your mind. It’s so high school, but you have to know. “Are we on a date?” 

You bite your lip, waiting as he purses his lips in thought. 

“Would it be bad if this was a date?”

“No,” you answer, probably a little too quickly. You stumble over your words as you try to recover from your eager response. It’s always been a pitfall of your personality; you can’t keep your ideas in for the life of you and they come out so impulsively. It’s why you decided to work with animals, unlike your sister. If you had her job, the kids at the preschool would know your business, then their parents and the entirety of Barber, for that matter. 

Your nerves show as you rip the wrapper of your straw to miniscule pieces, even more humiliated as you fail completely at saving face. 

Well, I’ve bungled another one.

Your forwardness hasn’t paid off in the past, men would often head for the hills once hearing you expressed any thought that what you felt with them was more than a mere enjoyment of their company. The moment you told them you liked them or, in this case, called an outing a “date”, it was game over.

Your wrapper is smithereens on the table, your proverbial white flag as you prepare yourself to be let down “easy” yet again. You don’t meet his eyes; you can’t bear another look of uncomfortable sympathy as another man rejects you. 

As your hands begin to retract into your lap, Steve catches them in one of his. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers before taking you to dinner.” 

Blinking in disbelief and confusion, you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“What?”

“It’s a date,” he laughs. “I should’ve bought you flowers. Actually, I’m overdue for flowers. Our first date was the picnic in the park.” 

“Oh, that doesn’t have to be a ‘date’...” you begin.

His fingers loosen around yours. “Do you not want to count that?”

No, no, you panic, gripping him tighter. “No,” you shake your head. When you detect the disappointment in his face, you begin to backpedal, “No, I mean, I don’t not want to call that a date. We can call it a date, our first one, if you want.” You take in his face again, not finding anything. “Or…we don’t have to.”

“Okay, how about this,” he laughs, bringing his other hand up. He laces your fingers together, palms warm against yours. “This is our first date. And I’ll bring you flowers in the morning.” 

With how much your brain likes to think, you try to go through the catalog of time you’ve spent with him. An errand here, a dog walk there, a dog bath here, and the picnic. You try to think which of those encounters you started wanting to see him day after day after day until the end of days. 

Truth is, it was the moment he walked into the shelter the first time. 

Squeezing your fingers, you add your voice to your silent affirmation. 

- - - - - 

“Would you like to come in?” you ask, “This is a date, after all.” 

Lump in his throat, Steve has trouble finding his voice. He nods and places his hand on the small of your back as you go up the stairs. 

The space is small but the open, shared area between the kitchen and living space removes any feelings of claustrophobia. 

There’s a kitchen table with two chairs. He can see which one you use by the faded spot where you’ve gripped the top of it to pull it out. It faces the front window; fitting for you to want to take in the sunshine before getting started with your day. 

The living space has a small bookshelf with sets of novels, along with some trinkets and photos. Under the TV in the stand is a basket full of crochet supplies, a half-finished fluffy blanket spilling out of the top. He figures it’s for the animals downstairs in preparation for the winter. 

“Do you want some wine?” you offer. “Or if you’re in a crazy mood, I have some vodka.” 

“Damn,” Steve laughs. “I’m good for now.” 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing two drinking glasses. You take out your pitcher from the fridge and begin to pour water in both of them. “Water’s important, though.” 

“That’s true.” 

You hand one glass to him before leading him to the couch, turning on the TV. There’s a rerun of a late night sitcom playing, so you lower the volume and get comfy.

“What do you like to watch?” 

“Last time I watched TV, I was into Beevis & Butt-Head.” 

“Ew,” your face grimaces at weird, gross teenage-boy humor. “Sorry. Not that I was much better. One Tree Hill was my entire personality in high school.” 

“What’s that?”

Steve watches in amusement as your head turns to look at him faster than a .22 caliber bullet. “You don’t know?”

He shakes his head. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” 

And you’re off, spewing names and descriptions in every direction and he’s taking it all in like a mission log. His mind conjures up a relation chart, connecting the two main male leads as half brothers and their respective friends and love interests. 

“It’s so high school drama, but I couldn’t get enough of it.” 

“Can we watch an episode?” 

His heart leaps when your eyes light up.

- - -

With three episodes of One Tree Hill watched, you pause the show. 

“Interesting so far,” Steve remarks, though you notice his face is expressionless, the fronts of his eyes glistening with a slight glaze. 

“You don’t have to watch it anymore if you don’t want to.” 

“Thank you,” he laughs. “I did mean that, it was interesting. It’s just…”

“So high school?”

“Yep.” 

“That’s fair,” you say, stretching. As your muscles relax, you recline against the back of the couch. Feeling eyes on you, you look up at Steve. 

He’s looking at you oddly; you can’t figure out what he’s thinking or what he wants.

“Ste–?”

You don’t get to finish, not when he takes your face in his hands and kisses you feverishly. 

Oh, that’s why he was looking at me…

You can’t recall if anyone has ever kissed you this way, something that seems to put your body on autopilot as you lay back across the cushions with him settling on top of you, pressing his weight onto your body while his hands begin to wander down your sides. 

It’s dizzying, overwhelming as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Your hands find the front of his chest, pressing against him to get his attention, but not enough to push him away. 

“I need to slow down,” you speak up.

“Sorry,” he pants. “It’s been…not that I’m eager to only do this, but…” He trails off, looking away from you to find the right words. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about someone.” 

“Me too,” you say. “The last time I dated someone was a long time ago. Just been me and the animals since then.” 

The two of you share a laugh at your shared dry spells. Around you, the air buzzes with the eager electricity of desire. 

You swallow your nerves and muster the courage to ask if he thinks the two of you would be more comfortable in the bedroom. He doesn’t answer, but instead gets up from his position above you before holding out his hand. 

Standing with him, you place your hand in his, accepting his kiss when he leans in for another one. 

With a little tug, you take him to the little corridor past the bathroom and the washer and dryer and lead him into the bedroom. You let go of his hand to turn on your bedside lamp. There’s no need to turn back and look at him when his hands come around your waist and pull your body close to his. His face finds the crook of your neck, lips pressing kisses there that ignite your body. 

His hands begin to wander, cupping your chest and gliding down your front to pin your hip back to keep you flush against him. 

Your lungs struggle, body overstimulated with all the contact against your back while your front screams for more. The clothing begins to feel stifling and you yank his hands off of you to take your shirt off to discard it on the floor. Turning to face Steve again, he’s acting before you can. 

He grips your hips again, falling back onto your mattress heavily and taking you with him. His hands guide you to straddle his hips, your groin positioned just above the growing tent in his pants. 

You feel one hand trailing up your back as he begins to undo the clasp of your bra. As he busies himself with that, you begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, bringing it up until he has to pause his act to take it off all the way. Tossing the shirt to the floor, you reach up with your other hand and unhook your bra all the way. 

“I had a handle on it,” Steve jokes, sitting up and burying his face between your breasts. 

He takes your nipple between his lips, suckling and wiping your brain of any witty comebacks so you settle for an, “Mhm.” You try to add a tone of sarcasm, but it’s hard to know how it came out as your head spins. 

Your hands find their way into his hair, gripping the short strands between your fingers as much as you can as you begin to grind your hips against him. 

The world spins as he flips you onto your back, your knees still around his waist until he stands back and unbuttons his pants. You follow his lead, reaching down and popping the button. Before you can shimmy out of the waistband, your hands are swatted away and replaced with his. 

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your underwear, those are removed too, leaving you bare in front of him. His eyes are fiery when he meets yours, holding your gaze and waiting for any sign to stop. Hands on your knees, he spreads your legs and exposes your center. His eyes catch the shine of arousal in the soft light from your lamp, mouth watering in anticipation. 

Lowering himself to his knees, he pulls you slightly closer to the edge of the bed, the perfect spot for him to lean forward and press his tongue between your lower lips. 

It draws a gasp from you, then a sound of pure arousal as he pleases you. A hand drifts up again, stimulating your breast with tugs and flicks at your nipples. The hunger behind his mouth and desperation from his hand goes straight to your head. He works you to the end and through it, sending you flying over the edge and keeping you floating until he’s satisfied. 

He stands over you, boxers off and stroking his length as he pushes you to the middle of the bed. His eyes don’t leave yours as he grabs a pillow to stuff beneath your hips and brings your knees around your hips. 

When he slides in, it’s an easy glide and the both of you have to take a moment to process the sensation. He fills you up, giving a delicious pain that makes your thighs quiver. You grip his cock so tightly, soft around him that his toes curl in bliss. 

“You okay?” he checks.

“Yes,” you respond. He’s concerned at how choked you sound.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I just…” you exhale, “I need you.” 

He obliges, withdrawing his hips and propelling them forward. He finds a rhythm, building up a steady, satisfying pattern that has you holding him tighter and crying out for him in desperation. It spurs him on further when you begin begging; you don’t need to, he’s so willing to give you everything you need. 

A string of expletives falls out of your mouth and he delivers a series of steady, forceful thrusts, resisting the loss of stamina as he finds himself finishing sooner than anticipated. He leans forward and keeps up, sucking at the skin of your neck and toying with your nipples again. When your hands fly to the comforter and your body tenses beneath his, he reaches down to stroke your clit and carry out your orgasm as long as you can bear it. 

When you shrink away from him, he slows down and eventually stops, fingers grazing over the outside of your thigh as his lips find your cheek.

“You okay?” he mumbles against your skin. 

“Mmm,” you hum in acknowledgement. 

He flips you over again, nestling you into his side so that he can keep you close as you both navigate the fog of post-coital bliss. 

- - - - -

You stumble into the living area using your fingers to undo a knot in your hair. You can smell toast and eggs, along with coffee. On your dining table is a bouquet of fresh flowers. 

Steve is dressed, transferring the eggs from the frying pan to one of two plates. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t be awake yet,” he says when he sees you. “Wanted to give you breakfast in bed.” 

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I don’t like getting crumbs in my bed.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “The couch then?” 

He brings the plates while you bring the coffee. The first few minutes are silent but not awkward. Just enjoyment of each other’s company as you start the day after spending the night together. 

“I was thinking,” Steve says, “I think Willow would be a really great dog to adopt.” 

You finish chewing your bite of toast before bumping his shoulder. “If you just wanted to adopt the dog, you didn’t have to do this whole ruse of taking me on a date and sleeping with me.” 

You’re pulled into his lap and smothered with kisses as the two of you laugh.

– - - - -

Steve splits his time between your place and the cabin. He doesn’t like leaving the family he semi-uprooted by his arrival, but the cabin also wasn’t puppy-proofed yet. Willow lived with you as Ari made sure everything was dog-friendly and dog-conscious. That included padding around the family furnishings and banisters that he spent precious time restoring. It would be removed when Willow was no longer teething. 

Being in less than three months with you awoke the part of him that he had hidden away. He was safe enough to share about himself and he did it so easily around you. Anyone else needed to build his trust, but as long as you would have him, he was yours. 

He holds you tighter as he gets pulled from sleep, hearing pinging from a device on the other side of the room.

Wait. He knows that sound. 

Eyes opening, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you to avoid disturbing you. He steps lightly as he rises from the bed and finds his pants, reaching into the front pocket to pull out the pager he keeps on him. 

Walking to the window, he angles the device so the screen catches the moonlight and he can see the letters scrolling across.

MISSION GOING SOUTH. BACKUP NEEDED.

His heart drops. They wouldn’t page him if they didn’t need him. He knows Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He can only imagine what the team is going through right now, how desperate they must be in order to page a teammate that was discharged because the missions consumed him. 

He looks at you, still fast asleep in the bed, then back at the pager as the message plays again. 

Putting his legs through his pants, he hesitates before replying. 

En route. Send coordinates.

Steve finds his shirt and puts it on. He opens the drawer in your bedside table and pulls out a notepad and pen. 

I’m sorry but I have to go. Take care of Willow until I come back. 

He peels the note off the pad and folds it before writing your name on it. After propping it against the base of your lamp, he stops and takes in the image of you asleep. 

He could just undress and get back under the covers. He wants to. He wants to pretend he never heard the pager and just go on the way he has with you for the past two months. But if he did, he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing he left his team to suffer, or worse.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss into your forehead, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s a soldier. 

As he leaves, he ignores the tugging in his chest, stretching like elastic that’s ready to snap and bring him back to you at any moment. Down the street, back to the cabin, he boxes up the memories of you and locks them away. 

------

You’ve seen Steve one-on-one both inside and outside of work throughout the last month. 

He comes to play with the animals, preparing to adopt one and bonding with each one to find the one that connects with him the most. At first, you thought he and Major would be a perfect match. German Shepherds are intelligent, able to follow commands well and they look like a suitable pair. However, the canine is still on the aloof side, and you’ve realized that Steve needs a dog with a kinder demeanor. 

The smaller dogs are a little too intimidated by him. Despite playing, they can’t quite keep up with his wide strides as he joins you for daily walks and playtime is underlined with aggression as the little dogs try to assert some semblance of dominance over him. 

Cats are even more withdrawn, not complimenting Steve’s need for a softer, sociable companion. You laughed as he attempted to engage with them using various feathered toys and a laser pointer and failed in nearly every attempt.

“She likes you,” you remark as he sits on the floor with Willow, smiling as the golden retriever pup playfully nips at his palm. 

“I think I like her too,” he agrees with a nod. 

The clock beeps on cue, earning some whines and howls from the animals as the work day comes to a close. You begin to cover the carriers and get everyone settled for the night. As you turn to look at the puppies, Steve is putting Willow in her kennel and giving her a few more pets before shutting the door. 

You finish closing up, setting the alarm and locking up the shelter. 

“Can I join you for dinner tonight?” Steve wonders, feet tacked onto the sidewalk next to the front door.

Smiling, you nod.

- - -

Seated by the window in the diner, you place an order with the waitress before she clears away the menus. Steve is people watching on the street and you hate to disturb his peace, but the question is gnawing at you.

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

His head twists quickly to look at you, eyes attentive as he gestures for you to proceed with your question.

“Is this…” The beginning of the question begins to sound silly in your mind. It’s so high school, but you have to know. “Are we on a date?” 

You bite your lip, waiting as he purses his lips in thought. 

“Would it be bad if this was a date?”

“No,” you answer, probably a little too quickly. You stumble over your words as you try to recover from your eager response. It’s always been a pitfall of your personality; you can’t keep your ideas in for the life of you and they come out so impulsively. It’s why you decided to work with animals, unlike your sister. If you had her job, the kids at the preschool would know your business, then their parents and the entirety of Barber, for that matter. 

Your nerves show as you rip the wrapper of your straw to miniscule pieces, even more humiliated as you fail completely at saving face. 

Well, I’ve bungled another one.

Your forwardness hasn’t paid off in the past, men would often head for the hills once hearing you expressed any thought that what you felt with them was more than a mere enjoyment of their company. The moment you told them you liked them or, in this case, called an outing a “date”, it was game over.

Your wrapper is smithereens on the table, your proverbial white flag as you prepare yourself to be let down “easy” yet again. You don’t meet his eyes; you can’t bear another look of uncomfortable sympathy as another man rejects you. 

As your hands begin to retract into your lap, Steve catches them in one of his. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers before taking you to dinner.” 

Blinking in disbelief and confusion, you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“What?”

“It’s a date,” he laughs. “I should’ve bought you flowers. Actually, I’m overdue for flowers. Our first date was the picnic in the park.” 

“Oh, that doesn’t have to be a ‘date’...” you begin.

His fingers loosen around yours. “Do you not want to count that?”

No, no, you panic, gripping him tighter. “No,” you shake your head. When you detect the disappointment in his face, you begin to backpedal, “No, I mean, I don’t not want to call that a date. We can call it a date, our first one, if you want.” You take in his face again, not finding anything. “Or…we don’t have to.”

“Okay, how about this,” he laughs, bringing his other hand up. He laces your fingers together, palms warm against yours. “This is our first date. And I’ll bring you flowers in the morning.” 

With how much your brain likes to think, you try to go through the catalog of time you’ve spent with him. An errand here, a dog walk there, a dog bath here, and the picnic. You try to think which of those encounters you started wanting to see him day after day after day until the end of days. 

Truth is, it was the moment he walked into the shelter the first time. 

Squeezing your fingers, you add your voice to your silent affirmation. 

- - - - - 

“Would you like to come in?” you ask, “This is a date, after all.” 

Lump in his throat, Steve has trouble finding his voice. He nods and places his hand on the small of your back as you go up the stairs. 

The space is small but the open, shared area between the kitchen and living space removes any feelings of claustrophobia. 

There’s a kitchen table with two chairs. He can see which one you use by the faded spot where you’ve gripped the top of it to pull it out. It faces the front window; fitting for you to want to take in the sunshine before getting started with your day. 

The living space has a small bookshelf with sets of novels, along with some trinkets and photos. Under the TV in the stand is a basket full of crochet supplies, a half-finished fluffy blanket spilling out of the top. He figures it’s for the animals downstairs in preparation for the winter. 

“Do you want some wine?” you offer. “Or if you’re in a crazy mood, I have some vodka.” 

“Damn,” Steve laughs. “I’m good for now.” 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing two drinking glasses. You take out your pitcher from the fridge and begin to pour water in both of them. “Water’s important, though.” 

“That’s true.” 

You hand one glass to him before leading him to the couch, turning on the TV. There’s a rerun of a late night sitcom playing, so you lower the volume and get comfy.

“What do you like to watch?” 

“Last time I watched TV, I was into Beevis & Butt-Head.” 

“Ew,” your face grimaces at weird, gross teenage-boy humor. “Sorry. Not that I was much better. One Tree Hill was my entire personality in high school.” 

“What’s that?”

Steve watches in amusement as your head turns to look at him faster than a .22 caliber bullet. “You don’t know?”

He shakes his head. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” 

And you’re off, spewing names and descriptions in every direction and he’s taking it all in like a mission log. His mind conjures up a relation chart, connecting the two main male leads as half brothers and their respective friends and love interests. 

“It’s so high school drama, but I couldn’t get enough of it.” 

“Can we watch an episode?” 

His heart leaps when your eyes light up.

- - -

With three episodes of One Tree Hill watched, you pause the show. 

“Interesting so far,” Steve remarks, though you notice his face is expressionless, the fronts of his eyes glistening with a slight glaze. 

“You don’t have to watch it anymore if you don’t want to.” 

“Thank you,” he laughs. “I did mean that, it was interesting. It’s just…”

“So high school?”

“Yep.” 

“That’s fair,” you say, stretching. As your muscles relax, you recline against the back of the couch. Feeling eyes on you, you look up at Steve. 

He’s looking at you oddly; you can’t figure out what he’s thinking or what he wants.

“Ste–?”

You don’t get to finish, not when he takes your face in his hands and kisses you feverishly. 

Oh, that’s why he was looking at me…

You can’t recall if anyone has ever kissed you this way, something that seems to put your body on autopilot as you lay back across the cushions with him settling on top of you, pressing his weight onto your body while his hands begin to wander down your sides. 

It’s dizzying, overwhelming as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Your hands find the front of his chest, pressing against him to get his attention, but not enough to push him away. 

“I need to slow down,” you speak up.

“Sorry,” he pants. “It’s been…not that I’m eager to only do this, but…” He trails off, looking away from you to find the right words. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about someone.” 

“Me too,” you say. “The last time I dated someone was a long time ago. Just been me and the animals since then.” 

The two of you share a laugh at your shared dry spells. Around you, the air buzzes with the eager electricity of desire. 

You swallow your nerves and muster the courage to ask if he thinks the two of you would be more comfortable in the bedroom. He doesn’t answer, but instead gets up from his position above you before holding out his hand. 

Standing with him, you place your hand in his, accepting his kiss when he leans in for another one. 

With a little tug, you take him to the little corridor past the bathroom and the washer and dryer and lead him into the bedroom. You let go of his hand to turn on your bedside lamp. There’s no need to turn back and look at him when his hands come around your waist and pull your body close to his. His face finds the crook of your neck, lips pressing kisses there that ignite your body. 

His hands begin to wander, cupping your chest and gliding down your front to pin your hip back to keep you flush against him. 

Your lungs struggle, body overstimulated with all the contact against your back while your front screams for more. The clothing begins to feel stifling and you yank his hands off of you to take your shirt off to discard it on the floor. Turning to face Steve again, he’s acting before you can. 

He grips your hips again, falling back onto your mattress heavily and taking you with him. His hands guide you to straddle his hips, your groin positioned just above the growing tent in his pants. 

You feel one hand trailing up your back as he begins to undo the clasp of your bra. As he busies himself with that, you begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, bringing it up until he has to pause his act to take it off all the way. Tossing the shirt to the floor, you reach up with your other hand and unhook your bra all the way. 

“I had a handle on it,” Steve jokes, sitting up and burying his face between your breasts. 

He takes your nipple between his lips, suckling and wiping your brain of any witty comebacks so you settle for an, “Mhm.” You try to add a tone of sarcasm, but it’s hard to know how it came out as your head spins. 

Your hands find their way into his hair, gripping the short strands between your fingers as much as you can as you begin to grind your hips against him. 

The world spins as he flips you onto your back, your knees still around his waist until he stands back and unbuttons his pants. You follow his lead, reaching down and popping the button. Before you can shimmy out of the waistband, your hands are swatted away and replaced with his. 

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your underwear, those are removed too, leaving you bare in front of him. His eyes are fiery when he meets yours, holding your gaze and waiting for any sign to stop. Hands on your knees, he spreads your legs and exposes your center. His eyes catch the shine of arousal in the soft light from your lamp, mouth watering in anticipation. 

Lowering himself to his knees, he pulls you slightly closer to the edge of the bed, the perfect spot for him to lean forward and press his tongue between your lower lips. 

It draws a gasp from you, then a sound of pure arousal as he pleases you. A hand drifts up again, stimulating your breast with tugs and flicks at your nipples. The hunger behind his mouth and desperation from his hand goes straight to your head. He works you to the end and through it, sending you flying over the edge and keeping you floating until he’s satisfied. 

He stands over you, boxers off and stroking his length as he pushes you to the middle of the bed. His eyes don’t leave yours as he grabs a pillow to stuff beneath your hips and brings your knees around your hips. 

When he slides in, it’s an easy glide and the both of you have to take a moment to process the sensation. He fills you up, giving a delicious pain that makes your thighs quiver. You grip his cock so tightly, soft around him that his toes curl in bliss. 

“You okay?” he checks.

“Yes,” you respond. He’s concerned at how choked you sound.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I just…” you exhale, “I need you.” 

He obliges, withdrawing his hips and propelling them forward. He finds a rhythm, building up a steady, satisfying pattern that has you holding him tighter and crying out for him in desperation. It spurs him on further when you begin begging; you don’t need to, he’s so willing to give you everything you need. 

A string of expletives falls out of your mouth and he delivers a series of steady, forceful thrusts, resisting the loss of stamina as he finds himself finishing sooner than anticipated. He leans forward and keeps up, sucking at the skin of your neck and toying with your nipples again. When your hands fly to the comforter and your body tenses beneath his, he reaches down to stroke your clit and carry out your orgasm as long as you can bear it. 

When you shrink away from him, he slows down and eventually stops, fingers grazing over the outside of your thigh as his lips find your cheek.

“You okay?” he mumbles against your skin. 

“Mmm,” you hum in acknowledgement. 

He flips you over again, nestling you into his side so that he can keep you close as you both navigate the fog of post-coital bliss. 

- - - - -

You stumble into the living area using your fingers to undo a knot in your hair. You can smell toast and eggs, along with coffee. On your dining table is a bouquet of fresh flowers. 

Steve is dressed, transferring the eggs from the frying pan to one of two plates. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t be awake yet,” he says when he sees you. “Wanted to give you breakfast in bed.” 

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I don’t like getting crumbs in my bed.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “The couch then?” 

He brings the plates while you bring the coffee. The first few minutes are silent but not awkward. Just enjoyment of each other’s company as you start the day after spending the night together. 

“I was thinking,” Steve says, “I think Willow would be a really great dog to adopt.” 

You finish chewing your bite of toast before bumping his shoulder. “If you just wanted to adopt the dog, you didn’t have to do this whole ruse of taking me on a date and sleeping with me.” 

You’re pulled into his lap and smothered with kisses as the two of you laugh.

– - - - -

Steve splits his time between your place and the cabin. He doesn’t like leaving the family he semi-uprooted by his arrival, but the cabin also wasn’t puppy-proofed yet. Willow lived with you as Ari made sure everything was dog-friendly and dog-conscious. That included padding around the family furnishings and banisters that he spent precious time restoring. It would be removed when Willow was no longer teething. 

Being in less than three months with you awoke the part of him that he had hidden away. He was safe enough to share about himself and he did it so easily around you. Anyone else needed to build his trust, but as long as you would have him, he was yours. 

He holds you tighter as he gets pulled from sleep, hearing pinging from a device on the other side of the room.

Wait. He knows that sound. 

Eyes opening, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you to avoid disturbing you. He steps lightly as he rises from the bed and finds his pants, reaching into the front pocket to pull out the pager he keeps on him. 

Walking to the window, he angles the device so the screen catches the moonlight and he can see the letters scrolling across.

MISSION GOING SOUTH. BACKUP NEEDED.

His heart drops. They wouldn’t page him if they didn’t need him. He knows Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He can only imagine what the team is going through right now, how desperate they must be in order to page a teammate that was discharged because the missions consumed him. 

He looks at you, still fast asleep in the bed, then back at the pager as the message plays again. 

Putting his legs through his pants, he hesitates before replying. 

En route. Send coordinates.

Steve finds his shirt and puts it on. He opens the drawer in your bedside table and pulls out a notepad and pen. 

I’m sorry but I have to go. Take care of Willow until I come back. 

He peels the note off the pad and folds it before writing your name on it. After propping it against the base of your lamp, he stops and takes in the image of you asleep. 

He could just undress and get back under the covers. He wants to. He wants to pretend he never heard the pager and just go on the way he has with you for the past two months. But if he did, he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing he left his team to suffer, or worse.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss into your forehead, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s a soldier. 

As he leaves, he ignores the tugging in his chest, stretching like elastic that’s ready to snap and bring him back to you at any moment. Down the street, back to the cabin, he boxes up the memories of you and locks them away. 

------

You’ve seen Steve one-on-one both inside and outside of work throughout the last month. 

He comes to play with the animals, preparing to adopt one and bonding with each one to find the one that connects with him the most. At first, you thought he and Major would be a perfect match. German Shepherds are intelligent, able to follow commands well and they look like a suitable pair. However, the canine is still on the aloof side, and you’ve realized that Steve needs a dog with a kinder demeanor. 

The smaller dogs are a little too intimidated by him. Despite playing, they can’t quite keep up with his wide strides as he joins you for daily walks and playtime is underlined with aggression as the little dogs try to assert some semblance of dominance over him. 

Cats are even more withdrawn, not complimenting Steve’s need for a softer, sociable companion. You laughed as he attempted to engage with them using various feathered toys and a laser pointer and failed in nearly every attempt.

“She likes you,” you remark as he sits on the floor with Willow, smiling as the golden retriever pup playfully nips at his palm. 

“I think I like her too,” he agrees with a nod. 

The clock beeps on cue, earning some whines and howls from the animals as the work day comes to a close. You begin to cover the carriers and get everyone settled for the night. As you turn to look at the puppies, Steve is putting Willow in her kennel and giving her a few more pets before shutting the door. 

You finish closing up, setting the alarm and locking up the shelter. 

“Can I join you for dinner tonight?” Steve wonders, feet tacked onto the sidewalk next to the front door.

Smiling, you nod.

- - -

Seated by the window in the diner, you place an order with the waitress before she clears away the menus. Steve is people watching on the street and you hate to disturb his peace, but the question is gnawing at you.

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

His head twists quickly to look at you, eyes attentive as he gestures for you to proceed with your question.

“Is this…” The beginning of the question begins to sound silly in your mind. It’s so high school, but you have to know. “Are we on a date?” 

You bite your lip, waiting as he purses his lips in thought. 

“Would it be bad if this was a date?”

“No,” you answer, probably a little too quickly. You stumble over your words as you try to recover from your eager response. It’s always been a pitfall of your personality; you can’t keep your ideas in for the life of you and they come out so impulsively. It’s why you decided to work with animals, unlike your sister. If you had her job, the kids at the preschool would know your business, then their parents and the entirety of Barber, for that matter. 

Your nerves show as you rip the wrapper of your straw to miniscule pieces, even more humiliated as you fail completely at saving face. 

Well, I’ve bungled another one.

Your forwardness hasn’t paid off in the past, men would often head for the hills once hearing you expressed any thought that what you felt with them was more than a mere enjoyment of their company. The moment you told them you liked them or, in this case, called an outing a “date”, it was game over.

Your wrapper is smithereens on the table, your proverbial white flag as you prepare yourself to be let down “easy” yet again. You don’t meet his eyes; you can’t bear another look of uncomfortable sympathy as another man rejects you. 

As your hands begin to retract into your lap, Steve catches them in one of his. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers before taking you to dinner.” 

Blinking in disbelief and confusion, you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“What?”

“It’s a date,” he laughs. “I should’ve bought you flowers. Actually, I’m overdue for flowers. Our first date was the picnic in the park.” 

“Oh, that doesn’t have to be a ‘date’...” you begin.

His fingers loosen around yours. “Do you not want to count that?”

No, no, you panic, gripping him tighter. “No,” you shake your head. When you detect the disappointment in his face, you begin to backpedal, “No, I mean, I don’t not want to call that a date. We can call it a date, our first one, if you want.” You take in his face again, not finding anything. “Or…we don’t have to.”

“Okay, how about this,” he laughs, bringing his other hand up. He laces your fingers together, palms warm against yours. “This is our first date. And I’ll bring you flowers in the morning.” 

With how much your brain likes to think, you try to go through the catalog of time you’ve spent with him. An errand here, a dog walk there, a dog bath here, and the picnic. You try to think which of those encounters you started wanting to see him day after day after day until the end of days. 

Truth is, it was the moment he walked into the shelter the first time. 

Squeezing your fingers, you add your voice to your silent affirmation. 

- - - - - 

“Would you like to come in?” you ask, “This is a date, after all.” 

Lump in his throat, Steve has trouble finding his voice. He nods and places his hand on the small of your back as you go up the stairs. 

The space is small but the open, shared area between the kitchen and living space removes any feelings of claustrophobia. 

There’s a kitchen table with two chairs. He can see which one you use by the faded spot where you’ve gripped the top of it to pull it out. It faces the front window; fitting for you to want to take in the sunshine before getting started with your day. 

The living space has a small bookshelf with sets of novels, along with some trinkets and photos. Under the TV in the stand is a basket full of crochet supplies, a half-finished fluffy blanket spilling out of the top. He figures it’s for the animals downstairs in preparation for the winter. 

“Do you want some wine?” you offer. “Or if you’re in a crazy mood, I have some vodka.” 

“Damn,” Steve laughs. “I’m good for now.” 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing two drinking glasses. You take out your pitcher from the fridge and begin to pour water in both of them. “Water’s important, though.” 

“That’s true.” 

You hand one glass to him before leading him to the couch, turning on the TV. There’s a rerun of a late night sitcom playing, so you lower the volume and get comfy.

“What do you like to watch?” 

“Last time I watched TV, I was into Beevis & Butt-Head.” 

“Ew,” your face grimaces at weird, gross teenage-boy humor. “Sorry. Not that I was much better. One Tree Hill was my entire personality in high school.” 

“What’s that?”

Steve watches in amusement as your head turns to look at him faster than a .22 caliber bullet. “You don’t know?”

He shakes his head. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” 

And you’re off, spewing names and descriptions in every direction and he’s taking it all in like a mission log. His mind conjures up a relation chart, connecting the two main male leads as half brothers and their respective friends and love interests. 

“It’s so high school drama, but I couldn’t get enough of it.” 

“Can we watch an episode?” 

His heart leaps when your eyes light up.

- - -

With three episodes of One Tree Hill watched, you pause the show. 

“Interesting so far,” Steve remarks, though you notice his face is expressionless, the fronts of his eyes glistening with a slight glaze. 

“You don’t have to watch it anymore if you don’t want to.” 

“Thank you,” he laughs. “I did mean that, it was interesting. It’s just…”

“So high school?”

“Yep.” 

“That’s fair,” you say, stretching. As your muscles relax, you recline against the back of the couch. Feeling eyes on you, you look up at Steve. 

He’s looking at you oddly; you can’t figure out what he’s thinking or what he wants.

“Ste–?”

You don’t get to finish, not when he takes your face in his hands and kisses you feverishly. 

Oh, that’s why he was looking at me…

You can’t recall if anyone has ever kissed you this way, something that seems to put your body on autopilot as you lay back across the cushions with him settling on top of you, pressing his weight onto your body while his hands begin to wander down your sides. 

It’s dizzying, overwhelming as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Your hands find the front of his chest, pressing against him to get his attention, but not enough to push him away. 

“I need to slow down,” you speak up.

“Sorry,” he pants. “It’s been…not that I’m eager to only do this, but…” He trails off, looking away from you to find the right words. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about someone.” 

“Me too,” you say. “The last time I dated someone was a long time ago. Just been me and the animals since then.” 

The two of you share a laugh at your shared dry spells. Around you, the air buzzes with the eager electricity of desire. 

You swallow your nerves and muster the courage to ask if he thinks the two of you would be more comfortable in the bedroom. He doesn’t answer, but instead gets up from his position above you before holding out his hand. 

Standing with him, you place your hand in his, accepting his kiss when he leans in for another one. 

With a little tug, you take him to the little corridor past the bathroom and the washer and dryer and lead him into the bedroom. You let go of his hand to turn on your bedside lamp. There’s no need to turn back and look at him when his hands come around your waist and pull your body close to his. His face finds the crook of your neck, lips pressing kisses there that ignite your body. 

His hands begin to wander, cupping your chest and gliding down your front to pin your hip back to keep you flush against him. 

Your lungs struggle, body overstimulated with all the contact against your back while your front screams for more. The clothing begins to feel stifling and you yank his hands off of you to take your shirt off to discard it on the floor. Turning to face Steve again, he’s acting before you can. 

He grips your hips again, falling back onto your mattress heavily and taking you with him. His hands guide you to straddle his hips, your groin positioned just above the growing tent in his pants. 

You feel one hand trailing up your back as he begins to undo the clasp of your bra. As he busies himself with that, you begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, bringing it up until he has to pause his act to take it off all the way. Tossing the shirt to the floor, you reach up with your other hand and unhook your bra all the way. 

“I had a handle on it,” Steve jokes, sitting up and burying his face between your breasts. 

He takes your nipple between his lips, suckling and wiping your brain of any witty comebacks so you settle for an, “Mhm.” You try to add a tone of sarcasm, but it’s hard to know how it came out as your head spins. 

Your hands find their way into his hair, gripping the short strands between your fingers as much as you can as you begin to grind your hips against him. 

The world spins as he flips you onto your back, your knees still around his waist until he stands back and unbuttons his pants. You follow his lead, reaching down and popping the button. Before you can shimmy out of the waistband, your hands are swatted away and replaced with his. 

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your underwear, those are removed too, leaving you bare in front of him. His eyes are fiery when he meets yours, holding your gaze and waiting for any sign to stop. Hands on your knees, he spreads your legs and exposes your center. His eyes catch the shine of arousal in the soft light from your lamp, mouth watering in anticipation. 

Lowering himself to his knees, he pulls you slightly closer to the edge of the bed, the perfect spot for him to lean forward and press his tongue between your lower lips. 

It draws a gasp from you, then a sound of pure arousal as he pleases you. A hand drifts up again, stimulating your breast with tugs and flicks at your nipples. The hunger behind his mouth and desperation from his hand goes straight to your head. He works you to the end and through it, sending you flying over the edge and keeping you floating until he’s satisfied. 

He stands over you, boxers off and stroking his length as he pushes you to the middle of the bed. His eyes don’t leave yours as he grabs a pillow to stuff beneath your hips and brings your knees around your hips. 

When he slides in, it’s an easy glide and the both of you have to take a moment to process the sensation. He fills you up, giving a delicious pain that makes your thighs quiver. You grip his cock so tightly, soft around him that his toes curl in bliss. 

“You okay?” he checks.

“Yes,” you respond. He’s concerned at how choked you sound.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I just…” you exhale, “I need you.” 

He obliges, withdrawing his hips and propelling them forward. He finds a rhythm, building up a steady, satisfying pattern that has you holding him tighter and crying out for him in desperation. It spurs him on further when you begin begging; you don’t need to, he’s so willing to give you everything you need. 

A string of expletives falls out of your mouth and he delivers a series of steady, forceful thrusts, resisting the loss of stamina as he finds himself finishing sooner than anticipated. He leans forward and keeps up, sucking at the skin of your neck and toying with your nipples again. When your hands fly to the comforter and your body tenses beneath his, he reaches down to stroke your clit and carry out your orgasm as long as you can bear it. 

When you shrink away from him, he slows down and eventually stops, fingers grazing over the outside of your thigh as his lips find your cheek.

“You okay?” he mumbles against your skin. 

“Mmm,” you hum in acknowledgement. 

He flips you over again, nestling you into his side so that he can keep you close as you both navigate the fog of post-coital bliss. 

- - - - -

You stumble into the living area using your fingers to undo a knot in your hair. You can smell toast and eggs, along with coffee. On your dining table is a bouquet of fresh flowers. 

Steve is dressed, transferring the eggs from the frying pan to one of two plates. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t be awake yet,” he says when he sees you. “Wanted to give you breakfast in bed.” 

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I don’t like getting crumbs in my bed.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “The couch then?” 

He brings the plates while you bring the coffee. The first few minutes are silent but not awkward. Just enjoyment of each other’s company as you start the day after spending the night together. 

“I was thinking,” Steve says, “I think Willow would be a really great dog to adopt.” 

You finish chewing your bite of toast before bumping his shoulder. “If you just wanted to adopt the dog, you didn’t have to do this whole ruse of taking me on a date and sleeping with me.” 

You’re pulled into his lap and smothered with kisses as the two of you laugh.

– - - - -

Steve splits his time between your place and the cabin. He doesn’t like leaving the family he semi-uprooted by his arrival, but the cabin also wasn’t puppy-proofed yet. Willow lived with you as Ari made sure everything was dog-friendly and dog-conscious. That included padding around the family furnishings and banisters that he spent precious time restoring. It would be removed when Willow was no longer teething. 

Being in less than three months with you awoke the part of him that he had hidden away. He was safe enough to share about himself and he did it so easily around you. Anyone else needed to build his trust, but as long as you would have him, he was yours. 

He holds you tighter as he gets pulled from sleep, hearing pinging from a device on the other side of the room.

Wait. He knows that sound. 

Eyes opening, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you to avoid disturbing you. He steps lightly as he rises from the bed and finds his pants, reaching into the front pocket to pull out the pager he keeps on him. 

Walking to the window, he angles the device so the screen catches the moonlight and he can see the letters scrolling across.

MISSION GOING SOUTH. BACKUP NEEDED.

His heart drops. They wouldn’t page him if they didn’t need him. He knows Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He can only imagine what the team is going through right now, how desperate they must be in order to page a teammate that was discharged because the missions consumed him. 

He looks at you, still fast asleep in the bed, then back at the pager as the message plays again. 

Putting his legs through his pants, he hesitates before replying. 

En route. Send coordinates.

Steve finds his shirt and puts it on. He opens the drawer in your bedside table and pulls out a notepad and pen. 

I’m sorry but I have to go. Take care of Willow until I come back. 

He peels the note off the pad and folds it before writing your name on it. After propping it against the base of your lamp, he stops and takes in the image of you asleep. 

He could just undress and get back under the covers. He wants to. He wants to pretend he never heard the pager and just go on the way he has with you for the past two months. But if he did, he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing he left his team to suffer, or worse.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss into your forehead, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s a soldier. 

As he leaves, he ignores the tugging in his chest, stretching like elastic that’s ready to snap and bring him back to you at any moment. Down the street, back to the cabin, he boxes up the memories of you and locks them away. 

------

You’ve seen Steve one-on-one both inside and outside of work throughout the last month. 

He comes to play with the animals, preparing to adopt one and bonding with each one to find the one that connects with him the most. At first, you thought he and Major would be a perfect match. German Shepherds are intelligent, able to follow commands well and they look like a suitable pair. However, the canine is still on the aloof side, and you’ve realized that Steve needs a dog with a kinder demeanor. 

The smaller dogs are a little too intimidated by him. Despite playing, they can’t quite keep up with his wide strides as he joins you for daily walks and playtime is underlined with aggression as the little dogs try to assert some semblance of dominance over him. 

Cats are even more withdrawn, not complimenting Steve’s need for a softer, sociable companion. You laughed as he attempted to engage with them using various feathered toys and a laser pointer and failed in nearly every attempt.

“She likes you,” you remark as he sits on the floor with Willow, smiling as the golden retriever pup playfully nips at his palm. 

“I think I like her too,” he agrees with a nod. 

The clock beeps on cue, earning some whines and howls from the animals as the work day comes to a close. You begin to cover the carriers and get everyone settled for the night. As you turn to look at the puppies, Steve is putting Willow in her kennel and giving her a few more pets before shutting the door. 

You finish closing up, setting the alarm and locking up the shelter. 

“Can I join you for dinner tonight?” Steve wonders, feet tacked onto the sidewalk next to the front door.

Smiling, you nod.

- - -

Seated by the window in the diner, you place an order with the waitress before she clears away the menus. Steve is people watching on the street and you hate to disturb his peace, but the question is gnawing at you.

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

His head twists quickly to look at you, eyes attentive as he gestures for you to proceed with your question.

“Is this…” The beginning of the question begins to sound silly in your mind. It’s so high school, but you have to know. “Are we on a date?” 

You bite your lip, waiting as he purses his lips in thought. 

“Would it be bad if this was a date?”

“No,” you answer, probably a little too quickly. You stumble over your words as you try to recover from your eager response. It’s always been a pitfall of your personality; you can’t keep your ideas in for the life of you and they come out so impulsively. It’s why you decided to work with animals, unlike your sister. If you had her job, the kids at the preschool would know your business, then their parents and the entirety of Barber, for that matter. 

Your nerves show as you rip the wrapper of your straw to miniscule pieces, even more humiliated as you fail completely at saving face. 

Well, I’ve bungled another one.

Your forwardness hasn’t paid off in the past, men would often head for the hills once hearing you expressed any thought that what you felt with them was more than a mere enjoyment of their company. The moment you told them you liked them or, in this case, called an outing a “date”, it was game over.

Your wrapper is smithereens on the table, your proverbial white flag as you prepare yourself to be let down “easy” yet again. You don’t meet his eyes; you can’t bear another look of uncomfortable sympathy as another man rejects you. 

As your hands begin to retract into your lap, Steve catches them in one of his. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers before taking you to dinner.” 

Blinking in disbelief and confusion, you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“What?”

“It’s a date,” he laughs. “I should’ve bought you flowers. Actually, I’m overdue for flowers. Our first date was the picnic in the park.” 

“Oh, that doesn’t have to be a ‘date’...” you begin.

His fingers loosen around yours. “Do you not want to count that?”

No, no, you panic, gripping him tighter. “No,” you shake your head. When you detect the disappointment in his face, you begin to backpedal, “No, I mean, I don’t not want to call that a date. We can call it a date, our first one, if you want.” You take in his face again, not finding anything. “Or…we don’t have to.”

“Okay, how about this,” he laughs, bringing his other hand up. He laces your fingers together, palms warm against yours. “This is our first date. And I’ll bring you flowers in the morning.” 

With how much your brain likes to think, you try to go through the catalog of time you’ve spent with him. An errand here, a dog walk there, a dog bath here, and the picnic. You try to think which of those encounters you started wanting to see him day after day after day until the end of days. 

Truth is, it was the moment he walked into the shelter the first time. 

Squeezing your fingers, you add your voice to your silent affirmation. 

- - - - - 

“Would you like to come in?” you ask, “This is a date, after all.” 

Lump in his throat, Steve has trouble finding his voice. He nods and places his hand on the small of your back as you go up the stairs. 

The space is small but the open, shared area between the kitchen and living space removes any feelings of claustrophobia. 

There’s a kitchen table with two chairs. He can see which one you use by the faded spot where you’ve gripped the top of it to pull it out. It faces the front window; fitting for you to want to take in the sunshine before getting started with your day. 

The living space has a small bookshelf with sets of novels, along with some trinkets and photos. Under the TV in the stand is a basket full of crochet supplies, a half-finished fluffy blanket spilling out of the top. He figures it’s for the animals downstairs in preparation for the winter. 

“Do you want some wine?” you offer. “Or if you’re in a crazy mood, I have some vodka.” 

“Damn,” Steve laughs. “I’m good for now.” 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing two drinking glasses. You take out your pitcher from the fridge and begin to pour water in both of them. “Water’s important, though.” 

“That’s true.” 

You hand one glass to him before leading him to the couch, turning on the TV. There’s a rerun of a late night sitcom playing, so you lower the volume and get comfy.

“What do you like to watch?” 

“Last time I watched TV, I was into Beevis & Butt-Head.” 

“Ew,” your face grimaces at weird, gross teenage-boy humor. “Sorry. Not that I was much better. One Tree Hill was my entire personality in high school.” 

“What’s that?”

Steve watches in amusement as your head turns to look at him faster than a .22 caliber bullet. “You don’t know?”

He shakes his head. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” 

And you’re off, spewing names and descriptions in every direction and he’s taking it all in like a mission log. His mind conjures up a relation chart, connecting the two main male leads as half brothers and their respective friends and love interests. 

“It’s so high school drama, but I couldn’t get enough of it.” 

“Can we watch an episode?” 

His heart leaps when your eyes light up.

- - -

With three episodes of One Tree Hill watched, you pause the show. 

“Interesting so far,” Steve remarks, though you notice his face is expressionless, the fronts of his eyes glistening with a slight glaze. 

“You don’t have to watch it anymore if you don’t want to.” 

“Thank you,” he laughs. “I did mean that, it was interesting. It’s just…”

“So high school?”

“Yep.” 

“That’s fair,” you say, stretching. As your muscles relax, you recline against the back of the couch. Feeling eyes on you, you look up at Steve. 

He’s looking at you oddly; you can’t figure out what he’s thinking or what he wants.

“Ste–?”

You don’t get to finish, not when he takes your face in his hands and kisses you feverishly. 

Oh, that’s why he was looking at me…

You can’t recall if anyone has ever kissed you this way, something that seems to put your body on autopilot as you lay back across the cushions with him settling on top of you, pressing his weight onto your body while his hands begin to wander down your sides. 

It’s dizzying, overwhelming as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Your hands find the front of his chest, pressing against him to get his attention, but not enough to push him away. 

“I need to slow down,” you speak up.

“Sorry,” he pants. “It’s been…not that I’m eager to only do this, but…” He trails off, looking away from you to find the right words. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about someone.” 

“Me too,” you say. “The last time I dated someone was a long time ago. Just been me and the animals since then.” 

The two of you share a laugh at your shared dry spells. Around you, the air buzzes with the eager electricity of desire. 

You swallow your nerves and muster the courage to ask if he thinks the two of you would be more comfortable in the bedroom. He doesn’t answer, but instead gets up from his position above you before holding out his hand. 

Standing with him, you place your hand in his, accepting his kiss when he leans in for another one. 

With a little tug, you take him to the little corridor past the bathroom and the washer and dryer and lead him into the bedroom. You let go of his hand to turn on your bedside lamp. There’s no need to turn back and look at him when his hands come around your waist and pull your body close to his. His face finds the crook of your neck, lips pressing kisses there that ignite your body. 

His hands begin to wander, cupping your chest and gliding down your front to pin your hip back to keep you flush against him. 

Your lungs struggle, body overstimulated with all the contact against your back while your front screams for more. The clothing begins to feel stifling and you yank his hands off of you to take your shirt off to discard it on the floor. Turning to face Steve again, he’s acting before you can. 

He grips your hips again, falling back onto your mattress heavily and taking you with him. His hands guide you to straddle his hips, your groin positioned just above the growing tent in his pants. 

You feel one hand trailing up your back as he begins to undo the clasp of your bra. As he busies himself with that, you begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, bringing it up until he has to pause his act to take it off all the way. Tossing the shirt to the floor, you reach up with your other hand and unhook your bra all the way. 

“I had a handle on it,” Steve jokes, sitting up and burying his face between your breasts. 

He takes your nipple between his lips, suckling and wiping your brain of any witty comebacks so you settle for an, “Mhm.” You try to add a tone of sarcasm, but it’s hard to know how it came out as your head spins. 

Your hands find their way into his hair, gripping the short strands between your fingers as much as you can as you begin to grind your hips against him. 

The world spins as he flips you onto your back, your knees still around his waist until he stands back and unbuttons his pants. You follow his lead, reaching down and popping the button. Before you can shimmy out of the waistband, your hands are swatted away and replaced with his. 

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your underwear, those are removed too, leaving you bare in front of him. His eyes are fiery when he meets yours, holding your gaze and waiting for any sign to stop. Hands on your knees, he spreads your legs and exposes your center. His eyes catch the shine of arousal in the soft light from your lamp, mouth watering in anticipation. 

Lowering himself to his knees, he pulls you slightly closer to the edge of the bed, the perfect spot for him to lean forward and press his tongue between your lower lips. 

It draws a gasp from you, then a sound of pure arousal as he pleases you. A hand drifts up again, stimulating your breast with tugs and flicks at your nipples. The hunger behind his mouth and desperation from his hand goes straight to your head. He works you to the end and through it, sending you flying over the edge and keeping you floating until he’s satisfied. 

He stands over you, boxers off and stroking his length as he pushes you to the middle of the bed. His eyes don’t leave yours as he grabs a pillow to stuff beneath your hips and brings your knees around your hips. 

When he slides in, it’s an easy glide and the both of you have to take a moment to process the sensation. He fills you up, giving a delicious pain that makes your thighs quiver. You grip his cock so tightly, soft around him that his toes curl in bliss. 

“You okay?” he checks.

“Yes,” you respond. He’s concerned at how choked you sound.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I just…” you exhale, “I need you.” 

He obliges, withdrawing his hips and propelling them forward. He finds a rhythm, building up a steady, satisfying pattern that has you holding him tighter and crying out for him in desperation. It spurs him on further when you begin begging; you don’t need to, he’s so willing to give you everything you need. 

A string of expletives falls out of your mouth and he delivers a series of steady, forceful thrusts, resisting the loss of stamina as he finds himself finishing sooner than anticipated. He leans forward and keeps up, sucking at the skin of your neck and toying with your nipples again. When your hands fly to the comforter and your body tenses beneath his, he reaches down to stroke your clit and carry out your orgasm as long as you can bear it. 

When you shrink away from him, he slows down and eventually stops, fingers grazing over the outside of your thigh as his lips find your cheek.

“You okay?” he mumbles against your skin. 

“Mmm,” you hum in acknowledgement. 

He flips you over again, nestling you into his side so that he can keep you close as you both navigate the fog of post-coital bliss. 

- - - - -

You stumble into the living area using your fingers to undo a knot in your hair. You can smell toast and eggs, along with coffee. On your dining table is a bouquet of fresh flowers. 

Steve is dressed, transferring the eggs from the frying pan to one of two plates. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t be awake yet,” he says when he sees you. “Wanted to give you breakfast in bed.” 

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I don’t like getting crumbs in my bed.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “The couch then?” 

He brings the plates while you bring the coffee. The first few minutes are silent but not awkward. Just enjoyment of each other’s company as you start the day after spending the night together. 

“I was thinking,” Steve says, “I think Willow would be a really great dog to adopt.” 

You finish chewing your bite of toast before bumping his shoulder. “If you just wanted to adopt the dog, you didn’t have to do this whole ruse of taking me on a date and sleeping with me.” 

You’re pulled into his lap and smothered with kisses as the two of you laugh.

– - - - -

Steve splits his time between your place and the cabin. He doesn’t like leaving the family he semi-uprooted by his arrival, but the cabin also wasn’t puppy-proofed yet. Willow lived with you as Ari made sure everything was dog-friendly and dog-conscious. That included padding around the family furnishings and banisters that he spent precious time restoring. It would be removed when Willow was no longer teething. 

Being in less than three months with you awoke the part of him that he had hidden away. He was safe enough to share about himself and he did it so easily around you. Anyone else needed to build his trust, but as long as you would have him, he was yours. 

He holds you tighter as he gets pulled from sleep, hearing pinging from a device on the other side of the room.

Wait. He knows that sound. 

Eyes opening, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you to avoid disturbing you. He steps lightly as he rises from the bed and finds his pants, reaching into the front pocket to pull out the pager he keeps on him. 

Walking to the window, he angles the device so the screen catches the moonlight and he can see the letters scrolling across.

MISSION GOING SOUTH. BACKUP NEEDED.

His heart drops. They wouldn’t page him if they didn’t need him. He knows Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He can only imagine what the team is going through right now, how desperate they must be in order to page a teammate that was discharged because the missions consumed him. 

He looks at you, still fast asleep in the bed, then back at the pager as the message plays again. 

Putting his legs through his pants, he hesitates before replying. 

En route. Send coordinates.

Steve finds his shirt and puts it on. He opens the drawer in your bedside table and pulls out a notepad and pen. 

I’m sorry but I have to go. Take care of Willow until I come back. 

He peels the note off the pad and folds it before writing your name on it. After propping it against the base of your lamp, he stops and takes in the image of you asleep. 

He could just undress and get back under the covers. He wants to. He wants to pretend he never heard the pager and just go on the way he has with you for the past two months. But if he did, he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing he left his team to suffer, or worse.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss into your forehead, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s a soldier. 

As he leaves, he ignores the tugging in his chest, stretching like elastic that’s ready to snap and bring him back to you at any moment. Down the street, back to the cabin, he boxes up the memories of you and locks them away. 

------

You’ve seen Steve one-on-one both inside and outside of work throughout the last month. 

He comes to play with the animals, preparing to adopt one and bonding with each one to find the one that connects with him the most. At first, you thought he and Major would be a perfect match. German Shepherds are intelligent, able to follow commands well and they look like a suitable pair. However, the canine is still on the aloof side, and you’ve realized that Steve needs a dog with a kinder demeanor. 

The smaller dogs are a little too intimidated by him. Despite playing, they can’t quite keep up with his wide strides as he joins you for daily walks and playtime is underlined with aggression as the little dogs try to assert some semblance of dominance over him. 

Cats are even more withdrawn, not complimenting Steve’s need for a softer, sociable companion. You laughed as he attempted to engage with them using various feathered toys and a laser pointer and failed in nearly every attempt.

“She likes you,” you remark as he sits on the floor with Willow, smiling as the golden retriever pup playfully nips at his palm. 

“I think I like her too,” he agrees with a nod. 

The clock beeps on cue, earning some whines and howls from the animals as the work day comes to a close. You begin to cover the carriers and get everyone settled for the night. As you turn to look at the puppies, Steve is putting Willow in her kennel and giving her a few more pets before shutting the door. 

You finish closing up, setting the alarm and locking up the shelter. 

“Can I join you for dinner tonight?” Steve wonders, feet tacked onto the sidewalk next to the front door.

Smiling, you nod.

- - -

Seated by the window in the diner, you place an order with the waitress before she clears away the menus. Steve is people watching on the street and you hate to disturb his peace, but the question is gnawing at you.

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

His head twists quickly to look at you, eyes attentive as he gestures for you to proceed with your question.

“Is this…” The beginning of the question begins to sound silly in your mind. It’s so high school, but you have to know. “Are we on a date?” 

You bite your lip, waiting as he purses his lips in thought. 

“Would it be bad if this was a date?”

“No,” you answer, probably a little too quickly. You stumble over your words as you try to recover from your eager response. It’s always been a pitfall of your personality; you can’t keep your ideas in for the life of you and they come out so impulsively. It’s why you decided to work with animals, unlike your sister. If you had her job, the kids at the preschool would know your business, then their parents and the entirety of Barber, for that matter. 

Your nerves show as you rip the wrapper of your straw to miniscule pieces, even more humiliated as you fail completely at saving face. 

Well, I’ve bungled another one.

Your forwardness hasn’t paid off in the past, men would often head for the hills once hearing you expressed any thought that what you felt with them was more than a mere enjoyment of their company. The moment you told them you liked them or, in this case, called an outing a “date”, it was game over.

Your wrapper is smithereens on the table, your proverbial white flag as you prepare yourself to be let down “easy” yet again. You don’t meet his eyes; you can’t bear another look of uncomfortable sympathy as another man rejects you. 

As your hands begin to retract into your lap, Steve catches them in one of his. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you flowers before taking you to dinner.” 

Blinking in disbelief and confusion, you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“What?”

“It’s a date,” he laughs. “I should’ve bought you flowers. Actually, I’m overdue for flowers. Our first date was the picnic in the park.” 

“Oh, that doesn’t have to be a ‘date’...” you begin.

His fingers loosen around yours. “Do you not want to count that?”

No, no, you panic, gripping him tighter. “No,” you shake your head. When you detect the disappointment in his face, you begin to backpedal, “No, I mean, I don’t not want to call that a date. We can call it a date, our first one, if you want.” You take in his face again, not finding anything. “Or…we don’t have to.”

“Okay, how about this,” he laughs, bringing his other hand up. He laces your fingers together, palms warm against yours. “This is our first date. And I’ll bring you flowers in the morning.” 

With how much your brain likes to think, you try to go through the catalog of time you’ve spent with him. An errand here, a dog walk there, a dog bath here, and the picnic. You try to think which of those encounters you started wanting to see him day after day after day until the end of days. 

Truth is, it was the moment he walked into the shelter the first time. 

Squeezing your fingers, you add your voice to your silent affirmation. 

- - - - - 

“Would you like to come in?” you ask, “This is a date, after all.” 

Lump in his throat, Steve has trouble finding his voice. He nods and places his hand on the small of your back as you go up the stairs. 

The space is small but the open, shared area between the kitchen and living space removes any feelings of claustrophobia. 

There’s a kitchen table with two chairs. He can see which one you use by the faded spot where you’ve gripped the top of it to pull it out. It faces the front window; fitting for you to want to take in the sunshine before getting started with your day. 

The living space has a small bookshelf with sets of novels, along with some trinkets and photos. Under the TV in the stand is a basket full of crochet supplies, a half-finished fluffy blanket spilling out of the top. He figures it’s for the animals downstairs in preparation for the winter. 

“Do you want some wine?” you offer. “Or if you’re in a crazy mood, I have some vodka.” 

“Damn,” Steve laughs. “I’m good for now.” 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing two drinking glasses. You take out your pitcher from the fridge and begin to pour water in both of them. “Water’s important, though.” 

“That’s true.” 

You hand one glass to him before leading him to the couch, turning on the TV. There’s a rerun of a late night sitcom playing, so you lower the volume and get comfy.

“What do you like to watch?” 

“Last time I watched TV, I was into Beevis & Butt-Head.” 

“Ew,” your face grimaces at weird, gross teenage-boy humor. “Sorry. Not that I was much better. One Tree Hill was my entire personality in high school.” 

“What’s that?”

Steve watches in amusement as your head turns to look at him faster than a .22 caliber bullet. “You don’t know?”

He shakes his head. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” 

And you’re off, spewing names and descriptions in every direction and he’s taking it all in like a mission log. His mind conjures up a relation chart, connecting the two main male leads as half brothers and their respective friends and love interests. 

“It’s so high school drama, but I couldn’t get enough of it.” 

“Can we watch an episode?” 

His heart leaps when your eyes light up.

- - -

With three episodes of One Tree Hill watched, you pause the show. 

“Interesting so far,” Steve remarks, though you notice his face is expressionless, the fronts of his eyes glistening with a slight glaze. 

“You don’t have to watch it anymore if you don’t want to.” 

“Thank you,” he laughs. “I did mean that, it was interesting. It’s just…”

“So high school?”

“Yep.” 

“That’s fair,” you say, stretching. As your muscles relax, you recline against the back of the couch. Feeling eyes on you, you look up at Steve. 

He’s looking at you oddly; you can’t figure out what he’s thinking or what he wants.

“Ste–?”

You don’t get to finish, not when he takes your face in his hands and kisses you feverishly. 

Oh, that’s why he was looking at me…

You can’t recall if anyone has ever kissed you this way, something that seems to put your body on autopilot as you lay back across the cushions with him settling on top of you, pressing his weight onto your body while his hands begin to wander down your sides. 

It’s dizzying, overwhelming as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Your hands find the front of his chest, pressing against him to get his attention, but not enough to push him away. 

“I need to slow down,” you speak up.

“Sorry,” he pants. “It’s been…not that I’m eager to only do this, but…” He trails off, looking away from you to find the right words. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about someone.” 

“Me too,” you say. “The last time I dated someone was a long time ago. Just been me and the animals since then.” 

The two of you share a laugh at your shared dry spells. Around you, the air buzzes with the eager electricity of desire. 

You swallow your nerves and muster the courage to ask if he thinks the two of you would be more comfortable in the bedroom. He doesn’t answer, but instead gets up from his position above you before holding out his hand. 

Standing with him, you place your hand in his, accepting his kiss when he leans in for another one. 

With a little tug, you take him to the little corridor past the bathroom and the washer and dryer and lead him into the bedroom. You let go of his hand to turn on your bedside lamp. There’s no need to turn back and look at him when his hands come around your waist and pull your body close to his. His face finds the crook of your neck, lips pressing kisses there that ignite your body. 

His hands begin to wander, cupping your chest and gliding down your front to pin your hip back to keep you flush against him. 

Your lungs struggle, body overstimulated with all the contact against your back while your front screams for more. The clothing begins to feel stifling and you yank his hands off of you to take your shirt off to discard it on the floor. Turning to face Steve again, he’s acting before you can. 

He grips your hips again, falling back onto your mattress heavily and taking you with him. His hands guide you to straddle his hips, your groin positioned just above the growing tent in his pants. 

You feel one hand trailing up your back as he begins to undo the clasp of your bra. As he busies himself with that, you begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, bringing it up until he has to pause his act to take it off all the way. Tossing the shirt to the floor, you reach up with your other hand and unhook your bra all the way. 

“I had a handle on it,” Steve jokes, sitting up and burying his face between your breasts. 

He takes your nipple between his lips, suckling and wiping your brain of any witty comebacks so you settle for an, “Mhm.” You try to add a tone of sarcasm, but it’s hard to know how it came out as your head spins. 

Your hands find their way into his hair, gripping the short strands between your fingers as much as you can as you begin to grind your hips against him. 

The world spins as he flips you onto your back, your knees still around his waist until he stands back and unbuttons his pants. You follow his lead, reaching down and popping the button. Before you can shimmy out of the waistband, your hands are swatted away and replaced with his. 

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your underwear, those are removed too, leaving you bare in front of him. His eyes are fiery when he meets yours, holding your gaze and waiting for any sign to stop. Hands on your knees, he spreads your legs and exposes your center. His eyes catch the shine of arousal in the soft light from your lamp, mouth watering in anticipation. 

Lowering himself to his knees, he pulls you slightly closer to the edge of the bed, the perfect spot for him to lean forward and press his tongue between your lower lips. 

It draws a gasp from you, then a sound of pure arousal as he pleases you. A hand drifts up again, stimulating your breast with tugs and flicks at your nipples. The hunger behind his mouth and desperation from his hand goes straight to your head. He works you to the end and through it, sending you flying over the edge and keeping you floating until he’s satisfied. 

He stands over you, boxers off and stroking his length as he pushes you to the middle of the bed. His eyes don’t leave yours as he grabs a pillow to stuff beneath your hips and brings your knees around your hips. 

When he slides in, it’s an easy glide and the both of you have to take a moment to process the sensation. He fills you up, giving a delicious pain that makes your thighs quiver. You grip his cock so tightly, soft around him that his toes curl in bliss. 

“You okay?” he checks.

“Yes,” you respond. He’s concerned at how choked you sound.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I just…” you exhale, “I need you.” 

He obliges, withdrawing his hips and propelling them forward. He finds a rhythm, building up a steady, satisfying pattern that has you holding him tighter and crying out for him in desperation. It spurs him on further when you begin begging; you don’t need to, he’s so willing to give you everything you need. 

A string of expletives falls out of your mouth and he delivers a series of steady, forceful thrusts, resisting the loss of stamina as he finds himself finishing sooner than anticipated. He leans forward and keeps up, sucking at the skin of your neck and toying with your nipples again. When your hands fly to the comforter and your body tenses beneath his, he reaches down to stroke your clit and carry out your orgasm as long as you can bear it. 

When you shrink away from him, he slows down and eventually stops, fingers grazing over the outside of your thigh as his lips find your cheek.

“You okay?” he mumbles against your skin. 

“Mmm,” you hum in acknowledgement. 

He flips you over again, nestling you into his side so that he can keep you close as you both navigate the fog of post-coital bliss. 

- - - - -

You stumble into the living area using your fingers to undo a knot in your hair. You can smell toast and eggs, along with coffee. On your dining table is a bouquet of fresh flowers. 

Steve is dressed, transferring the eggs from the frying pan to one of two plates. 

“I hoped you wouldn’t be awake yet,” he says when he sees you. “Wanted to give you breakfast in bed.” 

“It’s okay,” you wave him off, “I don’t like getting crumbs in my bed.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “The couch then?” 

He brings the plates while you bring the coffee. The first few minutes are silent but not awkward. Just enjoyment of each other’s company as you start the day after spending the night together. 

“I was thinking,” Steve says, “I think Willow would be a really great dog to adopt.” 

You finish chewing your bite of toast before bumping his shoulder. “If you just wanted to adopt the dog, you didn’t have to do this whole ruse of taking me on a date and sleeping with me.” 

You’re pulled into his lap and smothered with kisses as the two of you laugh.

– - - - -

Steve splits his time between your place and the cabin. He doesn’t like leaving the family he semi-uprooted by his arrival, but the cabin also wasn’t puppy-proofed yet. Willow lived with you as Ari made sure everything was dog-friendly and dog-conscious. That included padding around the family furnishings and banisters that he spent precious time restoring. It would be removed when Willow was no longer teething. 

Being in less than three months with you awoke the part of him that he had hidden away. He was safe enough to share about himself and he did it so easily around you. Anyone else needed to build his trust, but as long as you would have him, he was yours. 

He holds you tighter as he gets pulled from sleep, hearing pinging from a device on the other side of the room.

Wait. He knows that sound. 

Eyes opening, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you to avoid disturbing you. He steps lightly as he rises from the bed and finds his pants, reaching into the front pocket to pull out the pager he keeps on him. 

Walking to the window, he angles the device so the screen catches the moonlight and he can see the letters scrolling across.

MISSION GOING SOUTH. BACKUP NEEDED.

His heart drops. They wouldn’t page him if they didn’t need him. He knows Bucky wouldn’t allow it. He can only imagine what the team is going through right now, how desperate they must be in order to page a teammate that was discharged because the missions consumed him. 

He looks at you, still fast asleep in the bed, then back at the pager as the message plays again. 

Putting his legs through his pants, he hesitates before replying. 

En route. Send coordinates.

Steve finds his shirt and puts it on. He opens the drawer in your bedside table and pulls out a notepad and pen. 

I’m sorry but I have to go. Take care of Willow until I come back. 

He peels the note off the pad and folds it before writing your name on it. After propping it against the base of your lamp, he stops and takes in the image of you asleep. 

He could just undress and get back under the covers. He wants to. He wants to pretend he never heard the pager and just go on the way he has with you for the past two months. But if he did, he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing he left his team to suffer, or worse.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss into your forehead, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s a soldier. 

As he leaves, he ignores the tugging in his chest, stretching like elastic that’s ready to snap and bring him back to you at any moment. Down the street, back to the cabin, he boxes up the memories of you and locks them away. 

------

After dinner, Ari and his wife helped set up Ari’s old bedroom to be Steve’s for the duration of his stay.

“You’re welcome as long as you need to stay,” Ari reassured. “Absolutely no rush for you to get back on your feet. Sounds like you’ve been through hell.”

While they all tried to get to know him, they understood that there were some things that weren't yet ready to be spoken about. Nobody pushed him, and Steve shared what he was able to. 

Settling under the covers with a sigh, Steve rolls his shoulders back to relax his muscles. He places his palms on top of the flannel sheet, the fibers sticking to the clammy skin. With a swipe of his hand, he tries to get rid of the moisture, but it just causes more to come to the surface. 

Steve decides to clench his fists instead but reminds himself to keep his face relaxed to try and go to sleep. 

The visions behind his eyelids are relentless; as one washes away, another comes to replace it. Resigned, he opens his eyes and looks out the window.

The moon is full, surrounded by gray wispy clouds gliding across the sky, carried by a silent wind. Sighing again, Steve shifts around to make himself comfortable. Cheek pressed against the pillow, he realizes the nightmares started when he began his journey back home. 

On missions, sleep was precious and time was a commodity. To any normal person, sleep is a time of respite from day-to-day life, filled with fantastically pleasant images or even nothingness as the body recovers from the exhausting burden of living. To Steve and his team, it was a short burst of rest, a hard reset before getting right back to business.

Always on the move, there was never any time for demons or terrible memories to catch up to him. But now, with all the time in the world, he’s a sitting duck and those dark thoughts are poised, ready for the kill. 

Steve watches as the moon moves across the sky like a screensaver, keeping everything that haunts him at bay. As the sky turns a shade lighter, he gets up and rifles through his clothes, scattered between his bags and dresser. 

Dressing in some joggers, a pullover, and grabbing his running shoes, Steve quietly makes his way through the living room and out the front door. After he nudges his feet into the shoes, he takes off, running down the beaten path through the woods. 

- - -

“There you are!” Marcella greets Steve as enters the cabin. “How many eggs do you want?”

He’s met with the rich smells of American breakfast foods and gurgling of the coffee maker. With a blink, he smiles. 

It sounds and smells like home.

“I’ll take four, over medium, please.”

“Coming right up!” 

“Were you able to sleep at all?” Ari asks, looking pointedly at him as he loads bread into the toaster.

“Ah,” Steve exhales awkwardly, trying to find the right words. “Not quite. But not because I was uncomfortable.” 

“Understandable,” Bunny says, looking up from the stove. “New place, it’s an adjustment. But it looks like you were able to get some exercise in.” 

“Yeah, I was.”

“The forest path is great for that! There are a few here, you’ll never get bored. Oh, pancakes, by the way?”

“They’re chocolate chip today,” Marcella adds.

“Oh, yes, please. I’ll have two.” 

“Oh, hear that, Ari?” Marcella turns to her son, “Looks like you could learn about balanced meals from Steve.”

Steve snorts as Ari’s eyes narrow at his mother.

“Bunny, I’ll have four pancakes, please,” he says pointedly. 

“Yes, dear,” she laughs.

“Help yourself to some coffee, if you’d like. Sugar’s next to the machine and milk’s still in the fridge.” 

Steve takes up the offer, grabbing one of the mugs lined up on the counter. There are four, and he smiles to himself again. 

“Um,” he begins. “Thank you, for bringing out a mug for me.” 

Everyone exchanges pleasantly surprised looks at each other before looking back at Steve. Ari pipes up, “How could we not? You’re family.” 

They return to their respective tasks: Ari wraps up the bread and places it back in the basket; Bunny flips a pancake onto a serving platter and pours more batter into the pan; and Marcella turns over one of the eggs she’s making for Steve. 

With both parents passed on and his team somewhere out in the world doing who-knows-what, Steve entered Barber feeling isolated from everyone. 

But here, in this kitchen, with a seat at the table, a plate of pancakes and eggs coming his way, and a mug for coffee, there’s a sense of safety. Not quite in the way that someone is watching his six or looking from a vantage point, but in the simplicity of being thought of and cared for. 

- - - - -

“You need fresh air.”

Steve hums in confusion as he turns to Marcella.

“Did my Albie some good when he would have nightmares.”

“How did you–”

“I’ve seen that look before; it’s the same as his when he couldn’t sleep well the previous night.” 

A sense of bewilderment falls over Steve as he realizes she’s not even looking at him, rather maintaining her focus on her current knitting project. 

“I–”

“There’s a park not too far that we would go to and sit on the bench under the willow tree. It’s nice to be under the shade. I’ll tell them where you went, just be back by dinner or else we’ll launch a search party.” 

Knowing an indirect command when he hears one, Steve finds himself getting up and grabbing a jacket before heading out.

“Bring a hat and wear sunscreen!” 

- - - - -

Baseball cap tucked tight onto his head, Steve’s knee bounces sitting underneath the swaying fronds of an old willow tree. 

He’s not a fool, he can see how this would be serene and calming, but the tension in his muscles don’t seem to release. The fresh air is invigorating and a wonderful contrast to stale atmospheres in hideouts and home bases used solely for shelter. 

As he concentrates harder on relaxing, he’s interrupted.

“Hi, Steve.”

Turning to the source of the voice, he finds you standing in a sundress and wide-brim hat, picnic basket tucked into your elbow. 

He greets you in return. “Having a picnic?”

“Yeah, couldn’t let the sunshine go to waste. How are you enjoying your day?”

“It’s here and there.” 

“I understand,” you nod. “Well, if you don’t have plans, I was going to set up not too far from here. I have plenty of food and snacks; I was just going to relax for the rest of the afternoon. You’re welcome to join me, or not, if you’d rather stay here.”

His response is almost a knee-jerk reaction, agreeing to join you. He’s not quite sure where that comes from but you don’t seem to pay attention to it. Instead, you bid him to follow you to a sunny patch of grass. Setting the basket down, you take out a blanket and begin to unfold it. 

As the blanket begins to grow larger, Steve realizes how useless he’s being and grabs the other end, helping you open it up and keep it flat on the grass. It’s not too large, but it’s enough for two people to comfortably sit without invading each other’s space.

He watches as you kneel and bring the basket onto the blanket, beginning to take out a container of bright red strawberries and sliced kiwis. When you look up at him after taking out a covered platter, he feels his body tighten in social anxiety.

“Would you like to sit?” you offer, seeming to repeat your invitation from earlier. 

“Oh, yeah,” he stammers, crouching down and trying to get into a comfortable position. He wriggles around for a moment and hears a snort from you as he settles on sitting on his bottom with his legs extended, hands positioned back to support his upper half. “What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, “When was the last time you went on a picnic?”

“I have to think about that one.”

And he does. It’s not an automatic memory retrieval, not like remembering Bucky’s blindside or how to navigate a smoke screen. He ventures deep into the annals of his brain, almost like an archive room with thousands of dusty files and the smell of old paper. 

Childhood memories are like faded pictures; he can see the indistinct figures of Bucky as a child, running with other boys whose faces he can’t remember. He thinks he laughed in that moment, but he doesn’t know what they were playing. He can see the picnic tables and detect the faint aroma of coals on a grill. There’s brightly colored candy on the brown and green grass, girls screaming as a boy chases them with a lizard. 

“I don’t know how old I was,” Steve shrugs. “Maybe seven or eight. I think it was for a birthday party. But it wasn’t like this, there were picnic tables, like something you’d reserve at a park.” 

“Ah,” you nod. “I really like coming here on a sunny day, there’s lots of space for a nice little picnic to have a snack outside, maybe read a book.” 

Humming in agreement, Steve doesn’t know what to say. It’s been ages since he had a conversation about anything other than work. Whenever an interaction extends beyond the weather and one’s state of being, he’s lost. 

A happy jingle begins to come into earshot and a few kids nearby scream in delight, making you giggle as Steve startles at the sounds. Aggressively pushing down his response to rush to the rescue, he realizes most of the park goers attention has been captured by an ice cream truck. Parents hold their children back from running headlong into the parking lot to be the first in line, waiting as the brightly colored vehicle finds a spot and parks. 

Once settled, the large window on the side opens up and a deep voice bellows, “Ice cream!” Kids surge forward, racing to get into line before each other. The man in the truck begins to direct them, making sure everyone is being fair and nice to each other. Once the line is orderly, he begins to take orders. 

“Would you like something?”

“Usually I wait until the line shortens,” you reply.

“But then all the good stuff might be gone by then,” he argues. 

You huff in a laugh, “Good point. I’ll have a scoop of cookie dough in a cone, please.” 

Watching him get up and jog over to the line, you laugh at the comic image of him taking a spot behind a boy who can’t be much older than five. He sticks out among the other patrons, the only adult as the kids ahead of him crane their heads to look at the man in the truck and get on their toes to reach for their cones and cups. 

You grab a strawberry and bite into it, unable to stop yourself from thinking how he seems to try so hard at being just a normal person despite looking anything but. He showed up in Barber out of nowhere, which isn’t unusual, but someone of his stature and gait when he moves sticks out. 

Barber has always been a quieter place to live, nobody has any particular rush. You’re used to the occasional person or group stopping in on their way to somewhere else, but even they don’t have the same rigidity Steve has. Slow life in a slow town means leisure walks and headaches for city dwellers; you could imagine a New Yorker hating the sidewalks here filled with slow pedestrians. 

You don’t know much about him, only recalling he referred to himself as a “veteran.” With no visible malady, you can imagine the more invisible troubles that plague someone like him, who has likely seen things you can’t even begin to imagine. 

To go from that to Barber is an adjustment that would possibly take years to complete. As you put together a bite with a cracker, piece of cheese and some honey, you watch as he steps up to the window, laughing at a joke from the ice cream vendor. 

You chew as he pays and takes a cup and a cone, nodding in thanks to the man in the truck before heading back to you. As he returns, you finish chewing and dust off your hands before reaching out to take your cone from him.

“Thank you,” you smile. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh don’t worry about it,” he replies, waving her off. “Thank you for inviting me to join you, you didn’t need to.” 

As the afternoon continues, the two of you spend time talking the time away. The sun moves across the sky without either of your attention on it, until it begins to descend behind the treeline. 

“I’m so sorry,” you start, feeling bashful, “I didn’t mean to take up your entire afternoon.” 

Steve smiles, mostly to himself, “Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing else I had planned for today.” And I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.

He leaves out the latter part of his thoughts, feeling his body physically reacting to the pounding of his memories from before his career as they scream to escape from their prison. His heart aches as it opens up, the muscle forming shapes it hasn’t in a long time. It makes his breath catch in his throat, ignites the tips of his fingertips. 

Your hand covers his, a gesture that douses the heat on his skin. He knows it’s meant to be friendly, but his brain screams to turn his hand over and grasp yours. He wonders how your fingers would feel between his, wants to know the warmth of your palm against his own. 

“Are you okay?” you check, ducking your head slightly to look into his eyes. There’s some concern in your expression and he does his best to brush off any trail of a wandering mind. 

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat. “Can I walk you home?”

- - -

The breeze wisps around, lifting your hair and lapping at your skin. It’s a nice cool down after being in the sun. One by one, the street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in a soft yellow glow. 

You steal a shy glance at Steve as he looks around to take in the scene. The contours of his face are shrouded in shadow, bringing out the structure of his face. From the moment he stepped into the shelter, your knees nearly went weak, butterflies tickling in your stomach and fluttering down to your legs. The butterflies come back, wings flapping aggressively as you admire his features.

When his face gives a telltale tic, you look away quickly and he asks if there’s something wrong.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. The shelter and your front door is only a few steps away, so you change the subject. “This is me.” 

“Convenient,” Steve remarks.

“Very,” you laugh. “I had a lot of fun today. It was nice to spend time with you. We should do it again sometime. If you want. You don’t have to, I just thought–” 

It happens quickly; Steve cups your jaw, tilting your head upwards to receive a kiss he presses into your lips. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he feels your face rush with heat, his own skin tingling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You give a giddy laugh. “Seeing you.” Your eyes widen and lips purse, as if you spoke out of turn. “At least, I hope that’s what you’re getting at.” 

Steve laughs, straight from his belly and his memories continue to pound at the walls of the fortress containing them. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m getting at.” 

He kisses you one more time, and watches as you unlock the door and give him one more wave before the door shuts behind you.

Staring up at the sky, the stars shine, multitudes more than visible in a big city. He remembers nights in remote areas while on missions, the cold ground beneath his back as he attempted to get sleep. 

The image of your hand in his flashes across his memory, warming his body. 

Then, the walls crumble, and the memories come forward.

------

After dinner, Ari and his wife helped set up Ari’s old bedroom to be Steve’s for the duration of his stay.

“You’re welcome as long as you need to stay,” Ari reassured. “Absolutely no rush for you to get back on your feet. Sounds like you’ve been through hell.”

While they all tried to get to know him, they understood that there were some things that weren't yet ready to be spoken about. Nobody pushed him, and Steve shared what he was able to. 

Settling under the covers with a sigh, Steve rolls his shoulders back to relax his muscles. He places his palms on top of the flannel sheet, the fibers sticking to the clammy skin. With a swipe of his hand, he tries to get rid of the moisture, but it just causes more to come to the surface. 

Steve decides to clench his fists instead but reminds himself to keep his face relaxed to try and go to sleep. 

The visions behind his eyelids are relentless; as one washes away, another comes to replace it. Resigned, he opens his eyes and looks out the window.

The moon is full, surrounded by gray wispy clouds gliding across the sky, carried by a silent wind. Sighing again, Steve shifts around to make himself comfortable. Cheek pressed against the pillow, he realizes the nightmares started when he began his journey back home. 

On missions, sleep was precious and time was a commodity. To any normal person, sleep is a time of respite from day-to-day life, filled with fantastically pleasant images or even nothingness as the body recovers from the exhausting burden of living. To Steve and his team, it was a short burst of rest, a hard reset before getting right back to business.

Always on the move, there was never any time for demons or terrible memories to catch up to him. But now, with all the time in the world, he’s a sitting duck and those dark thoughts are poised, ready for the kill. 

Steve watches as the moon moves across the sky like a screensaver, keeping everything that haunts him at bay. As the sky turns a shade lighter, he gets up and rifles through his clothes, scattered between his bags and dresser. 

Dressing in some joggers, a pullover, and grabbing his running shoes, Steve quietly makes his way through the living room and out the front door. After he nudges his feet into the shoes, he takes off, running down the beaten path through the woods. 

- - -

“There you are!” Marcella greets Steve as enters the cabin. “How many eggs do you want?”

He’s met with the rich smells of American breakfast foods and gurgling of the coffee maker. With a blink, he smiles. 

It sounds and smells like home.

“I’ll take four, over medium, please.”

“Coming right up!” 

“Were you able to sleep at all?” Ari asks, looking pointedly at him as he loads bread into the toaster.

“Ah,” Steve exhales awkwardly, trying to find the right words. “Not quite. But not because I was uncomfortable.” 

“Understandable,” Bunny says, looking up from the stove. “New place, it’s an adjustment. But it looks like you were able to get some exercise in.” 

“Yeah, I was.”

“The forest path is great for that! There are a few here, you’ll never get bored. Oh, pancakes, by the way?”

“They’re chocolate chip today,” Marcella adds.

“Oh, yes, please. I’ll have two.” 

“Oh, hear that, Ari?” Marcella turns to her son, “Looks like you could learn about balanced meals from Steve.”

Steve snorts as Ari’s eyes narrow at his mother.

“Bunny, I’ll have four pancakes, please,” he says pointedly. 

“Yes, dear,” she laughs.

“Help yourself to some coffee, if you’d like. Sugar’s next to the machine and milk’s still in the fridge.” 

Steve takes up the offer, grabbing one of the mugs lined up on the counter. There are four, and he smiles to himself again. 

“Um,” he begins. “Thank you, for bringing out a mug for me.” 

Everyone exchanges pleasantly surprised looks at each other before looking back at Steve. Ari pipes up, “How could we not? You’re family.” 

They return to their respective tasks: Ari wraps up the bread and places it back in the basket; Bunny flips a pancake onto a serving platter and pours more batter into the pan; and Marcella turns over one of the eggs she’s making for Steve. 

With both parents passed on and his team somewhere out in the world doing who-knows-what, Steve entered Barber feeling isolated from everyone. 

But here, in this kitchen, with a seat at the table, a plate of pancakes and eggs coming his way, and a mug for coffee, there’s a sense of safety. Not quite in the way that someone is watching his six or looking from a vantage point, but in the simplicity of being thought of and cared for. 

- - - - -

“You need fresh air.”

Steve hums in confusion as he turns to Marcella.

“Did my Albie some good when he would have nightmares.”

“How did you–”

“I’ve seen that look before; it’s the same as his when he couldn’t sleep well the previous night.” 

A sense of bewilderment falls over Steve as he realizes she’s not even looking at him, rather maintaining her focus on her current knitting project. 

“I–”

“There’s a park not too far that we would go to and sit on the bench under the willow tree. It’s nice to be under the shade. I’ll tell them where you went, just be back by dinner or else we’ll launch a search party.” 

Knowing an indirect command when he hears one, Steve finds himself getting up and grabbing a jacket before heading out.

“Bring a hat and wear sunscreen!” 

- - - - -

Baseball cap tucked tight onto his head, Steve’s knee bounces sitting underneath the swaying fronds of an old willow tree. 

He’s not a fool, he can see how this would be serene and calming, but the tension in his muscles don’t seem to release. The fresh air is invigorating and a wonderful contrast to stale atmospheres in hideouts and home bases used solely for shelter. 

As he concentrates harder on relaxing, he’s interrupted.

“Hi, Steve.”

Turning to the source of the voice, he finds you standing in a sundress and wide-brim hat, picnic basket tucked into your elbow. 

He greets you in return. “Having a picnic?”

“Yeah, couldn’t let the sunshine go to waste. How are you enjoying your day?”

“It’s here and there.” 

“I understand,” you nod. “Well, if you don’t have plans, I was going to set up not too far from here. I have plenty of food and snacks; I was just going to relax for the rest of the afternoon. You’re welcome to join me, or not, if you’d rather stay here.”

His response is almost a knee-jerk reaction, agreeing to join you. He’s not quite sure where that comes from but you don’t seem to pay attention to it. Instead, you bid him to follow you to a sunny patch of grass. Setting the basket down, you take out a blanket and begin to unfold it. 

As the blanket begins to grow larger, Steve realizes how useless he’s being and grabs the other end, helping you open it up and keep it flat on the grass. It’s not too large, but it’s enough for two people to comfortably sit without invading each other’s space.

He watches as you kneel and bring the basket onto the blanket, beginning to take out a container of bright red strawberries and sliced kiwis. When you look up at him after taking out a covered platter, he feels his body tighten in social anxiety.

“Would you like to sit?” you offer, seeming to repeat your invitation from earlier. 

“Oh, yeah,” he stammers, crouching down and trying to get into a comfortable position. He wriggles around for a moment and hears a snort from you as he settles on sitting on his bottom with his legs extended, hands positioned back to support his upper half. “What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, “When was the last time you went on a picnic?”

“I have to think about that one.”

And he does. It’s not an automatic memory retrieval, not like remembering Bucky’s blindside or how to navigate a smoke screen. He ventures deep into the annals of his brain, almost like an archive room with thousands of dusty files and the smell of old paper. 

Childhood memories are like faded pictures; he can see the indistinct figures of Bucky as a child, running with other boys whose faces he can’t remember. He thinks he laughed in that moment, but he doesn’t know what they were playing. He can see the picnic tables and detect the faint aroma of coals on a grill. There’s brightly colored candy on the brown and green grass, girls screaming as a boy chases them with a lizard. 

“I don’t know how old I was,” Steve shrugs. “Maybe seven or eight. I think it was for a birthday party. But it wasn’t like this, there were picnic tables, like something you’d reserve at a park.” 

“Ah,” you nod. “I really like coming here on a sunny day, there’s lots of space for a nice little picnic to have a snack outside, maybe read a book.” 

Humming in agreement, Steve doesn’t know what to say. It’s been ages since he had a conversation about anything other than work. Whenever an interaction extends beyond the weather and one’s state of being, he’s lost. 

A happy jingle begins to come into earshot and a few kids nearby scream in delight, making you giggle as Steve startles at the sounds. Aggressively pushing down his response to rush to the rescue, he realizes most of the park goers attention has been captured by an ice cream truck. Parents hold their children back from running headlong into the parking lot to be the first in line, waiting as the brightly colored vehicle finds a spot and parks. 

Once settled, the large window on the side opens up and a deep voice bellows, “Ice cream!” Kids surge forward, racing to get into line before each other. The man in the truck begins to direct them, making sure everyone is being fair and nice to each other. Once the line is orderly, he begins to take orders. 

“Would you like something?”

“Usually I wait until the line shortens,” you reply.

“But then all the good stuff might be gone by then,” he argues. 

You huff in a laugh, “Good point. I’ll have a scoop of cookie dough in a cone, please.” 

Watching him get up and jog over to the line, you laugh at the comic image of him taking a spot behind a boy who can’t be much older than five. He sticks out among the other patrons, the only adult as the kids ahead of him crane their heads to look at the man in the truck and get on their toes to reach for their cones and cups. 

You grab a strawberry and bite into it, unable to stop yourself from thinking how he seems to try so hard at being just a normal person despite looking anything but. He showed up in Barber out of nowhere, which isn’t unusual, but someone of his stature and gait when he moves sticks out. 

Barber has always been a quieter place to live, nobody has any particular rush. You’re used to the occasional person or group stopping in on their way to somewhere else, but even they don’t have the same rigidity Steve has. Slow life in a slow town means leisure walks and headaches for city dwellers; you could imagine a New Yorker hating the sidewalks here filled with slow pedestrians. 

You don’t know much about him, only recalling he referred to himself as a “veteran.” With no visible malady, you can imagine the more invisible troubles that plague someone like him, who has likely seen things you can’t even begin to imagine. 

To go from that to Barber is an adjustment that would possibly take years to complete. As you put together a bite with a cracker, piece of cheese and some honey, you watch as he steps up to the window, laughing at a joke from the ice cream vendor. 

You chew as he pays and takes a cup and a cone, nodding in thanks to the man in the truck before heading back to you. As he returns, you finish chewing and dust off your hands before reaching out to take your cone from him.

“Thank you,” you smile. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh don’t worry about it,” he replies, waving her off. “Thank you for inviting me to join you, you didn’t need to.” 

As the afternoon continues, the two of you spend time talking the time away. The sun moves across the sky without either of your attention on it, until it begins to descend behind the treeline. 

“I’m so sorry,” you start, feeling bashful, “I didn’t mean to take up your entire afternoon.” 

Steve smiles, mostly to himself, “Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing else I had planned for today.” And I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.

He leaves out the latter part of his thoughts, feeling his body physically reacting to the pounding of his memories from before his career as they scream to escape from their prison. His heart aches as it opens up, the muscle forming shapes it hasn’t in a long time. It makes his breath catch in his throat, ignites the tips of his fingertips. 

Your hand covers his, a gesture that douses the heat on his skin. He knows it’s meant to be friendly, but his brain screams to turn his hand over and grasp yours. He wonders how your fingers would feel between his, wants to know the warmth of your palm against his own. 

“Are you okay?” you check, ducking your head slightly to look into his eyes. There’s some concern in your expression and he does his best to brush off any trail of a wandering mind. 

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat. “Can I walk you home?”

- - -

The breeze wisps around, lifting your hair and lapping at your skin. It’s a nice cool down after being in the sun. One by one, the street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in a soft yellow glow. 

You steal a shy glance at Steve as he looks around to take in the scene. The contours of his face are shrouded in shadow, bringing out the structure of his face. From the moment he stepped into the shelter, your knees nearly went weak, butterflies tickling in your stomach and fluttering down to your legs. The butterflies come back, wings flapping aggressively as you admire his features.

When his face gives a telltale tic, you look away quickly and he asks if there’s something wrong.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. The shelter and your front door is only a few steps away, so you change the subject. “This is me.” 

“Convenient,” Steve remarks.

“Very,” you laugh. “I had a lot of fun today. It was nice to spend time with you. We should do it again sometime. If you want. You don’t have to, I just thought–” 

It happens quickly; Steve cups your jaw, tilting your head upwards to receive a kiss he presses into your lips. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he feels your face rush with heat, his own skin tingling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You give a giddy laugh. “Seeing you.” Your eyes widen and lips purse, as if you spoke out of turn. “At least, I hope that’s what you’re getting at.” 

Steve laughs, straight from his belly and his memories continue to pound at the walls of the fortress containing them. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m getting at.” 

He kisses you one more time, and watches as you unlock the door and give him one more wave before the door shuts behind you.

Staring up at the sky, the stars shine, multitudes more than visible in a big city. He remembers nights in remote areas while on missions, the cold ground beneath his back as he attempted to get sleep. 

The image of your hand in his flashes across his memory, warming his body. 

Then, the walls crumble, and the memories come forward.

------

After dinner, Ari and his wife helped set up Ari’s old bedroom to be Steve’s for the duration of his stay.

“You’re welcome as long as you need to stay,” Ari reassured. “Absolutely no rush for you to get back on your feet. Sounds like you’ve been through hell.”

While they all tried to get to know him, they understood that there were some things that weren't yet ready to be spoken about. Nobody pushed him, and Steve shared what he was able to. 

Settling under the covers with a sigh, Steve rolls his shoulders back to relax his muscles. He places his palms on top of the flannel sheet, the fibers sticking to the clammy skin. With a swipe of his hand, he tries to get rid of the moisture, but it just causes more to come to the surface. 

Steve decides to clench his fists instead but reminds himself to keep his face relaxed to try and go to sleep. 

The visions behind his eyelids are relentless; as one washes away, another comes to replace it. Resigned, he opens his eyes and looks out the window.

The moon is full, surrounded by gray wispy clouds gliding across the sky, carried by a silent wind. Sighing again, Steve shifts around to make himself comfortable. Cheek pressed against the pillow, he realizes the nightmares started when he began his journey back home. 

On missions, sleep was precious and time was a commodity. To any normal person, sleep is a time of respite from day-to-day life, filled with fantastically pleasant images or even nothingness as the body recovers from the exhausting burden of living. To Steve and his team, it was a short burst of rest, a hard reset before getting right back to business.

Always on the move, there was never any time for demons or terrible memories to catch up to him. But now, with all the time in the world, he’s a sitting duck and those dark thoughts are poised, ready for the kill. 

Steve watches as the moon moves across the sky like a screensaver, keeping everything that haunts him at bay. As the sky turns a shade lighter, he gets up and rifles through his clothes, scattered between his bags and dresser. 

Dressing in some joggers, a pullover, and grabbing his running shoes, Steve quietly makes his way through the living room and out the front door. After he nudges his feet into the shoes, he takes off, running down the beaten path through the woods. 

- - -

“There you are!” Marcella greets Steve as enters the cabin. “How many eggs do you want?”

He’s met with the rich smells of American breakfast foods and gurgling of the coffee maker. With a blink, he smiles. 

It sounds and smells like home.

“I’ll take four, over medium, please.”

“Coming right up!” 

“Were you able to sleep at all?” Ari asks, looking pointedly at him as he loads bread into the toaster.

“Ah,” Steve exhales awkwardly, trying to find the right words. “Not quite. But not because I was uncomfortable.” 

“Understandable,” Bunny says, looking up from the stove. “New place, it’s an adjustment. But it looks like you were able to get some exercise in.” 

“Yeah, I was.”

“The forest path is great for that! There are a few here, you’ll never get bored. Oh, pancakes, by the way?”

“They’re chocolate chip today,” Marcella adds.

“Oh, yes, please. I’ll have two.” 

“Oh, hear that, Ari?” Marcella turns to her son, “Looks like you could learn about balanced meals from Steve.”

Steve snorts as Ari’s eyes narrow at his mother.

“Bunny, I’ll have four pancakes, please,” he says pointedly. 

“Yes, dear,” she laughs.

“Help yourself to some coffee, if you’d like. Sugar’s next to the machine and milk’s still in the fridge.” 

Steve takes up the offer, grabbing one of the mugs lined up on the counter. There are four, and he smiles to himself again. 

“Um,” he begins. “Thank you, for bringing out a mug for me.” 

Everyone exchanges pleasantly surprised looks at each other before looking back at Steve. Ari pipes up, “How could we not? You’re family.” 

They return to their respective tasks: Ari wraps up the bread and places it back in the basket; Bunny flips a pancake onto a serving platter and pours more batter into the pan; and Marcella turns over one of the eggs she’s making for Steve. 

With both parents passed on and his team somewhere out in the world doing who-knows-what, Steve entered Barber feeling isolated from everyone. 

But here, in this kitchen, with a seat at the table, a plate of pancakes and eggs coming his way, and a mug for coffee, there’s a sense of safety. Not quite in the way that someone is watching his six or looking from a vantage point, but in the simplicity of being thought of and cared for. 

- - - - -

“You need fresh air.”

Steve hums in confusion as he turns to Marcella.

“Did my Albie some good when he would have nightmares.”

“How did you–”

“I’ve seen that look before; it’s the same as his when he couldn’t sleep well the previous night.” 

A sense of bewilderment falls over Steve as he realizes she’s not even looking at him, rather maintaining her focus on her current knitting project. 

“I–”

“There’s a park not too far that we would go to and sit on the bench under the willow tree. It’s nice to be under the shade. I’ll tell them where you went, just be back by dinner or else we’ll launch a search party.” 

Knowing an indirect command when he hears one, Steve finds himself getting up and grabbing a jacket before heading out.

“Bring a hat and wear sunscreen!” 

- - - - -

Baseball cap tucked tight onto his head, Steve’s knee bounces sitting underneath the swaying fronds of an old willow tree. 

He’s not a fool, he can see how this would be serene and calming, but the tension in his muscles don’t seem to release. The fresh air is invigorating and a wonderful contrast to stale atmospheres in hideouts and home bases used solely for shelter. 

As he concentrates harder on relaxing, he’s interrupted.

“Hi, Steve.”

Turning to the source of the voice, he finds you standing in a sundress and wide-brim hat, picnic basket tucked into your elbow. 

He greets you in return. “Having a picnic?”

“Yeah, couldn’t let the sunshine go to waste. How are you enjoying your day?”

“It’s here and there.” 

“I understand,” you nod. “Well, if you don’t have plans, I was going to set up not too far from here. I have plenty of food and snacks; I was just going to relax for the rest of the afternoon. You’re welcome to join me, or not, if you’d rather stay here.”

His response is almost a knee-jerk reaction, agreeing to join you. He’s not quite sure where that comes from but you don’t seem to pay attention to it. Instead, you bid him to follow you to a sunny patch of grass. Setting the basket down, you take out a blanket and begin to unfold it. 

As the blanket begins to grow larger, Steve realizes how useless he’s being and grabs the other end, helping you open it up and keep it flat on the grass. It’s not too large, but it’s enough for two people to comfortably sit without invading each other’s space.

He watches as you kneel and bring the basket onto the blanket, beginning to take out a container of bright red strawberries and sliced kiwis. When you look up at him after taking out a covered platter, he feels his body tighten in social anxiety.

“Would you like to sit?” you offer, seeming to repeat your invitation from earlier. 

“Oh, yeah,” he stammers, crouching down and trying to get into a comfortable position. He wriggles around for a moment and hears a snort from you as he settles on sitting on his bottom with his legs extended, hands positioned back to support his upper half. “What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, “When was the last time you went on a picnic?”

“I have to think about that one.”

And he does. It’s not an automatic memory retrieval, not like remembering Bucky’s blindside or how to navigate a smoke screen. He ventures deep into the annals of his brain, almost like an archive room with thousands of dusty files and the smell of old paper. 

Childhood memories are like faded pictures; he can see the indistinct figures of Bucky as a child, running with other boys whose faces he can’t remember. He thinks he laughed in that moment, but he doesn’t know what they were playing. He can see the picnic tables and detect the faint aroma of coals on a grill. There’s brightly colored candy on the brown and green grass, girls screaming as a boy chases them with a lizard. 

“I don’t know how old I was,” Steve shrugs. “Maybe seven or eight. I think it was for a birthday party. But it wasn’t like this, there were picnic tables, like something you’d reserve at a park.” 

“Ah,” you nod. “I really like coming here on a sunny day, there’s lots of space for a nice little picnic to have a snack outside, maybe read a book.” 

Humming in agreement, Steve doesn’t know what to say. It’s been ages since he had a conversation about anything other than work. Whenever an interaction extends beyond the weather and one’s state of being, he’s lost. 

A happy jingle begins to come into earshot and a few kids nearby scream in delight, making you giggle as Steve startles at the sounds. Aggressively pushing down his response to rush to the rescue, he realizes most of the park goers attention has been captured by an ice cream truck. Parents hold their children back from running headlong into the parking lot to be the first in line, waiting as the brightly colored vehicle finds a spot and parks. 

Once settled, the large window on the side opens up and a deep voice bellows, “Ice cream!” Kids surge forward, racing to get into line before each other. The man in the truck begins to direct them, making sure everyone is being fair and nice to each other. Once the line is orderly, he begins to take orders. 

“Would you like something?”

“Usually I wait until the line shortens,” you reply.

“But then all the good stuff might be gone by then,” he argues. 

You huff in a laugh, “Good point. I’ll have a scoop of cookie dough in a cone, please.” 

Watching him get up and jog over to the line, you laugh at the comic image of him taking a spot behind a boy who can’t be much older than five. He sticks out among the other patrons, the only adult as the kids ahead of him crane their heads to look at the man in the truck and get on their toes to reach for their cones and cups. 

You grab a strawberry and bite into it, unable to stop yourself from thinking how he seems to try so hard at being just a normal person despite looking anything but. He showed up in Barber out of nowhere, which isn’t unusual, but someone of his stature and gait when he moves sticks out. 

Barber has always been a quieter place to live, nobody has any particular rush. You’re used to the occasional person or group stopping in on their way to somewhere else, but even they don’t have the same rigidity Steve has. Slow life in a slow town means leisure walks and headaches for city dwellers; you could imagine a New Yorker hating the sidewalks here filled with slow pedestrians. 

You don’t know much about him, only recalling he referred to himself as a “veteran.” With no visible malady, you can imagine the more invisible troubles that plague someone like him, who has likely seen things you can’t even begin to imagine. 

To go from that to Barber is an adjustment that would possibly take years to complete. As you put together a bite with a cracker, piece of cheese and some honey, you watch as he steps up to the window, laughing at a joke from the ice cream vendor. 

You chew as he pays and takes a cup and a cone, nodding in thanks to the man in the truck before heading back to you. As he returns, you finish chewing and dust off your hands before reaching out to take your cone from him.

“Thank you,” you smile. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh don’t worry about it,” he replies, waving her off. “Thank you for inviting me to join you, you didn’t need to.” 

As the afternoon continues, the two of you spend time talking the time away. The sun moves across the sky without either of your attention on it, until it begins to descend behind the treeline. 

“I’m so sorry,” you start, feeling bashful, “I didn’t mean to take up your entire afternoon.” 

Steve smiles, mostly to himself, “Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing else I had planned for today.” And I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.

He leaves out the latter part of his thoughts, feeling his body physically reacting to the pounding of his memories from before his career as they scream to escape from their prison. His heart aches as it opens up, the muscle forming shapes it hasn’t in a long time. It makes his breath catch in his throat, ignites the tips of his fingertips. 

Your hand covers his, a gesture that douses the heat on his skin. He knows it’s meant to be friendly, but his brain screams to turn his hand over and grasp yours. He wonders how your fingers would feel between his, wants to know the warmth of your palm against his own. 

“Are you okay?” you check, ducking your head slightly to look into his eyes. There’s some concern in your expression and he does his best to brush off any trail of a wandering mind. 

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat. “Can I walk you home?”

- - -

The breeze wisps around, lifting your hair and lapping at your skin. It’s a nice cool down after being in the sun. One by one, the street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in a soft yellow glow. 

You steal a shy glance at Steve as he looks around to take in the scene. The contours of his face are shrouded in shadow, bringing out the structure of his face. From the moment he stepped into the shelter, your knees nearly went weak, butterflies tickling in your stomach and fluttering down to your legs. The butterflies come back, wings flapping aggressively as you admire his features.

When his face gives a telltale tic, you look away quickly and he asks if there’s something wrong.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. The shelter and your front door is only a few steps away, so you change the subject. “This is me.” 

“Convenient,” Steve remarks.

“Very,” you laugh. “I had a lot of fun today. It was nice to spend time with you. We should do it again sometime. If you want. You don’t have to, I just thought–” 

It happens quickly; Steve cups your jaw, tilting your head upwards to receive a kiss he presses into your lips. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he feels your face rush with heat, his own skin tingling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You give a giddy laugh. “Seeing you.” Your eyes widen and lips purse, as if you spoke out of turn. “At least, I hope that’s what you’re getting at.” 

Steve laughs, straight from his belly and his memories continue to pound at the walls of the fortress containing them. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m getting at.” 

He kisses you one more time, and watches as you unlock the door and give him one more wave before the door shuts behind you.

Staring up at the sky, the stars shine, multitudes more than visible in a big city. He remembers nights in remote areas while on missions, the cold ground beneath his back as he attempted to get sleep. 

The image of your hand in his flashes across his memory, warming his body. 

Then, the walls crumble, and the memories come forward.

------

After dinner, Ari and his wife helped set up Ari’s old bedroom to be Steve’s for the duration of his stay.

“You’re welcome as long as you need to stay,” Ari reassured. “Absolutely no rush for you to get back on your feet. Sounds like you’ve been through hell.”

While they all tried to get to know him, they understood that there were some things that weren't yet ready to be spoken about. Nobody pushed him, and Steve shared what he was able to. 

Settling under the covers with a sigh, Steve rolls his shoulders back to relax his muscles. He places his palms on top of the flannel sheet, the fibers sticking to the clammy skin. With a swipe of his hand, he tries to get rid of the moisture, but it just causes more to come to the surface. 

Steve decides to clench his fists instead but reminds himself to keep his face relaxed to try and go to sleep. 

The visions behind his eyelids are relentless; as one washes away, another comes to replace it. Resigned, he opens his eyes and looks out the window.

The moon is full, surrounded by gray wispy clouds gliding across the sky, carried by a silent wind. Sighing again, Steve shifts around to make himself comfortable. Cheek pressed against the pillow, he realizes the nightmares started when he began his journey back home. 

On missions, sleep was precious and time was a commodity. To any normal person, sleep is a time of respite from day-to-day life, filled with fantastically pleasant images or even nothingness as the body recovers from the exhausting burden of living. To Steve and his team, it was a short burst of rest, a hard reset before getting right back to business.

Always on the move, there was never any time for demons or terrible memories to catch up to him. But now, with all the time in the world, he’s a sitting duck and those dark thoughts are poised, ready for the kill. 

Steve watches as the moon moves across the sky like a screensaver, keeping everything that haunts him at bay. As the sky turns a shade lighter, he gets up and rifles through his clothes, scattered between his bags and dresser. 

Dressing in some joggers, a pullover, and grabbing his running shoes, Steve quietly makes his way through the living room and out the front door. After he nudges his feet into the shoes, he takes off, running down the beaten path through the woods. 

- - -

“There you are!” Marcella greets Steve as enters the cabin. “How many eggs do you want?”

He’s met with the rich smells of American breakfast foods and gurgling of the coffee maker. With a blink, he smiles. 

It sounds and smells like home.

“I’ll take four, over medium, please.”

“Coming right up!” 

“Were you able to sleep at all?” Ari asks, looking pointedly at him as he loads bread into the toaster.

“Ah,” Steve exhales awkwardly, trying to find the right words. “Not quite. But not because I was uncomfortable.” 

“Understandable,” Bunny says, looking up from the stove. “New place, it’s an adjustment. But it looks like you were able to get some exercise in.” 

“Yeah, I was.”

“The forest path is great for that! There are a few here, you’ll never get bored. Oh, pancakes, by the way?”

“They’re chocolate chip today,” Marcella adds.

“Oh, yes, please. I’ll have two.” 

“Oh, hear that, Ari?” Marcella turns to her son, “Looks like you could learn about balanced meals from Steve.”

Steve snorts as Ari’s eyes narrow at his mother.

“Bunny, I’ll have four pancakes, please,” he says pointedly. 

“Yes, dear,” she laughs.

“Help yourself to some coffee, if you’d like. Sugar’s next to the machine and milk’s still in the fridge.” 

Steve takes up the offer, grabbing one of the mugs lined up on the counter. There are four, and he smiles to himself again. 

“Um,” he begins. “Thank you, for bringing out a mug for me.” 

Everyone exchanges pleasantly surprised looks at each other before looking back at Steve. Ari pipes up, “How could we not? You’re family.” 

They return to their respective tasks: Ari wraps up the bread and places it back in the basket; Bunny flips a pancake onto a serving platter and pours more batter into the pan; and Marcella turns over one of the eggs she’s making for Steve. 

With both parents passed on and his team somewhere out in the world doing who-knows-what, Steve entered Barber feeling isolated from everyone. 

But here, in this kitchen, with a seat at the table, a plate of pancakes and eggs coming his way, and a mug for coffee, there’s a sense of safety. Not quite in the way that someone is watching his six or looking from a vantage point, but in the simplicity of being thought of and cared for. 

- - - - -

“You need fresh air.”

Steve hums in confusion as he turns to Marcella.

“Did my Albie some good when he would have nightmares.”

“How did you–”

“I’ve seen that look before; it’s the same as his when he couldn’t sleep well the previous night.” 

A sense of bewilderment falls over Steve as he realizes she’s not even looking at him, rather maintaining her focus on her current knitting project. 

“I–”

“There’s a park not too far that we would go to and sit on the bench under the willow tree. It’s nice to be under the shade. I’ll tell them where you went, just be back by dinner or else we’ll launch a search party.” 

Knowing an indirect command when he hears one, Steve finds himself getting up and grabbing a jacket before heading out.

“Bring a hat and wear sunscreen!” 

- - - - -

Baseball cap tucked tight onto his head, Steve’s knee bounces sitting underneath the swaying fronds of an old willow tree. 

He’s not a fool, he can see how this would be serene and calming, but the tension in his muscles don’t seem to release. The fresh air is invigorating and a wonderful contrast to stale atmospheres in hideouts and home bases used solely for shelter. 

As he concentrates harder on relaxing, he’s interrupted.

“Hi, Steve.”

Turning to the source of the voice, he finds you standing in a sundress and wide-brim hat, picnic basket tucked into your elbow. 

He greets you in return. “Having a picnic?”

“Yeah, couldn’t let the sunshine go to waste. How are you enjoying your day?”

“It’s here and there.” 

“I understand,” you nod. “Well, if you don’t have plans, I was going to set up not too far from here. I have plenty of food and snacks; I was just going to relax for the rest of the afternoon. You’re welcome to join me, or not, if you’d rather stay here.”

His response is almost a knee-jerk reaction, agreeing to join you. He’s not quite sure where that comes from but you don’t seem to pay attention to it. Instead, you bid him to follow you to a sunny patch of grass. Setting the basket down, you take out a blanket and begin to unfold it. 

As the blanket begins to grow larger, Steve realizes how useless he’s being and grabs the other end, helping you open it up and keep it flat on the grass. It’s not too large, but it’s enough for two people to comfortably sit without invading each other’s space.

He watches as you kneel and bring the basket onto the blanket, beginning to take out a container of bright red strawberries and sliced kiwis. When you look up at him after taking out a covered platter, he feels his body tighten in social anxiety.

“Would you like to sit?” you offer, seeming to repeat your invitation from earlier. 

“Oh, yeah,” he stammers, crouching down and trying to get into a comfortable position. He wriggles around for a moment and hears a snort from you as he settles on sitting on his bottom with his legs extended, hands positioned back to support his upper half. “What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, “When was the last time you went on a picnic?”

“I have to think about that one.”

And he does. It’s not an automatic memory retrieval, not like remembering Bucky’s blindside or how to navigate a smoke screen. He ventures deep into the annals of his brain, almost like an archive room with thousands of dusty files and the smell of old paper. 

Childhood memories are like faded pictures; he can see the indistinct figures of Bucky as a child, running with other boys whose faces he can’t remember. He thinks he laughed in that moment, but he doesn’t know what they were playing. He can see the picnic tables and detect the faint aroma of coals on a grill. There’s brightly colored candy on the brown and green grass, girls screaming as a boy chases them with a lizard. 

“I don’t know how old I was,” Steve shrugs. “Maybe seven or eight. I think it was for a birthday party. But it wasn’t like this, there were picnic tables, like something you’d reserve at a park.” 

“Ah,” you nod. “I really like coming here on a sunny day, there’s lots of space for a nice little picnic to have a snack outside, maybe read a book.” 

Humming in agreement, Steve doesn’t know what to say. It’s been ages since he had a conversation about anything other than work. Whenever an interaction extends beyond the weather and one’s state of being, he’s lost. 

A happy jingle begins to come into earshot and a few kids nearby scream in delight, making you giggle as Steve startles at the sounds. Aggressively pushing down his response to rush to the rescue, he realizes most of the park goers attention has been captured by an ice cream truck. Parents hold their children back from running headlong into the parking lot to be the first in line, waiting as the brightly colored vehicle finds a spot and parks. 

Once settled, the large window on the side opens up and a deep voice bellows, “Ice cream!” Kids surge forward, racing to get into line before each other. The man in the truck begins to direct them, making sure everyone is being fair and nice to each other. Once the line is orderly, he begins to take orders. 

“Would you like something?”

“Usually I wait until the line shortens,” you reply.

“But then all the good stuff might be gone by then,” he argues. 

You huff in a laugh, “Good point. I’ll have a scoop of cookie dough in a cone, please.” 

Watching him get up and jog over to the line, you laugh at the comic image of him taking a spot behind a boy who can’t be much older than five. He sticks out among the other patrons, the only adult as the kids ahead of him crane their heads to look at the man in the truck and get on their toes to reach for their cones and cups. 

You grab a strawberry and bite into it, unable to stop yourself from thinking how he seems to try so hard at being just a normal person despite looking anything but. He showed up in Barber out of nowhere, which isn’t unusual, but someone of his stature and gait when he moves sticks out. 

Barber has always been a quieter place to live, nobody has any particular rush. You’re used to the occasional person or group stopping in on their way to somewhere else, but even they don’t have the same rigidity Steve has. Slow life in a slow town means leisure walks and headaches for city dwellers; you could imagine a New Yorker hating the sidewalks here filled with slow pedestrians. 

You don’t know much about him, only recalling he referred to himself as a “veteran.” With no visible malady, you can imagine the more invisible troubles that plague someone like him, who has likely seen things you can’t even begin to imagine. 

To go from that to Barber is an adjustment that would possibly take years to complete. As you put together a bite with a cracker, piece of cheese and some honey, you watch as he steps up to the window, laughing at a joke from the ice cream vendor. 

You chew as he pays and takes a cup and a cone, nodding in thanks to the man in the truck before heading back to you. As he returns, you finish chewing and dust off your hands before reaching out to take your cone from him.

“Thank you,” you smile. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh don’t worry about it,” he replies, waving her off. “Thank you for inviting me to join you, you didn’t need to.” 

As the afternoon continues, the two of you spend time talking the time away. The sun moves across the sky without either of your attention on it, until it begins to descend behind the treeline. 

“I’m so sorry,” you start, feeling bashful, “I didn’t mean to take up your entire afternoon.” 

Steve smiles, mostly to himself, “Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing else I had planned for today.” And I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.

He leaves out the latter part of his thoughts, feeling his body physically reacting to the pounding of his memories from before his career as they scream to escape from their prison. His heart aches as it opens up, the muscle forming shapes it hasn’t in a long time. It makes his breath catch in his throat, ignites the tips of his fingertips. 

Your hand covers his, a gesture that douses the heat on his skin. He knows it’s meant to be friendly, but his brain screams to turn his hand over and grasp yours. He wonders how your fingers would feel between his, wants to know the warmth of your palm against his own. 

“Are you okay?” you check, ducking your head slightly to look into his eyes. There’s some concern in your expression and he does his best to brush off any trail of a wandering mind. 

“Yeah,” Steve clears his throat. “Can I walk you home?”

- - -

The breeze wisps around, lifting your hair and lapping at your skin. It’s a nice cool down after being in the sun. One by one, the street lamps turn on, bathing the streets in a soft yellow glow. 

You steal a shy glance at Steve as he looks around to take in the scene. The contours of his face are shrouded in shadow, bringing out the structure of his face. From the moment he stepped into the shelter, your knees nearly went weak, butterflies tickling in your stomach and fluttering down to your legs. The butterflies come back, wings flapping aggressively as you admire his features.

When his face gives a telltale tic, you look away quickly and he asks if there’s something wrong.

“No,” you answer a little too quickly. The shelter and your front door is only a few steps away, so you change the subject. “This is me.” 

“Convenient,” Steve remarks.

“Very,” you laugh. “I had a lot of fun today. It was nice to spend time with you. We should do it again sometime. If you want. You don’t have to, I just thought–” 

It happens quickly; Steve cups your jaw, tilting your head upwards to receive a kiss he presses into your lips. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he feels your face rush with heat, his own skin tingling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You give a giddy laugh. “Seeing you.” Your eyes widen and lips purse, as if you spoke out of turn. “At least, I hope that’s what you’re getting at.” 

Steve laughs, straight from his belly and his memories continue to pound at the walls of the fortress containing them. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m getting at.” 

He kisses you one more time, and watches as you unlock the door and give him one more wave before the door shuts behind you.

Staring up at the sky, the stars shine, multitudes more than visible in a big city. He remembers nights in remote areas while on missions, the cold ground beneath his back as he attempted to get sleep. 

The image of your hand in his flashes across his memory, warming his body. 

Then, the walls crumble, and the memories come forward.

------

Ari blinks mutely at the stranger-who’s-not-actually-a-stranger sitting in his armchair, where he made himself comfortable without permission. With the information that was just revealed to him, he’s a little more possessive of every molecule in the cabin. 

His mother had opened the door, then stole everyone’s attention with her shocked gasp and the shrill sound of glass hitting the floor. Ari had rushed in and his wife, asleep on the couch, woke up and surveyed the surroundings. 

Soon enough, everyone was baffled by the appearance of a man named Steve Rogers claiming to be Albert Levinson’s half-brother.

As Ari continues to stew over everything he just learned, his wife pipes up, “Give him a moment.” 

“I’m going to need several moments,” he adds quickly, his voice dripping with his confusion. “You’re going to waltz in here and tell me that my dad’s father,” Ari begins, using hand gestures to help him keep track of all the people he’s about to mention, “My grandpa Alexander–whose last name is actually Rogers–left my grandmother Andrea Levinson and ran off with some other woman and had you?”

“That’s correct,” Steve says bluntly.

“And that makes you,” Ari points an incredulous finger at him, “My dad’s half-brother, and my half-uncle.”

“Correct again. Except, ‘half-uncle’ is a little odd to say because I’m about twenty years younger than your father. I’m probably only a few years older than you.”

“No,” Ari denies immediately, getting up from his spot next to his wife. “Nope, this is a dream. This is some crazy, twisted reality that I’ve been trapped in–”

“Ari, dear,” Bunny sighs, “This isn’t a dream, I promise. And…that’s kind of how family trees work.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Marcella adds plainly.

All eyes shift to her.

“You knew?!” Ari shouts, earning a stern look from him mother, which he quickly counters with an apology. “But…mom, why didn’t you tell me?” he whines. 

The women in the room roll their eyes and Bunny turns to Steve as Marcella begins to explain the matter to her son. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. As you can tell, this news is quite a shock to him.” 

“I can’t say I blame him,” Steve shrugs. 

She mirrors his gesture, then offers him something to drink. 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you to get some water, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Not a bother at all,” she waves him off before getting up, walking past the other two in the room and drawing Steve’s attention to them. 

“...Your father and I just didn’t think it was so important. They lived such separate lives, anyway. And think about it, what does this change, after all? You still have this house, you have your wife, you have me.” 

“I just can’t imagine leaving,” he sighs, eyes drifting to his wife in the kitchen, standing on her toes to grab a glass all the way in the back of the cupboard. 

He’s told her many times to stop that out of worry she’d overextend the delicate tendons of her ankles. Went as far as building a step stool she doesn’t even use; he huffs a laugh to himself as he watches her move to the fridge and take out the water pitcher. The liquid sloshes with the movement and swaying of the various fruits she had put to make it just a little bit more refreshing. 

Strawberries, mint, and watermelon in his water; her hands in his; holes in his shirts with constantly fresh stitches; the prospect of filling frames with pictures of a growing family; she was home to him. How could he ever think about abandoning it? 

The idea that his grandfather did something he can’t begin to understand, that’s what sits in his stomach and tangles up his insides. 

Steve didn’t do that. He was just the product of it. 

His eyes follow his wife as she walks back into the living area, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking a sip before his eyes meet Ari’s. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ari asks.

“I was going to shack up at the inn after this.” 

“No need,” Ari shakes his head. “We have plenty of room here.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve chuckles slightly, “I think I broke your brain when I walked in and told my story. Seems like staying over would rock the boat even more.” 

The air in the cabin suddenly lightens, tension fading away as everyone laughs.

“On the contrary, what better way to get to know your family than by staying with us?” 

Steve shrugs and smiles, “Well, I guess I better get my things then.” 

Ari offers his help and the two men begin to bring Steve’s bags into the cabin. There isn’t much, about three pieces of baggage to bring in.

When they shut the door and appear to get settled, Marcella pipes up, “Oh good, you’re done.”

“Mama, what are you doing?” he asks, watching as she settles the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I’m ready to go to town to get my nails done.” 

“Ma, I told you this morning–”

“Right, you have some silly little project to work on and my lovely daughter-in-law is cooking for the week.”

“I don’t think fixing a leak in the sink is–”

“Yeah, that one,” she waves him off, “Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t asking you to bring me. Steve has a car.” 

“Ma, he’s a guest–”

She scoffs, “Oh, please, he’s family, and it would give him a chance to explore the town a bit. Doesn’t that sound great, Steve?”

Mute from being put on the spot, Steve takes a moment to process before agreeing to do it. 

“See? Everyone’s happy!” Marcella chastises Ari.

She makes her way out the front door and the men hear a snort from the kitchen. 

Bunny pauses and looks up from the vegetables she’s chopping, “Welcome to the family, Steve.”

- - - 

After dropping Marcella off at the salon, Steve found a spot under a tree to park in. 

Stepping out of the car, the main avenue of the town looked familiar and foreign at the same time. 

It was a typical American small town busy road: cars parked along the sidewalk, wide streets and walkways, stores directly next door to one another, hustle and bustle. Every American knows it, and it’s likely non-Americans know it too. 

But when was the last time Steve saw one for himself? 

It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like it was. 

Before the jet rides to quickly get from place to place. Before the case files and research. Before commlinks and codes. Before sleepless nights planning missions and long days carrying them out. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. 

He’s given so much of his life and focus into it that he doesn’t remember life where he wasn’t doing it. He knows there was something before it because every adult has memories of growing up, being a child, and going to high school. 

In Steve’s brain, those recollections are locked away in a corner of his brain he locked away to be able to do his job. 

The things he was afraid of as a kid, the insecurities that held him back as a teenager, the innocence everyone has before becoming an adult; he lost touch with all of it, lost touch with himself.  

It had gone too far on the last mission. His friend sent him home with the promise the team would be okay without him. 

The voice of a conversing family draws him out of his dazed state, catching a glimpse of two kids skipping while their parents gently caution them. 

Sighing, Steve moves onto the sidewalk and begins to walk down the street. When a door swings open, he sees the brief image of his walk: stiff, arms swinging in tight control and calculated steps as if he’s back at boot camp. 

Slowing his pace, he thinks about how to appear more casual; he is, after all, a civilian now. 

Relax, Rogers, he can hear Natasha say. No, seriously. We’re supposed to be walking through the mall, not running to the drill sergeant’s back and call.

He lets his shoulders deflate, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to find a comfortable pattern of steps. 

While he can’t be certain, Steve has that nagging feeling that he looks like an idiot. 

Pursing his lips, he decides to distract himself by looking at the various window displays along the sidewalk. There’s a certain small town comfort that comes from the bright colors and fun arrangements that are meant to attract customers. Different phrases like “fun in the sun” emulate the summer air, while silly props like turtle-shaped inner tubes evoke a type of nostalgia that most people are lucky to have when thinking of their long breaks from school.

Steve knows in the dark annals of his mind, those memories are there. 

Before he can deep dive into retrieving them while staring at a flamingo pool floatie, he’s interrupted by a parent pulling his son out from a nearby store. 

“Why can’t I have him now?!”

“If you can do your chores consistently for a month, we’ll talk about it. Puppies aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility, like your chores. And you keep putting those off.”

The conversation fades as Steve draws closer to the door the pair just exited, peering into the window. 

A handful of dogs of all ages yip and bark, some playing by themselves while others tumble around and bite each other softly. Their kennels line one wall, while the other wall is filled with two housings; one for a molly cat and a litter of kittens and another empty one, the door slightly ajar. 

Intrigued, Steve pushes the door open. 

The dogs all perk up at his entrance, some standing and wagging their tails, ears high with attention, while others bark at him. 

A woman rushes in from the back, a slightly resigned look on her face. 

“C’mon you all,” you sigh, “You know that’s not the right way to greet somebody, especially if you wanna get adopted.” 

Standing in front of some of the kennels, you stick your hands through the bars to nudge some chewing toys towards the more excited canines before turning to the other wall to attend to the kittens. 

“Sorry, Mocha, let me put this down and your kitties can keep feeding.”

As you pull down a makeshift shade to block the front of the kennel, Steve realizes the missing feline from the other cubby is perched on your shoulder, tail swinging in satisfaction as it maintains perfect balance as you walk around.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you greet him, “Some of the puppies are still in training. And Major over there is a rescue; he’s been through it, so he’s still warming up.” 

He follows your gesture towards a large German Shepherd standing on his hind legs. 

Reaching up, you remove the cat from your shoulder and laugh when it hooks its claws into your shirt.

“Shadow, we have a guest,” you giggle, and Steve feels a lump in his throat. Negotiating the claws out of the fabric, you rest Shadow onto your arm. “This cat’s been here for a while. He’s followed me since he was a kitten, and he’s got this beautiful black coat, so I figured ‘Shadow’ was a great name. Isn’t he lovely?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oops, leave it to me to introduce the cat before myself,” you joke, tapping your forehead to point out your forgetfulness. You offer your hand as you give him your name. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” he waves you off, “I just got here today.” 

“Well, welcome to Barber. What brings you to town?”

“Some long lost family.”

“Which one?” you ask, interest piqued. Then, your eyes widen bashfully, “Sorry, that was so invasive.”

“No, it’s alright,” Steve smiles, “I, um…do you know the Levinsons?”

“Oh Ari and Marcella! And Ari’s wife, of course. Yes, I love them. Marcella came in once and nearly snuck one of the kittens out in her jacket. Not that she was stealing from me, but she wanted to try to get it past her son. He wasn’t having it; though I think he would benefit from a kitten. He’s so gruff–oh my God, I talked way too much.”

The blond laughs and you think you might swoon. Setting Shadow down to wander around the shelter, you try to keep things professional. “So, what brings you in? Just here for some puppy therapy, looking around?”

“Well, if Ari doesn’t want a kitten in the cabin, I imagine he wouldn’t want a puppy,” Steve begins, looking at the dogs. “But I hear they’re good for…um…”

He pauses and you keep your posture, looking at him attentively as he tries to find his words.

“I’ve heard that adopting an animal could be good for a returning veteran.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Yes! I mean, that’s easy for me to say because I run the shelter; but really it’s easy to recommend a pet to anyone who is considering it. A father and son were just in here and the only thing that stopped me was the fact that the father was saying his son doesn’t tend to his chores. But I think with the right guidance, his son could be a good dog companion.

“In your case, though, I would say it could help you feel more adjusted. You’ll have something to do and a friend who will love you unconditionally. But, seeing that you just got to Barber…”

“It’s probably best to wait before I make a decision,” Steve finishes for you.

“Exactly,” you smile, “We’re on the same page.”

A few beats of silence pass over the two of you before you break it. “Would you like to still look around? You’re welcome to. I’m sure the dogs would be happy to interact with someone other than me.” 

Taking you up on your offer, Steve accepts the bowl of treats you hand him and listens attentively as you specify that each puppy only gets one treat. “And don’t fall for the puppy eyes. You laugh now and think I’m joking but these guys are good at what they do.” 

Approaching the first kennel, the chubby puppy with round ears perks up and yips, excited for an interaction. A rush of happiness fills Steve’s chest, helping him relax as he wedges two fingers between the bar to give the little guy a couple head scratches. Then, he reaches down into the bowl, holding the treat for the puppy to bite.

The puppy chews and Steve catches a glance at his description: suspected to be a mix of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a Boxer, the puppy is a boy with a lot of energy. He’s only a few months old and was found wandering in the grocery store and begging for scraps at the deli. 

“Well, your name makes sense, Salami,” Steve mutters, making eye contact and, sure enough, as you predicted, he’s begging for more treats. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding. I bet those guys at the deli gave you every scrap they could find before bringing you here.”

“Oh they did,” you respond from behind the counter. Looking up from your paperwork, your gaze switches between Steve and Salami. “You should’ve seen him. You think he has a soft tummy now, he was a complete pot belly when he was done over there.” 

The two of you share a laugh as Steve tries to conjure the image in his head. 

Every puppy has an anecdote to go with it, he finds out as he continues through the shelter. Some are happier than others, and it shows in your face as you tell the stories. Some even make your voice clog with emotion and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” you sigh, “That’s what, the fifth time? Gosh, I have got to get it together.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, then quickly changes the conversation to focus on the last puppy. “What about Willow? Anything about her?”

“She’s the sweetest little thing. She’s got to be some golden retriever mix, I just can’t put my finger on the other breed. But, anyway, she found by Ari, your…?”

“Nephew.”

“Your nephew–” You start to go with it, until it registers that Ari and Steve appear to be the same age. Your voice catches as the gears turn in your head.

“Long story, I’ll tell you after this one.”

“Got it,” you agree. “Anyway, Ari brought her in. She was hiding under a pile of lumber that he was about to deliver. Apparently she led him on a wild chase around the lumber yard. When he brought her in, he was all sweaty and grumpy.”

“I think he’s always grumpy.”

“Seems like it. I don’t know how his wife and mother deal with it. But, yeah, that’s Willow’s story. I figured since she was found in the lumber yard, I should name her after a type of tree. I also thought about just naming her ‘Timber’ or something but I liked Willow.”

“I like it, too,” Steve says, looking back at the puppy. When his eyes meet hers, he realizes she never stopped looking at him while he was speaking to you. 

She gives him a dopey smile, tongue hanging out as she pants in excitement at the sight of him. 

“Looks like you two are having a moment,” you remark.

It all falls away at the sound of his phone ringing, causing a cacophony of barks and howls to arise.

You try to calm the dogs down as Steve clumsily finds a surface to put the snack bowl down while answering the phone.

“Hi Steve!” Marcella trills on the other line. “I’m all ready to go!”

“Oh, okay, Marcella, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay see you soon!”

The call ends there and you’re still trying to get the dogs to settle. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my ringer was on.”

“That’s okay, it happens,” you brush him off. “I’m glad to have met you! Hope to see you around. Or hope you come back for Willow.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.” He lingers for a moment, wanting to say more but no words seem to be right. “Actually, before I go, could I take a picture of Willow?”

“Sure, do you want to hold her?”

His face shows his nerves before he can express them, so you quickly retract your statement and turn to bring her out of her kennel.

Propping her up in your arms, you do your best to get her to look towards Steve’s phone.

“Oh, you can smile, too. You’re in it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Your smile is bright, radiating a warmth that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

When the picture is taken and it’s truly time for him to go, the memory of that grin makes it difficult to leave. 

As Steve walks down the avenue, he types a message to Bucky.

Life in Barber is off to an interesting start. Met the sister-in-law, the nephew, and the niece-in-law. But I think my favorite is Willow (picture coming)

After sending the picture of you and the puppy, he sees Bucky immediately start typing, his response brief but effective.

Who’s the girl? 👀

She runs the shelter.

Anyone of interest?

Steve takes a moment to come up with a reply, triggering Bucky’s impatience.

Or maybe not yet.

But she seems like your type, so I think it would be a person of interest. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve types a message simple enough to end the conversation there:

Maybe. 

------------------

Ari blinks mutely at the stranger-who’s-not-actually-a-stranger sitting in his armchair, where he made himself comfortable without permission. With the information that was just revealed to him, he’s a little more possessive of every molecule in the cabin. 

His mother had opened the door, then stole everyone’s attention with her shocked gasp and the shrill sound of glass hitting the floor. Ari had rushed in and his wife, asleep on the couch, woke up and surveyed the surroundings. 

Soon enough, everyone was baffled by the appearance of a man named Steve Rogers claiming to be Albert Levinson’s half-brother.

As Ari continues to stew over everything he just learned, his wife pipes up, “Give him a moment.” 

“I’m going to need several moments,” he adds quickly, his voice dripping with his confusion. “You’re going to waltz in here and tell me that my dad’s father,” Ari begins, using hand gestures to help him keep track of all the people he’s about to mention, “My grandpa Alexander–whose last name is actually Rogers–left my grandmother Andrea Levinson and ran off with some other woman and had you?”

“That’s correct,” Steve says bluntly.

“And that makes you,” Ari points an incredulous finger at him, “My dad’s half-brother, and my half-uncle.”

“Correct again. Except, ‘half-uncle’ is a little odd to say because I’m about twenty years younger than your father. I’m probably only a few years older than you.”

“No,” Ari denies immediately, getting up from his spot next to his wife. “Nope, this is a dream. This is some crazy, twisted reality that I’ve been trapped in–”

“Ari, dear,” Bunny sighs, “This isn’t a dream, I promise. And…that’s kind of how family trees work.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Marcella adds plainly.

All eyes shift to her.

“You knew?!” Ari shouts, earning a stern look from him mother, which he quickly counters with an apology. “But…mom, why didn’t you tell me?” he whines. 

The women in the room roll their eyes and Bunny turns to Steve as Marcella begins to explain the matter to her son. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. As you can tell, this news is quite a shock to him.” 

“I can’t say I blame him,” Steve shrugs. 

She mirrors his gesture, then offers him something to drink. 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you to get some water, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Not a bother at all,” she waves him off before getting up, walking past the other two in the room and drawing Steve’s attention to them. 

“...Your father and I just didn’t think it was so important. They lived such separate lives, anyway. And think about it, what does this change, after all? You still have this house, you have your wife, you have me.” 

“I just can’t imagine leaving,” he sighs, eyes drifting to his wife in the kitchen, standing on her toes to grab a glass all the way in the back of the cupboard. 

He’s told her many times to stop that out of worry she’d overextend the delicate tendons of her ankles. Went as far as building a step stool she doesn’t even use; he huffs a laugh to himself as he watches her move to the fridge and take out the water pitcher. The liquid sloshes with the movement and swaying of the various fruits she had put to make it just a little bit more refreshing. 

Strawberries, mint, and watermelon in his water; her hands in his; holes in his shirts with constantly fresh stitches; the prospect of filling frames with pictures of a growing family; she was home to him. How could he ever think about abandoning it? 

The idea that his grandfather did something he can’t begin to understand, that’s what sits in his stomach and tangles up his insides. 

Steve didn’t do that. He was just the product of it. 

His eyes follow his wife as she walks back into the living area, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking a sip before his eyes meet Ari’s. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ari asks.

“I was going to shack up at the inn after this.” 

“No need,” Ari shakes his head. “We have plenty of room here.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve chuckles slightly, “I think I broke your brain when I walked in and told my story. Seems like staying over would rock the boat even more.” 

The air in the cabin suddenly lightens, tension fading away as everyone laughs.

“On the contrary, what better way to get to know your family than by staying with us?” 

Steve shrugs and smiles, “Well, I guess I better get my things then.” 

Ari offers his help and the two men begin to bring Steve’s bags into the cabin. There isn’t much, about three pieces of baggage to bring in.

When they shut the door and appear to get settled, Marcella pipes up, “Oh good, you’re done.”

“Mama, what are you doing?” he asks, watching as she settles the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I’m ready to go to town to get my nails done.” 

“Ma, I told you this morning–”

“Right, you have some silly little project to work on and my lovely daughter-in-law is cooking for the week.”

“I don’t think fixing a leak in the sink is–”

“Yeah, that one,” she waves him off, “Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t asking you to bring me. Steve has a car.” 

“Ma, he’s a guest–”

She scoffs, “Oh, please, he’s family, and it would give him a chance to explore the town a bit. Doesn’t that sound great, Steve?”

Mute from being put on the spot, Steve takes a moment to process before agreeing to do it. 

“See? Everyone’s happy!” Marcella chastises Ari.

She makes her way out the front door and the men hear a snort from the kitchen. 

Bunny pauses and looks up from the vegetables she’s chopping, “Welcome to the family, Steve.”

- - - 

After dropping Marcella off at the salon, Steve found a spot under a tree to park in. 

Stepping out of the car, the main avenue of the town looked familiar and foreign at the same time. 

It was a typical American small town busy road: cars parked along the sidewalk, wide streets and walkways, stores directly next door to one another, hustle and bustle. Every American knows it, and it’s likely non-Americans know it too. 

But when was the last time Steve saw one for himself? 

It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like it was. 

Before the jet rides to quickly get from place to place. Before the case files and research. Before commlinks and codes. Before sleepless nights planning missions and long days carrying them out. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. 

He’s given so much of his life and focus into it that he doesn’t remember life where he wasn’t doing it. He knows there was something before it because every adult has memories of growing up, being a child, and going to high school. 

In Steve’s brain, those recollections are locked away in a corner of his brain he locked away to be able to do his job. 

The things he was afraid of as a kid, the insecurities that held him back as a teenager, the innocence everyone has before becoming an adult; he lost touch with all of it, lost touch with himself.  

It had gone too far on the last mission. His friend sent him home with the promise the team would be okay without him. 

The voice of a conversing family draws him out of his dazed state, catching a glimpse of two kids skipping while their parents gently caution them. 

Sighing, Steve moves onto the sidewalk and begins to walk down the street. When a door swings open, he sees the brief image of his walk: stiff, arms swinging in tight control and calculated steps as if he’s back at boot camp. 

Slowing his pace, he thinks about how to appear more casual; he is, after all, a civilian now. 

Relax, Rogers, he can hear Natasha say. No, seriously. We’re supposed to be walking through the mall, not running to the drill sergeant’s back and call.

He lets his shoulders deflate, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to find a comfortable pattern of steps. 

While he can’t be certain, Steve has that nagging feeling that he looks like an idiot. 

Pursing his lips, he decides to distract himself by looking at the various window displays along the sidewalk. There’s a certain small town comfort that comes from the bright colors and fun arrangements that are meant to attract customers. Different phrases like “fun in the sun” emulate the summer air, while silly props like turtle-shaped inner tubes evoke a type of nostalgia that most people are lucky to have when thinking of their long breaks from school.

Steve knows in the dark annals of his mind, those memories are there. 

Before he can deep dive into retrieving them while staring at a flamingo pool floatie, he’s interrupted by a parent pulling his son out from a nearby store. 

“Why can’t I have him now?!”

“If you can do your chores consistently for a month, we’ll talk about it. Puppies aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility, like your chores. And you keep putting those off.”

The conversation fades as Steve draws closer to the door the pair just exited, peering into the window. 

A handful of dogs of all ages yip and bark, some playing by themselves while others tumble around and bite each other softly. Their kennels line one wall, while the other wall is filled with two housings; one for a molly cat and a litter of kittens and another empty one, the door slightly ajar. 

Intrigued, Steve pushes the door open. 

The dogs all perk up at his entrance, some standing and wagging their tails, ears high with attention, while others bark at him. 

A woman rushes in from the back, a slightly resigned look on her face. 

“C’mon you all,” you sigh, “You know that’s not the right way to greet somebody, especially if you wanna get adopted.” 

Standing in front of some of the kennels, you stick your hands through the bars to nudge some chewing toys towards the more excited canines before turning to the other wall to attend to the kittens. 

“Sorry, Mocha, let me put this down and your kitties can keep feeding.”

As you pull down a makeshift shade to block the front of the kennel, Steve realizes the missing feline from the other cubby is perched on your shoulder, tail swinging in satisfaction as it maintains perfect balance as you walk around.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you greet him, “Some of the puppies are still in training. And Major over there is a rescue; he’s been through it, so he’s still warming up.” 

He follows your gesture towards a large German Shepherd standing on his hind legs. 

Reaching up, you remove the cat from your shoulder and laugh when it hooks its claws into your shirt.

“Shadow, we have a guest,” you giggle, and Steve feels a lump in his throat. Negotiating the claws out of the fabric, you rest Shadow onto your arm. “This cat’s been here for a while. He’s followed me since he was a kitten, and he’s got this beautiful black coat, so I figured ‘Shadow’ was a great name. Isn’t he lovely?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oops, leave it to me to introduce the cat before myself,” you joke, tapping your forehead to point out your forgetfulness. You offer your hand as you give him your name. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” he waves you off, “I just got here today.” 

“Well, welcome to Barber. What brings you to town?”

“Some long lost family.”

“Which one?” you ask, interest piqued. Then, your eyes widen bashfully, “Sorry, that was so invasive.”

“No, it’s alright,” Steve smiles, “I, um…do you know the Levinsons?”

“Oh Ari and Marcella! And Ari’s wife, of course. Yes, I love them. Marcella came in once and nearly snuck one of the kittens out in her jacket. Not that she was stealing from me, but she wanted to try to get it past her son. He wasn’t having it; though I think he would benefit from a kitten. He’s so gruff–oh my God, I talked way too much.”

The blond laughs and you think you might swoon. Setting Shadow down to wander around the shelter, you try to keep things professional. “So, what brings you in? Just here for some puppy therapy, looking around?”

“Well, if Ari doesn’t want a kitten in the cabin, I imagine he wouldn’t want a puppy,” Steve begins, looking at the dogs. “But I hear they’re good for…um…”

He pauses and you keep your posture, looking at him attentively as he tries to find his words.

“I’ve heard that adopting an animal could be good for a returning veteran.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Yes! I mean, that’s easy for me to say because I run the shelter; but really it’s easy to recommend a pet to anyone who is considering it. A father and son were just in here and the only thing that stopped me was the fact that the father was saying his son doesn’t tend to his chores. But I think with the right guidance, his son could be a good dog companion.

“In your case, though, I would say it could help you feel more adjusted. You’ll have something to do and a friend who will love you unconditionally. But, seeing that you just got to Barber…”

“It’s probably best to wait before I make a decision,” Steve finishes for you.

“Exactly,” you smile, “We’re on the same page.”

A few beats of silence pass over the two of you before you break it. “Would you like to still look around? You’re welcome to. I’m sure the dogs would be happy to interact with someone other than me.” 

Taking you up on your offer, Steve accepts the bowl of treats you hand him and listens attentively as you specify that each puppy only gets one treat. “And don’t fall for the puppy eyes. You laugh now and think I’m joking but these guys are good at what they do.” 

Approaching the first kennel, the chubby puppy with round ears perks up and yips, excited for an interaction. A rush of happiness fills Steve’s chest, helping him relax as he wedges two fingers between the bar to give the little guy a couple head scratches. Then, he reaches down into the bowl, holding the treat for the puppy to bite.

The puppy chews and Steve catches a glance at his description: suspected to be a mix of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a Boxer, the puppy is a boy with a lot of energy. He’s only a few months old and was found wandering in the grocery store and begging for scraps at the deli. 

“Well, your name makes sense, Salami,” Steve mutters, making eye contact and, sure enough, as you predicted, he’s begging for more treats. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding. I bet those guys at the deli gave you every scrap they could find before bringing you here.”

“Oh they did,” you respond from behind the counter. Looking up from your paperwork, your gaze switches between Steve and Salami. “You should’ve seen him. You think he has a soft tummy now, he was a complete pot belly when he was done over there.” 

The two of you share a laugh as Steve tries to conjure the image in his head. 

Every puppy has an anecdote to go with it, he finds out as he continues through the shelter. Some are happier than others, and it shows in your face as you tell the stories. Some even make your voice clog with emotion and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” you sigh, “That’s what, the fifth time? Gosh, I have got to get it together.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, then quickly changes the conversation to focus on the last puppy. “What about Willow? Anything about her?”

“She’s the sweetest little thing. She’s got to be some golden retriever mix, I just can’t put my finger on the other breed. But, anyway, she found by Ari, your…?”

“Nephew.”

“Your nephew–” You start to go with it, until it registers that Ari and Steve appear to be the same age. Your voice catches as the gears turn in your head.

“Long story, I’ll tell you after this one.”

“Got it,” you agree. “Anyway, Ari brought her in. She was hiding under a pile of lumber that he was about to deliver. Apparently she led him on a wild chase around the lumber yard. When he brought her in, he was all sweaty and grumpy.”

“I think he’s always grumpy.”

“Seems like it. I don’t know how his wife and mother deal with it. But, yeah, that’s Willow’s story. I figured since she was found in the lumber yard, I should name her after a type of tree. I also thought about just naming her ‘Timber’ or something but I liked Willow.”

“I like it, too,” Steve says, looking back at the puppy. When his eyes meet hers, he realizes she never stopped looking at him while he was speaking to you. 

She gives him a dopey smile, tongue hanging out as she pants in excitement at the sight of him. 

“Looks like you two are having a moment,” you remark.

It all falls away at the sound of his phone ringing, causing a cacophony of barks and howls to arise.

You try to calm the dogs down as Steve clumsily finds a surface to put the snack bowl down while answering the phone.

“Hi Steve!” Marcella trills on the other line. “I’m all ready to go!”

“Oh, okay, Marcella, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay see you soon!”

The call ends there and you’re still trying to get the dogs to settle. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my ringer was on.”

“That’s okay, it happens,” you brush him off. “I’m glad to have met you! Hope to see you around. Or hope you come back for Willow.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.” He lingers for a moment, wanting to say more but no words seem to be right. “Actually, before I go, could I take a picture of Willow?”

“Sure, do you want to hold her?”

His face shows his nerves before he can express them, so you quickly retract your statement and turn to bring her out of her kennel.

Propping her up in your arms, you do your best to get her to look towards Steve’s phone.

“Oh, you can smile, too. You’re in it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Your smile is bright, radiating a warmth that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

When the picture is taken and it’s truly time for him to go, the memory of that grin makes it difficult to leave. 

As Steve walks down the avenue, he types a message to Bucky.

Life in Barber is off to an interesting start. Met the sister-in-law, the nephew, and the niece-in-law. But I think my favorite is Willow (picture coming)

After sending the picture of you and the puppy, he sees Bucky immediately start typing, his response brief but effective.

Who’s the girl? 👀

She runs the shelter.

Anyone of interest?

Steve takes a moment to come up with a reply, triggering Bucky’s impatience.

Or maybe not yet.

But she seems like your type, so I think it would be a person of interest. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve types a message simple enough to end the conversation there:

Maybe. 

------------------

Ari blinks mutely at the stranger-who’s-not-actually-a-stranger sitting in his armchair, where he made himself comfortable without permission. With the information that was just revealed to him, he’s a little more possessive of every molecule in the cabin. 

His mother had opened the door, then stole everyone’s attention with her shocked gasp and the shrill sound of glass hitting the floor. Ari had rushed in and his wife, asleep on the couch, woke up and surveyed the surroundings. 

Soon enough, everyone was baffled by the appearance of a man named Steve Rogers claiming to be Albert Levinson’s half-brother.

As Ari continues to stew over everything he just learned, his wife pipes up, “Give him a moment.” 

“I’m going to need several moments,” he adds quickly, his voice dripping with his confusion. “You’re going to waltz in here and tell me that my dad’s father,” Ari begins, using hand gestures to help him keep track of all the people he’s about to mention, “My grandpa Alexander–whose last name is actually Rogers–left my grandmother Andrea Levinson and ran off with some other woman and had you?”

“That’s correct,” Steve says bluntly.

“And that makes you,” Ari points an incredulous finger at him, “My dad’s half-brother, and my half-uncle.”

“Correct again. Except, ‘half-uncle’ is a little odd to say because I’m about twenty years younger than your father. I’m probably only a few years older than you.”

“No,” Ari denies immediately, getting up from his spot next to his wife. “Nope, this is a dream. This is some crazy, twisted reality that I’ve been trapped in–”

“Ari, dear,” Bunny sighs, “This isn’t a dream, I promise. And…that’s kind of how family trees work.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Marcella adds plainly.

All eyes shift to her.

“You knew?!” Ari shouts, earning a stern look from him mother, which he quickly counters with an apology. “But…mom, why didn’t you tell me?” he whines. 

The women in the room roll their eyes and Bunny turns to Steve as Marcella begins to explain the matter to her son. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. As you can tell, this news is quite a shock to him.” 

“I can’t say I blame him,” Steve shrugs. 

She mirrors his gesture, then offers him something to drink. 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you to get some water, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Not a bother at all,” she waves him off before getting up, walking past the other two in the room and drawing Steve’s attention to them. 

“...Your father and I just didn’t think it was so important. They lived such separate lives, anyway. And think about it, what does this change, after all? You still have this house, you have your wife, you have me.” 

“I just can’t imagine leaving,” he sighs, eyes drifting to his wife in the kitchen, standing on her toes to grab a glass all the way in the back of the cupboard. 

He’s told her many times to stop that out of worry she’d overextend the delicate tendons of her ankles. Went as far as building a step stool she doesn’t even use; he huffs a laugh to himself as he watches her move to the fridge and take out the water pitcher. The liquid sloshes with the movement and swaying of the various fruits she had put to make it just a little bit more refreshing. 

Strawberries, mint, and watermelon in his water; her hands in his; holes in his shirts with constantly fresh stitches; the prospect of filling frames with pictures of a growing family; she was home to him. How could he ever think about abandoning it? 

The idea that his grandfather did something he can’t begin to understand, that’s what sits in his stomach and tangles up his insides. 

Steve didn’t do that. He was just the product of it. 

His eyes follow his wife as she walks back into the living area, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking a sip before his eyes meet Ari’s. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ari asks.

“I was going to shack up at the inn after this.” 

“No need,” Ari shakes his head. “We have plenty of room here.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve chuckles slightly, “I think I broke your brain when I walked in and told my story. Seems like staying over would rock the boat even more.” 

The air in the cabin suddenly lightens, tension fading away as everyone laughs.

“On the contrary, what better way to get to know your family than by staying with us?” 

Steve shrugs and smiles, “Well, I guess I better get my things then.” 

Ari offers his help and the two men begin to bring Steve’s bags into the cabin. There isn’t much, about three pieces of baggage to bring in.

When they shut the door and appear to get settled, Marcella pipes up, “Oh good, you’re done.”

“Mama, what are you doing?” he asks, watching as she settles the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I’m ready to go to town to get my nails done.” 

“Ma, I told you this morning–”

“Right, you have some silly little project to work on and my lovely daughter-in-law is cooking for the week.”

“I don’t think fixing a leak in the sink is–”

“Yeah, that one,” she waves him off, “Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t asking you to bring me. Steve has a car.” 

“Ma, he’s a guest–”

She scoffs, “Oh, please, he’s family, and it would give him a chance to explore the town a bit. Doesn’t that sound great, Steve?”

Mute from being put on the spot, Steve takes a moment to process before agreeing to do it. 

“See? Everyone’s happy!” Marcella chastises Ari.

She makes her way out the front door and the men hear a snort from the kitchen. 

Bunny pauses and looks up from the vegetables she’s chopping, “Welcome to the family, Steve.”

- - - 

After dropping Marcella off at the salon, Steve found a spot under a tree to park in. 

Stepping out of the car, the main avenue of the town looked familiar and foreign at the same time. 

It was a typical American small town busy road: cars parked along the sidewalk, wide streets and walkways, stores directly next door to one another, hustle and bustle. Every American knows it, and it’s likely non-Americans know it too. 

But when was the last time Steve saw one for himself? 

It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like it was. 

Before the jet rides to quickly get from place to place. Before the case files and research. Before commlinks and codes. Before sleepless nights planning missions and long days carrying them out. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. 

He’s given so much of his life and focus into it that he doesn’t remember life where he wasn’t doing it. He knows there was something before it because every adult has memories of growing up, being a child, and going to high school. 

In Steve’s brain, those recollections are locked away in a corner of his brain he locked away to be able to do his job. 

The things he was afraid of as a kid, the insecurities that held him back as a teenager, the innocence everyone has before becoming an adult; he lost touch with all of it, lost touch with himself.  

It had gone too far on the last mission. His friend sent him home with the promise the team would be okay without him. 

The voice of a conversing family draws him out of his dazed state, catching a glimpse of two kids skipping while their parents gently caution them. 

Sighing, Steve moves onto the sidewalk and begins to walk down the street. When a door swings open, he sees the brief image of his walk: stiff, arms swinging in tight control and calculated steps as if he’s back at boot camp. 

Slowing his pace, he thinks about how to appear more casual; he is, after all, a civilian now. 

Relax, Rogers, he can hear Natasha say. No, seriously. We’re supposed to be walking through the mall, not running to the drill sergeant’s back and call.

He lets his shoulders deflate, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to find a comfortable pattern of steps. 

While he can’t be certain, Steve has that nagging feeling that he looks like an idiot. 

Pursing his lips, he decides to distract himself by looking at the various window displays along the sidewalk. There’s a certain small town comfort that comes from the bright colors and fun arrangements that are meant to attract customers. Different phrases like “fun in the sun” emulate the summer air, while silly props like turtle-shaped inner tubes evoke a type of nostalgia that most people are lucky to have when thinking of their long breaks from school.

Steve knows in the dark annals of his mind, those memories are there. 

Before he can deep dive into retrieving them while staring at a flamingo pool floatie, he’s interrupted by a parent pulling his son out from a nearby store. 

“Why can’t I have him now?!”

“If you can do your chores consistently for a month, we’ll talk about it. Puppies aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility, like your chores. And you keep putting those off.”

The conversation fades as Steve draws closer to the door the pair just exited, peering into the window. 

A handful of dogs of all ages yip and bark, some playing by themselves while others tumble around and bite each other softly. Their kennels line one wall, while the other wall is filled with two housings; one for a molly cat and a litter of kittens and another empty one, the door slightly ajar. 

Intrigued, Steve pushes the door open. 

The dogs all perk up at his entrance, some standing and wagging their tails, ears high with attention, while others bark at him. 

A woman rushes in from the back, a slightly resigned look on her face. 

“C’mon you all,” you sigh, “You know that’s not the right way to greet somebody, especially if you wanna get adopted.” 

Standing in front of some of the kennels, you stick your hands through the bars to nudge some chewing toys towards the more excited canines before turning to the other wall to attend to the kittens. 

“Sorry, Mocha, let me put this down and your kitties can keep feeding.”

As you pull down a makeshift shade to block the front of the kennel, Steve realizes the missing feline from the other cubby is perched on your shoulder, tail swinging in satisfaction as it maintains perfect balance as you walk around.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you greet him, “Some of the puppies are still in training. And Major over there is a rescue; he’s been through it, so he’s still warming up.” 

He follows your gesture towards a large German Shepherd standing on his hind legs. 

Reaching up, you remove the cat from your shoulder and laugh when it hooks its claws into your shirt.

“Shadow, we have a guest,” you giggle, and Steve feels a lump in his throat. Negotiating the claws out of the fabric, you rest Shadow onto your arm. “This cat’s been here for a while. He’s followed me since he was a kitten, and he’s got this beautiful black coat, so I figured ‘Shadow’ was a great name. Isn’t he lovely?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oops, leave it to me to introduce the cat before myself,” you joke, tapping your forehead to point out your forgetfulness. You offer your hand as you give him your name. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” he waves you off, “I just got here today.” 

“Well, welcome to Barber. What brings you to town?”

“Some long lost family.”

“Which one?” you ask, interest piqued. Then, your eyes widen bashfully, “Sorry, that was so invasive.”

“No, it’s alright,” Steve smiles, “I, um…do you know the Levinsons?”

“Oh Ari and Marcella! And Ari’s wife, of course. Yes, I love them. Marcella came in once and nearly snuck one of the kittens out in her jacket. Not that she was stealing from me, but she wanted to try to get it past her son. He wasn’t having it; though I think he would benefit from a kitten. He’s so gruff–oh my God, I talked way too much.”

The blond laughs and you think you might swoon. Setting Shadow down to wander around the shelter, you try to keep things professional. “So, what brings you in? Just here for some puppy therapy, looking around?”

“Well, if Ari doesn’t want a kitten in the cabin, I imagine he wouldn’t want a puppy,” Steve begins, looking at the dogs. “But I hear they’re good for…um…”

He pauses and you keep your posture, looking at him attentively as he tries to find his words.

“I’ve heard that adopting an animal could be good for a returning veteran.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Yes! I mean, that’s easy for me to say because I run the shelter; but really it’s easy to recommend a pet to anyone who is considering it. A father and son were just in here and the only thing that stopped me was the fact that the father was saying his son doesn’t tend to his chores. But I think with the right guidance, his son could be a good dog companion.

“In your case, though, I would say it could help you feel more adjusted. You’ll have something to do and a friend who will love you unconditionally. But, seeing that you just got to Barber…”

“It’s probably best to wait before I make a decision,” Steve finishes for you.

“Exactly,” you smile, “We’re on the same page.”

A few beats of silence pass over the two of you before you break it. “Would you like to still look around? You’re welcome to. I’m sure the dogs would be happy to interact with someone other than me.” 

Taking you up on your offer, Steve accepts the bowl of treats you hand him and listens attentively as you specify that each puppy only gets one treat. “And don’t fall for the puppy eyes. You laugh now and think I’m joking but these guys are good at what they do.” 

Approaching the first kennel, the chubby puppy with round ears perks up and yips, excited for an interaction. A rush of happiness fills Steve’s chest, helping him relax as he wedges two fingers between the bar to give the little guy a couple head scratches. Then, he reaches down into the bowl, holding the treat for the puppy to bite.

The puppy chews and Steve catches a glance at his description: suspected to be a mix of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a Boxer, the puppy is a boy with a lot of energy. He’s only a few months old and was found wandering in the grocery store and begging for scraps at the deli. 

“Well, your name makes sense, Salami,” Steve mutters, making eye contact and, sure enough, as you predicted, he’s begging for more treats. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding. I bet those guys at the deli gave you every scrap they could find before bringing you here.”

“Oh they did,” you respond from behind the counter. Looking up from your paperwork, your gaze switches between Steve and Salami. “You should’ve seen him. You think he has a soft tummy now, he was a complete pot belly when he was done over there.” 

The two of you share a laugh as Steve tries to conjure the image in his head. 

Every puppy has an anecdote to go with it, he finds out as he continues through the shelter. Some are happier than others, and it shows in your face as you tell the stories. Some even make your voice clog with emotion and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” you sigh, “That’s what, the fifth time? Gosh, I have got to get it together.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, then quickly changes the conversation to focus on the last puppy. “What about Willow? Anything about her?”

“She’s the sweetest little thing. She’s got to be some golden retriever mix, I just can’t put my finger on the other breed. But, anyway, she found by Ari, your…?”

“Nephew.”

“Your nephew–” You start to go with it, until it registers that Ari and Steve appear to be the same age. Your voice catches as the gears turn in your head.

“Long story, I’ll tell you after this one.”

“Got it,” you agree. “Anyway, Ari brought her in. She was hiding under a pile of lumber that he was about to deliver. Apparently she led him on a wild chase around the lumber yard. When he brought her in, he was all sweaty and grumpy.”

“I think he’s always grumpy.”

“Seems like it. I don’t know how his wife and mother deal with it. But, yeah, that’s Willow’s story. I figured since she was found in the lumber yard, I should name her after a type of tree. I also thought about just naming her ‘Timber’ or something but I liked Willow.”

“I like it, too,” Steve says, looking back at the puppy. When his eyes meet hers, he realizes she never stopped looking at him while he was speaking to you. 

She gives him a dopey smile, tongue hanging out as she pants in excitement at the sight of him. 

“Looks like you two are having a moment,” you remark.

It all falls away at the sound of his phone ringing, causing a cacophony of barks and howls to arise.

You try to calm the dogs down as Steve clumsily finds a surface to put the snack bowl down while answering the phone.

“Hi Steve!” Marcella trills on the other line. “I’m all ready to go!”

“Oh, okay, Marcella, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay see you soon!”

The call ends there and you’re still trying to get the dogs to settle. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my ringer was on.”

“That’s okay, it happens,” you brush him off. “I’m glad to have met you! Hope to see you around. Or hope you come back for Willow.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.” He lingers for a moment, wanting to say more but no words seem to be right. “Actually, before I go, could I take a picture of Willow?”

“Sure, do you want to hold her?”

His face shows his nerves before he can express them, so you quickly retract your statement and turn to bring her out of her kennel.

Propping her up in your arms, you do your best to get her to look towards Steve’s phone.

“Oh, you can smile, too. You’re in it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Your smile is bright, radiating a warmth that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

When the picture is taken and it’s truly time for him to go, the memory of that grin makes it difficult to leave. 

As Steve walks down the avenue, he types a message to Bucky.

Life in Barber is off to an interesting start. Met the sister-in-law, the nephew, and the niece-in-law. But I think my favorite is Willow (picture coming)

After sending the picture of you and the puppy, he sees Bucky immediately start typing, his response brief but effective.

Who’s the girl? 👀

She runs the shelter.

Anyone of interest?

Steve takes a moment to come up with a reply, triggering Bucky’s impatience.

Or maybe not yet.

But she seems like your type, so I think it would be a person of interest. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve types a message simple enough to end the conversation there:

Maybe. 

------------------

Ari blinks mutely at the stranger-who’s-not-actually-a-stranger sitting in his armchair, where he made himself comfortable without permission. With the information that was just revealed to him, he’s a little more possessive of every molecule in the cabin. 

His mother had opened the door, then stole everyone’s attention with her shocked gasp and the shrill sound of glass hitting the floor. Ari had rushed in and his wife, asleep on the couch, woke up and surveyed the surroundings. 

Soon enough, everyone was baffled by the appearance of a man named Steve Rogers claiming to be Albert Levinson’s half-brother.

As Ari continues to stew over everything he just learned, his wife pipes up, “Give him a moment.” 

“I’m going to need several moments,” he adds quickly, his voice dripping with his confusion. “You’re going to waltz in here and tell me that my dad’s father,” Ari begins, using hand gestures to help him keep track of all the people he’s about to mention, “My grandpa Alexander–whose last name is actually Rogers–left my grandmother Andrea Levinson and ran off with some other woman and had you?”

“That’s correct,” Steve says bluntly.

“And that makes you,” Ari points an incredulous finger at him, “My dad’s half-brother, and my half-uncle.”

“Correct again. Except, ‘half-uncle’ is a little odd to say because I’m about twenty years younger than your father. I’m probably only a few years older than you.”

“No,” Ari denies immediately, getting up from his spot next to his wife. “Nope, this is a dream. This is some crazy, twisted reality that I’ve been trapped in–”

“Ari, dear,” Bunny sighs, “This isn’t a dream, I promise. And…that’s kind of how family trees work.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Marcella adds plainly.

All eyes shift to her.

“You knew?!” Ari shouts, earning a stern look from him mother, which he quickly counters with an apology. “But…mom, why didn’t you tell me?” he whines. 

The women in the room roll their eyes and Bunny turns to Steve as Marcella begins to explain the matter to her son. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. As you can tell, this news is quite a shock to him.” 

“I can’t say I blame him,” Steve shrugs. 

She mirrors his gesture, then offers him something to drink. 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you to get some water, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Not a bother at all,” she waves him off before getting up, walking past the other two in the room and drawing Steve’s attention to them. 

“...Your father and I just didn’t think it was so important. They lived such separate lives, anyway. And think about it, what does this change, after all? You still have this house, you have your wife, you have me.” 

“I just can’t imagine leaving,” he sighs, eyes drifting to his wife in the kitchen, standing on her toes to grab a glass all the way in the back of the cupboard. 

He’s told her many times to stop that out of worry she’d overextend the delicate tendons of her ankles. Went as far as building a step stool she doesn’t even use; he huffs a laugh to himself as he watches her move to the fridge and take out the water pitcher. The liquid sloshes with the movement and swaying of the various fruits she had put to make it just a little bit more refreshing. 

Strawberries, mint, and watermelon in his water; her hands in his; holes in his shirts with constantly fresh stitches; the prospect of filling frames with pictures of a growing family; she was home to him. How could he ever think about abandoning it? 

The idea that his grandfather did something he can’t begin to understand, that’s what sits in his stomach and tangles up his insides. 

Steve didn’t do that. He was just the product of it. 

His eyes follow his wife as she walks back into the living area, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking a sip before his eyes meet Ari’s. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ari asks.

“I was going to shack up at the inn after this.” 

“No need,” Ari shakes his head. “We have plenty of room here.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve chuckles slightly, “I think I broke your brain when I walked in and told my story. Seems like staying over would rock the boat even more.” 

The air in the cabin suddenly lightens, tension fading away as everyone laughs.

“On the contrary, what better way to get to know your family than by staying with us?” 

Steve shrugs and smiles, “Well, I guess I better get my things then.” 

Ari offers his help and the two men begin to bring Steve’s bags into the cabin. There isn’t much, about three pieces of baggage to bring in.

When they shut the door and appear to get settled, Marcella pipes up, “Oh good, you’re done.”

“Mama, what are you doing?” he asks, watching as she settles the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I’m ready to go to town to get my nails done.” 

“Ma, I told you this morning–”

“Right, you have some silly little project to work on and my lovely daughter-in-law is cooking for the week.”

“I don’t think fixing a leak in the sink is–”

“Yeah, that one,” she waves him off, “Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t asking you to bring me. Steve has a car.” 

“Ma, he’s a guest–”

She scoffs, “Oh, please, he’s family, and it would give him a chance to explore the town a bit. Doesn’t that sound great, Steve?”

Mute from being put on the spot, Steve takes a moment to process before agreeing to do it. 

“See? Everyone’s happy!” Marcella chastises Ari.

She makes her way out the front door and the men hear a snort from the kitchen. 

Bunny pauses and looks up from the vegetables she’s chopping, “Welcome to the family, Steve.”

- - - 

After dropping Marcella off at the salon, Steve found a spot under a tree to park in. 

Stepping out of the car, the main avenue of the town looked familiar and foreign at the same time. 

It was a typical American small town busy road: cars parked along the sidewalk, wide streets and walkways, stores directly next door to one another, hustle and bustle. Every American knows it, and it’s likely non-Americans know it too. 

But when was the last time Steve saw one for himself? 

It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like it was. 

Before the jet rides to quickly get from place to place. Before the case files and research. Before commlinks and codes. Before sleepless nights planning missions and long days carrying them out. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. 

He’s given so much of his life and focus into it that he doesn’t remember life where he wasn’t doing it. He knows there was something before it because every adult has memories of growing up, being a child, and going to high school. 

In Steve’s brain, those recollections are locked away in a corner of his brain he locked away to be able to do his job. 

The things he was afraid of as a kid, the insecurities that held him back as a teenager, the innocence everyone has before becoming an adult; he lost touch with all of it, lost touch with himself.  

It had gone too far on the last mission. His friend sent him home with the promise the team would be okay without him. 

The voice of a conversing family draws him out of his dazed state, catching a glimpse of two kids skipping while their parents gently caution them. 

Sighing, Steve moves onto the sidewalk and begins to walk down the street. When a door swings open, he sees the brief image of his walk: stiff, arms swinging in tight control and calculated steps as if he’s back at boot camp. 

Slowing his pace, he thinks about how to appear more casual; he is, after all, a civilian now. 

Relax, Rogers, he can hear Natasha say. No, seriously. We’re supposed to be walking through the mall, not running to the drill sergeant’s back and call.

He lets his shoulders deflate, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to find a comfortable pattern of steps. 

While he can’t be certain, Steve has that nagging feeling that he looks like an idiot. 

Pursing his lips, he decides to distract himself by looking at the various window displays along the sidewalk. There’s a certain small town comfort that comes from the bright colors and fun arrangements that are meant to attract customers. Different phrases like “fun in the sun” emulate the summer air, while silly props like turtle-shaped inner tubes evoke a type of nostalgia that most people are lucky to have when thinking of their long breaks from school.

Steve knows in the dark annals of his mind, those memories are there. 

Before he can deep dive into retrieving them while staring at a flamingo pool floatie, he’s interrupted by a parent pulling his son out from a nearby store. 

“Why can’t I have him now?!”

“If you can do your chores consistently for a month, we’ll talk about it. Puppies aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility, like your chores. And you keep putting those off.”

The conversation fades as Steve draws closer to the door the pair just exited, peering into the window. 

A handful of dogs of all ages yip and bark, some playing by themselves while others tumble around and bite each other softly. Their kennels line one wall, while the other wall is filled with two housings; one for a molly cat and a litter of kittens and another empty one, the door slightly ajar. 

Intrigued, Steve pushes the door open. 

The dogs all perk up at his entrance, some standing and wagging their tails, ears high with attention, while others bark at him. 

A woman rushes in from the back, a slightly resigned look on her face. 

“C’mon you all,” you sigh, “You know that’s not the right way to greet somebody, especially if you wanna get adopted.” 

Standing in front of some of the kennels, you stick your hands through the bars to nudge some chewing toys towards the more excited canines before turning to the other wall to attend to the kittens. 

“Sorry, Mocha, let me put this down and your kitties can keep feeding.”

As you pull down a makeshift shade to block the front of the kennel, Steve realizes the missing feline from the other cubby is perched on your shoulder, tail swinging in satisfaction as it maintains perfect balance as you walk around.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you greet him, “Some of the puppies are still in training. And Major over there is a rescue; he’s been through it, so he’s still warming up.” 

He follows your gesture towards a large German Shepherd standing on his hind legs. 

Reaching up, you remove the cat from your shoulder and laugh when it hooks its claws into your shirt.

“Shadow, we have a guest,” you giggle, and Steve feels a lump in his throat. Negotiating the claws out of the fabric, you rest Shadow onto your arm. “This cat’s been here for a while. He’s followed me since he was a kitten, and he’s got this beautiful black coat, so I figured ‘Shadow’ was a great name. Isn’t he lovely?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oops, leave it to me to introduce the cat before myself,” you joke, tapping your forehead to point out your forgetfulness. You offer your hand as you give him your name. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” he waves you off, “I just got here today.” 

“Well, welcome to Barber. What brings you to town?”

“Some long lost family.”

“Which one?” you ask, interest piqued. Then, your eyes widen bashfully, “Sorry, that was so invasive.”

“No, it’s alright,” Steve smiles, “I, um…do you know the Levinsons?”

“Oh Ari and Marcella! And Ari’s wife, of course. Yes, I love them. Marcella came in once and nearly snuck one of the kittens out in her jacket. Not that she was stealing from me, but she wanted to try to get it past her son. He wasn’t having it; though I think he would benefit from a kitten. He’s so gruff–oh my God, I talked way too much.”

The blond laughs and you think you might swoon. Setting Shadow down to wander around the shelter, you try to keep things professional. “So, what brings you in? Just here for some puppy therapy, looking around?”

“Well, if Ari doesn’t want a kitten in the cabin, I imagine he wouldn’t want a puppy,” Steve begins, looking at the dogs. “But I hear they’re good for…um…”

He pauses and you keep your posture, looking at him attentively as he tries to find his words.

“I’ve heard that adopting an animal could be good for a returning veteran.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Yes! I mean, that’s easy for me to say because I run the shelter; but really it’s easy to recommend a pet to anyone who is considering it. A father and son were just in here and the only thing that stopped me was the fact that the father was saying his son doesn’t tend to his chores. But I think with the right guidance, his son could be a good dog companion.

“In your case, though, I would say it could help you feel more adjusted. You’ll have something to do and a friend who will love you unconditionally. But, seeing that you just got to Barber…”

“It’s probably best to wait before I make a decision,” Steve finishes for you.

“Exactly,” you smile, “We’re on the same page.”

A few beats of silence pass over the two of you before you break it. “Would you like to still look around? You’re welcome to. I’m sure the dogs would be happy to interact with someone other than me.” 

Taking you up on your offer, Steve accepts the bowl of treats you hand him and listens attentively as you specify that each puppy only gets one treat. “And don’t fall for the puppy eyes. You laugh now and think I’m joking but these guys are good at what they do.” 

Approaching the first kennel, the chubby puppy with round ears perks up and yips, excited for an interaction. A rush of happiness fills Steve’s chest, helping him relax as he wedges two fingers between the bar to give the little guy a couple head scratches. Then, he reaches down into the bowl, holding the treat for the puppy to bite.

The puppy chews and Steve catches a glance at his description: suspected to be a mix of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a Boxer, the puppy is a boy with a lot of energy. He’s only a few months old and was found wandering in the grocery store and begging for scraps at the deli. 

“Well, your name makes sense, Salami,” Steve mutters, making eye contact and, sure enough, as you predicted, he’s begging for more treats. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding. I bet those guys at the deli gave you every scrap they could find before bringing you here.”

“Oh they did,” you respond from behind the counter. Looking up from your paperwork, your gaze switches between Steve and Salami. “You should’ve seen him. You think he has a soft tummy now, he was a complete pot belly when he was done over there.” 

The two of you share a laugh as Steve tries to conjure the image in his head. 

Every puppy has an anecdote to go with it, he finds out as he continues through the shelter. Some are happier than others, and it shows in your face as you tell the stories. Some even make your voice clog with emotion and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” you sigh, “That’s what, the fifth time? Gosh, I have got to get it together.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, then quickly changes the conversation to focus on the last puppy. “What about Willow? Anything about her?”

“She’s the sweetest little thing. She’s got to be some golden retriever mix, I just can’t put my finger on the other breed. But, anyway, she found by Ari, your…?”

“Nephew.”

“Your nephew–” You start to go with it, until it registers that Ari and Steve appear to be the same age. Your voice catches as the gears turn in your head.

“Long story, I’ll tell you after this one.”

“Got it,” you agree. “Anyway, Ari brought her in. She was hiding under a pile of lumber that he was about to deliver. Apparently she led him on a wild chase around the lumber yard. When he brought her in, he was all sweaty and grumpy.”

“I think he’s always grumpy.”

“Seems like it. I don’t know how his wife and mother deal with it. But, yeah, that’s Willow’s story. I figured since she was found in the lumber yard, I should name her after a type of tree. I also thought about just naming her ‘Timber’ or something but I liked Willow.”

“I like it, too,” Steve says, looking back at the puppy. When his eyes meet hers, he realizes she never stopped looking at him while he was speaking to you. 

She gives him a dopey smile, tongue hanging out as she pants in excitement at the sight of him. 

“Looks like you two are having a moment,” you remark.

It all falls away at the sound of his phone ringing, causing a cacophony of barks and howls to arise.

You try to calm the dogs down as Steve clumsily finds a surface to put the snack bowl down while answering the phone.

“Hi Steve!” Marcella trills on the other line. “I’m all ready to go!”

“Oh, okay, Marcella, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay see you soon!”

The call ends there and you’re still trying to get the dogs to settle. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my ringer was on.”

“That’s okay, it happens,” you brush him off. “I’m glad to have met you! Hope to see you around. Or hope you come back for Willow.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.” He lingers for a moment, wanting to say more but no words seem to be right. “Actually, before I go, could I take a picture of Willow?”

“Sure, do you want to hold her?”

His face shows his nerves before he can express them, so you quickly retract your statement and turn to bring her out of her kennel.

Propping her up in your arms, you do your best to get her to look towards Steve’s phone.

“Oh, you can smile, too. You’re in it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Your smile is bright, radiating a warmth that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

When the picture is taken and it’s truly time for him to go, the memory of that grin makes it difficult to leave. 

As Steve walks down the avenue, he types a message to Bucky.

Life in Barber is off to an interesting start. Met the sister-in-law, the nephew, and the niece-in-law. But I think my favorite is Willow (picture coming)

After sending the picture of you and the puppy, he sees Bucky immediately start typing, his response brief but effective.

Who’s the girl? 👀

She runs the shelter.

Anyone of interest?

Steve takes a moment to come up with a reply, triggering Bucky’s impatience.

Or maybe not yet.

But she seems like your type, so I think it would be a person of interest. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve types a message simple enough to end the conversation there:

Maybe. 

------------------

Ari blinks mutely at the stranger-who’s-not-actually-a-stranger sitting in his armchair, where he made himself comfortable without permission. With the information that was just revealed to him, he’s a little more possessive of every molecule in the cabin. 

His mother had opened the door, then stole everyone’s attention with her shocked gasp and the shrill sound of glass hitting the floor. Ari had rushed in and his wife, asleep on the couch, woke up and surveyed the surroundings. 

Soon enough, everyone was baffled by the appearance of a man named Steve Rogers claiming to be Albert Levinson’s half-brother.

As Ari continues to stew over everything he just learned, his wife pipes up, “Give him a moment.” 

“I’m going to need several moments,” he adds quickly, his voice dripping with his confusion. “You’re going to waltz in here and tell me that my dad’s father,” Ari begins, using hand gestures to help him keep track of all the people he’s about to mention, “My grandpa Alexander–whose last name is actually Rogers–left my grandmother Andrea Levinson and ran off with some other woman and had you?”

“That’s correct,” Steve says bluntly.

“And that makes you,” Ari points an incredulous finger at him, “My dad’s half-brother, and my half-uncle.”

“Correct again. Except, ‘half-uncle’ is a little odd to say because I’m about twenty years younger than your father. I’m probably only a few years older than you.”

“No,” Ari denies immediately, getting up from his spot next to his wife. “Nope, this is a dream. This is some crazy, twisted reality that I’ve been trapped in–”

“Ari, dear,” Bunny sighs, “This isn’t a dream, I promise. And…that’s kind of how family trees work.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Marcella adds plainly.

All eyes shift to her.

“You knew?!” Ari shouts, earning a stern look from him mother, which he quickly counters with an apology. “But…mom, why didn’t you tell me?” he whines. 

The women in the room roll their eyes and Bunny turns to Steve as Marcella begins to explain the matter to her son. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. As you can tell, this news is quite a shock to him.” 

“I can’t say I blame him,” Steve shrugs. 

She mirrors his gesture, then offers him something to drink. 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you to get some water, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Not a bother at all,” she waves him off before getting up, walking past the other two in the room and drawing Steve’s attention to them. 

“...Your father and I just didn’t think it was so important. They lived such separate lives, anyway. And think about it, what does this change, after all? You still have this house, you have your wife, you have me.” 

“I just can’t imagine leaving,” he sighs, eyes drifting to his wife in the kitchen, standing on her toes to grab a glass all the way in the back of the cupboard. 

He’s told her many times to stop that out of worry she’d overextend the delicate tendons of her ankles. Went as far as building a step stool she doesn’t even use; he huffs a laugh to himself as he watches her move to the fridge and take out the water pitcher. The liquid sloshes with the movement and swaying of the various fruits she had put to make it just a little bit more refreshing. 

Strawberries, mint, and watermelon in his water; her hands in his; holes in his shirts with constantly fresh stitches; the prospect of filling frames with pictures of a growing family; she was home to him. How could he ever think about abandoning it? 

The idea that his grandfather did something he can’t begin to understand, that’s what sits in his stomach and tangles up his insides. 

Steve didn’t do that. He was just the product of it. 

His eyes follow his wife as she walks back into the living area, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking a sip before his eyes meet Ari’s. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ari asks.

“I was going to shack up at the inn after this.” 

“No need,” Ari shakes his head. “We have plenty of room here.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve chuckles slightly, “I think I broke your brain when I walked in and told my story. Seems like staying over would rock the boat even more.” 

The air in the cabin suddenly lightens, tension fading away as everyone laughs.

“On the contrary, what better way to get to know your family than by staying with us?” 

Steve shrugs and smiles, “Well, I guess I better get my things then.” 

Ari offers his help and the two men begin to bring Steve’s bags into the cabin. There isn’t much, about three pieces of baggage to bring in.

When they shut the door and appear to get settled, Marcella pipes up, “Oh good, you’re done.”

“Mama, what are you doing?” he asks, watching as she settles the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I’m ready to go to town to get my nails done.” 

“Ma, I told you this morning–”

“Right, you have some silly little project to work on and my lovely daughter-in-law is cooking for the week.”

“I don’t think fixing a leak in the sink is–”

“Yeah, that one,” she waves him off, “Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t asking you to bring me. Steve has a car.” 

“Ma, he’s a guest–”

She scoffs, “Oh, please, he’s family, and it would give him a chance to explore the town a bit. Doesn’t that sound great, Steve?”

Mute from being put on the spot, Steve takes a moment to process before agreeing to do it. 

“See? Everyone’s happy!” Marcella chastises Ari.

She makes her way out the front door and the men hear a snort from the kitchen. 

Bunny pauses and looks up from the vegetables she’s chopping, “Welcome to the family, Steve.”

- - - 

After dropping Marcella off at the salon, Steve found a spot under a tree to park in. 

Stepping out of the car, the main avenue of the town looked familiar and foreign at the same time. 

It was a typical American small town busy road: cars parked along the sidewalk, wide streets and walkways, stores directly next door to one another, hustle and bustle. Every American knows it, and it’s likely non-Americans know it too. 

But when was the last time Steve saw one for himself? 

It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like it was. 

Before the jet rides to quickly get from place to place. Before the case files and research. Before commlinks and codes. Before sleepless nights planning missions and long days carrying them out. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. 

He’s given so much of his life and focus into it that he doesn’t remember life where he wasn’t doing it. He knows there was something before it because every adult has memories of growing up, being a child, and going to high school. 

In Steve’s brain, those recollections are locked away in a corner of his brain he locked away to be able to do his job. 

The things he was afraid of as a kid, the insecurities that held him back as a teenager, the innocence everyone has before becoming an adult; he lost touch with all of it, lost touch with himself.  

It had gone too far on the last mission. His friend sent him home with the promise the team would be okay without him. 

The voice of a conversing family draws him out of his dazed state, catching a glimpse of two kids skipping while their parents gently caution them. 

Sighing, Steve moves onto the sidewalk and begins to walk down the street. When a door swings open, he sees the brief image of his walk: stiff, arms swinging in tight control and calculated steps as if he’s back at boot camp. 

Slowing his pace, he thinks about how to appear more casual; he is, after all, a civilian now. 

Relax, Rogers, he can hear Natasha say. No, seriously. We’re supposed to be walking through the mall, not running to the drill sergeant’s back and call.

He lets his shoulders deflate, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to find a comfortable pattern of steps. 

While he can’t be certain, Steve has that nagging feeling that he looks like an idiot. 

Pursing his lips, he decides to distract himself by looking at the various window displays along the sidewalk. There’s a certain small town comfort that comes from the bright colors and fun arrangements that are meant to attract customers. Different phrases like “fun in the sun” emulate the summer air, while silly props like turtle-shaped inner tubes evoke a type of nostalgia that most people are lucky to have when thinking of their long breaks from school.

Steve knows in the dark annals of his mind, those memories are there. 

Before he can deep dive into retrieving them while staring at a flamingo pool floatie, he’s interrupted by a parent pulling his son out from a nearby store. 

“Why can’t I have him now?!”

“If you can do your chores consistently for a month, we’ll talk about it. Puppies aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility, like your chores. And you keep putting those off.”

The conversation fades as Steve draws closer to the door the pair just exited, peering into the window. 

A handful of dogs of all ages yip and bark, some playing by themselves while others tumble around and bite each other softly. Their kennels line one wall, while the other wall is filled with two housings; one for a molly cat and a litter of kittens and another empty one, the door slightly ajar. 

Intrigued, Steve pushes the door open. 

The dogs all perk up at his entrance, some standing and wagging their tails, ears high with attention, while others bark at him. 

A woman rushes in from the back, a slightly resigned look on her face. 

“C’mon you all,” you sigh, “You know that’s not the right way to greet somebody, especially if you wanna get adopted.” 

Standing in front of some of the kennels, you stick your hands through the bars to nudge some chewing toys towards the more excited canines before turning to the other wall to attend to the kittens. 

“Sorry, Mocha, let me put this down and your kitties can keep feeding.”

As you pull down a makeshift shade to block the front of the kennel, Steve realizes the missing feline from the other cubby is perched on your shoulder, tail swinging in satisfaction as it maintains perfect balance as you walk around.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you greet him, “Some of the puppies are still in training. And Major over there is a rescue; he’s been through it, so he’s still warming up.” 

He follows your gesture towards a large German Shepherd standing on his hind legs. 

Reaching up, you remove the cat from your shoulder and laugh when it hooks its claws into your shirt.

“Shadow, we have a guest,” you giggle, and Steve feels a lump in his throat. Negotiating the claws out of the fabric, you rest Shadow onto your arm. “This cat’s been here for a while. He’s followed me since he was a kitten, and he’s got this beautiful black coat, so I figured ‘Shadow’ was a great name. Isn’t he lovely?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oops, leave it to me to introduce the cat before myself,” you joke, tapping your forehead to point out your forgetfulness. You offer your hand as you give him your name. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” he waves you off, “I just got here today.” 

“Well, welcome to Barber. What brings you to town?”

“Some long lost family.”

“Which one?” you ask, interest piqued. Then, your eyes widen bashfully, “Sorry, that was so invasive.”

“No, it’s alright,” Steve smiles, “I, um…do you know the Levinsons?”

“Oh Ari and Marcella! And Ari’s wife, of course. Yes, I love them. Marcella came in once and nearly snuck one of the kittens out in her jacket. Not that she was stealing from me, but she wanted to try to get it past her son. He wasn’t having it; though I think he would benefit from a kitten. He’s so gruff–oh my God, I talked way too much.”

The blond laughs and you think you might swoon. Setting Shadow down to wander around the shelter, you try to keep things professional. “So, what brings you in? Just here for some puppy therapy, looking around?”

“Well, if Ari doesn’t want a kitten in the cabin, I imagine he wouldn’t want a puppy,” Steve begins, looking at the dogs. “But I hear they’re good for…um…”

He pauses and you keep your posture, looking at him attentively as he tries to find his words.

“I’ve heard that adopting an animal could be good for a returning veteran.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Yes! I mean, that’s easy for me to say because I run the shelter; but really it’s easy to recommend a pet to anyone who is considering it. A father and son were just in here and the only thing that stopped me was the fact that the father was saying his son doesn’t tend to his chores. But I think with the right guidance, his son could be a good dog companion.

“In your case, though, I would say it could help you feel more adjusted. You’ll have something to do and a friend who will love you unconditionally. But, seeing that you just got to Barber…”

“It’s probably best to wait before I make a decision,” Steve finishes for you.

“Exactly,” you smile, “We’re on the same page.”

A few beats of silence pass over the two of you before you break it. “Would you like to still look around? You’re welcome to. I’m sure the dogs would be happy to interact with someone other than me.” 

Taking you up on your offer, Steve accepts the bowl of treats you hand him and listens attentively as you specify that each puppy only gets one treat. “And don’t fall for the puppy eyes. You laugh now and think I’m joking but these guys are good at what they do.” 

Approaching the first kennel, the chubby puppy with round ears perks up and yips, excited for an interaction. A rush of happiness fills Steve’s chest, helping him relax as he wedges two fingers between the bar to give the little guy a couple head scratches. Then, he reaches down into the bowl, holding the treat for the puppy to bite.

The puppy chews and Steve catches a glance at his description: suspected to be a mix of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a Boxer, the puppy is a boy with a lot of energy. He’s only a few months old and was found wandering in the grocery store and begging for scraps at the deli. 

“Well, your name makes sense, Salami,” Steve mutters, making eye contact and, sure enough, as you predicted, he’s begging for more treats. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding. I bet those guys at the deli gave you every scrap they could find before bringing you here.”

“Oh they did,” you respond from behind the counter. Looking up from your paperwork, your gaze switches between Steve and Salami. “You should’ve seen him. You think he has a soft tummy now, he was a complete pot belly when he was done over there.” 

The two of you share a laugh as Steve tries to conjure the image in his head. 

Every puppy has an anecdote to go with it, he finds out as he continues through the shelter. Some are happier than others, and it shows in your face as you tell the stories. Some even make your voice clog with emotion and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” you sigh, “That’s what, the fifth time? Gosh, I have got to get it together.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, then quickly changes the conversation to focus on the last puppy. “What about Willow? Anything about her?”

“She’s the sweetest little thing. She’s got to be some golden retriever mix, I just can’t put my finger on the other breed. But, anyway, she found by Ari, your…?”

“Nephew.”

“Your nephew–” You start to go with it, until it registers that Ari and Steve appear to be the same age. Your voice catches as the gears turn in your head.

“Long story, I’ll tell you after this one.”

“Got it,” you agree. “Anyway, Ari brought her in. She was hiding under a pile of lumber that he was about to deliver. Apparently she led him on a wild chase around the lumber yard. When he brought her in, he was all sweaty and grumpy.”

“I think he’s always grumpy.”

“Seems like it. I don’t know how his wife and mother deal with it. But, yeah, that’s Willow’s story. I figured since she was found in the lumber yard, I should name her after a type of tree. I also thought about just naming her ‘Timber’ or something but I liked Willow.”

“I like it, too,” Steve says, looking back at the puppy. When his eyes meet hers, he realizes she never stopped looking at him while he was speaking to you. 

She gives him a dopey smile, tongue hanging out as she pants in excitement at the sight of him. 

“Looks like you two are having a moment,” you remark.

It all falls away at the sound of his phone ringing, causing a cacophony of barks and howls to arise.

You try to calm the dogs down as Steve clumsily finds a surface to put the snack bowl down while answering the phone.

“Hi Steve!” Marcella trills on the other line. “I’m all ready to go!”

“Oh, okay, Marcella, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay see you soon!”

The call ends there and you’re still trying to get the dogs to settle. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my ringer was on.”

“That’s okay, it happens,” you brush him off. “I’m glad to have met you! Hope to see you around. Or hope you come back for Willow.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.” He lingers for a moment, wanting to say more but no words seem to be right. “Actually, before I go, could I take a picture of Willow?”

“Sure, do you want to hold her?”

His face shows his nerves before he can express them, so you quickly retract your statement and turn to bring her out of her kennel.

Propping her up in your arms, you do your best to get her to look towards Steve’s phone.

“Oh, you can smile, too. You’re in it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Your smile is bright, radiating a warmth that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

When the picture is taken and it’s truly time for him to go, the memory of that grin makes it difficult to leave. 

As Steve walks down the avenue, he types a message to Bucky.

Life in Barber is off to an interesting start. Met the sister-in-law, the nephew, and the niece-in-law. But I think my favorite is Willow (picture coming)

After sending the picture of you and the puppy, he sees Bucky immediately start typing, his response brief but effective.

Who’s the girl? 👀

She runs the shelter.

Anyone of interest?

Steve takes a moment to come up with a reply, triggering Bucky’s impatience.

Or maybe not yet.

But she seems like your type, so I think it would be a person of interest. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve types a message simple enough to end the conversation there:

Maybe. 

------------------