#bit angsty

• Which comes in handy for everyone else after a while, because soon that translates over to you soothing the proverbial beast when he's biting the heads off of the more sensitive Spiders.

"How could you be so STUPID -- !"

"Okay, Miguel, I think they got the point."

"But they -- !"

"I know. They know. It's okay, let's all just take a breath."

"¡Ay coño! Nadie me oye. Todos son idiotas."

But he does back off, and does take a breath, and everyone else stares at you like you're the second coming of Christ.

• Your fascination and admiration for the intense head of the Society soon turns to a genuine enjoyment of his company. He's not much of a conversationalist, but you're okay with silence, and sometimes you just...end up keeping him company in the monitor tower after missions and he just...lets you.

• You soon notice the ungodly hours he keeps and start leaving him an empanada and a black coffee at the end of the day when you leave -- you know how dangerous he gets when hangry and undercaffeinated.

• It's a bit strange for him at first (someone is actually choosing his company over the bombastic personalities of the other spiders?) but Miguel soon gets used to you hanging around, and the hairs on the back of his neck finally stop bristling at having a fellow person in the room.

• One thing he absolutely can't figure out is why the scent of fear never radiates from you, even when you witness his occasional equipment-trashing tantrums. But he somehow doesn't quite mind that he can't intimidate you.

• He would strongly deny he ever gave you favorite treatment, but some of the others do realize he's not QUITE as hard on you when you challenge his decisions.

• Sometimes you check on him late at night before you go home; you can tell when he hasn't slept in a couple days by the way his shoulders hunch and how often he pinches the bridge of his nose against an oncoming headache (though sometimes that's just from dealing with Peter (x100) for too long).

• And that turns into you staying in late to keep him company while he swipes through screens upon screens of things that require his personal attention.

• That's how you end up finally seeing the videos of him and his little girl; he probably forgot you were there and her loss hit him all over again and before he knew it you had seen what he was like once, when the lines on his handsome face were from smiling so widely instead of losing sleep over the fate of all of reality.

• Neither of you really address it for a long time, but you know, and he knows you do, and there's this weird comfort that settles between the two of you after that.

• He already knows your story of course, and your canon events, but when the pair of you finally start talking during those late nights you share the little details, and you have the feeling that he wants to care about the small things, he just can't with the much larger picture he has to handle.

• It's little things that make it past his unbreakable outer walls -- the fleeting brush of your hand across his back as you pass behind him, the way you can hold eye contact with him longer than anyone else, the seemingly flippant way you blow him a kiss every so often when he sends you off to go make yourself useful elsewhere. Casual things, but he notices.

• And you want to tell him you're in love with him, but have a feeling he doesn't want to hear those words, because once they're out in the air, it means you both can't sidestep it anymore, so you don't.

• After a particularly rough mission, he's angry and you're shaken up, and he doesn't mean to react the way he does, but he takes it out on you, scolding you for what almost happened, and you fire right back because you're emotional, and the two of you end up raising your voices and everyone else just kind of...leaves the room.

• Then silence.

• You and Miguel are breathing hard, staring at each other. And something fragile takes root in the empty space between you.

• "Could you do me a favor and maybe not get yourself shocking killed?!" he growls at last, and there's a raw edge to it you haven't heard before.

• You laugh brokenly. "What do you really care, O'Hara? There's literally hundreds of Spiders here; I think you'd be okay."

• "¡Coño! How can you be so blind?!" He's snarling now, full lips pulled back and sharp teeth on display. "I thought we were on the same page for once."

• You're totally unprepared for when he grabs your shoulders and forces you to look up, right at him. "I can't lose someone else."

• He's so close, and his angry mouth has softened. And maybe you've lost your mind, but he's already angry, so what do you have to lose, really? At least that's what you tell yourself as you take the plunge and lean in.

• And to your surprise, he not only meets your lips, he kisses you back with matching fire, and what was supposed to be a simple, singular impulse turns into an unexpectedly heavy ongoing process -- fingers raking through hair, bodies pressing together, hotly whispering things neither of you remembers.

• And then as quickly as it happened, it's over, and you're on opposite sides of the room again like sulking cats, and he sends you home.

• You don't talk about the incident for weeks. Life goes on.

• But then one night, he offers to take you home when you both stay behind late, and at your door he apologizes for his lapse in professionalism, and you admit you...didn't mind. At all. He doesn't seem in a hurry to leave, and wanting to distract him from his work for at least a little while, you invite him in.

• And somehow what was supposed to be a sweet goodbye-and-thank-you kiss a couple hours later turned into exploring touches and murmured questions and agreements and how damn good his arms feel locked around your body; and when the sun filters in through your window in the morning he's long gone but your skin still smells like him and you realize that actually happened.

• You assume it's a one-time thing. People make mistakes, after all, no hard feelings.

• Bur when Miguel holds you back after a mission several days later and wants to make absolutely sure that the other night didn't make things uncomfortable between you, you go out on a limb and admit to him that you really enjoyed it.

• And he has to take some time and process that.

• But eventually he shows up at your place late one night again, and it starts to become a bit of a regular thing. So much so that you give him the spare key to your apartment and he starts to leave some of his clothes there sometimes. You love wearing his shirts, because they're enormous as hell on you, and you sleep in his clothes whenever you can't have his skin against yours.

• (For his part, he also likes when you wear his shirts, because then your throat, shoulders, and thighs are that much easier to get at.)

• And life goes on.

¡Ay coño! = (Expletive)

Nadie me oye = No one listens to/hears me

Bucky knew from the moment Steve said goodbye to him. Steve was going to be gone longer than a few seconds, he'd be gone an entire lifetime.

"You bet." Steve responds as the helmet forms over his head as his heart hammers against his chest at the thought of returning to a time he never dreamed of reliving.

Looking to his oldest friend, a small smile forms across Steve's face as Bucky remains stoic, internally proud that his friend will finally live the life he deserves.

"Going quantum in three, two, one." Bruce states, clicking at the last few buttons before the beams surrounding Steve illuminate and he disappears.

"I'm coming, I promise!" You yell from your window as Steve nervously shuffles on the pavement below, trying his best to hide the flowers he purchased (stole, with Bucky's aid) at the store earlier that morning.

Running down your stairs, you wave to your Dad before exiting the house. "Hey," Steve smiles as you slowly descend down the steps as you exhale deeply, he knows he's about to have another one of your infamous stories.

"My Ma didn't change the clock after it went and died, so here I was thinking I had all the time in the world," You shake your head in disbelief as you stand in front of Steve, oblivious to the flowers being brought forward from behind his back. "and then I woke up to my Dad screaming that you were outside!" A laugh escapes your lips as you finally notice the yellow flowers in Steve's grip, concealing the nervous look across his face.

"Do you like them?" Steve hesitantly questions, feeling your fingers brush across his as you take the flowers from his hands.

Bringing them to your face, you sniff them happily. "Steve," You can't help but step closer and kiss his cheek, watching a blush cross where your lips had just been. "I love them, thank you."

"I, well," Steve stumbles over his words, always losing any sense whenever you're around him. This would be the point where Bucky would interfere or as he likes to put it, 'help out.' "A girl like you deserves pretty flowers." He manages to say, watching as your eyes soften.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere, okay?" You tell him with a quick wink before running back up the front steps to your house, the door remaining ajar.

From where Steve stands, he can hear you conversing with your parents.

"He got you flowers, huh, honey?" Your Dad asks, a level of disconcert in his tone.

"He did, and I love them." You snap back. "It doesn't matter, Dad, don't give me that look."

"Your Father means well, dear. Why did you have to fall for him instead of Barnes?" Your Mother chimes into the conversation and Steve's head falls lower into himself, his previous excitement diminishing.

He knows they're right, you would be much better off with Bucky than a guy like himself, someone who’ll never amount to much before dying at a young age. Hell, he can’t even fight for his country, what right does he have being with you?

“Because I love him, okay?” You almost yell at the pair of them, hating the way they talk about Steve, one of your friends whom you grew up alongside, who you’ve slowly but surely fell in love with. “And I don’t care that he’s not like Bucky, Bucky for a fact is an arrogant womaniser, not that either of you have noticed. Just let me enjoy this, please! You owe me that much at this point.” You huff as you place the flowers in a glass that you filled with water. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back by seven.”

Without another word being uttered, you walk out of your house to see Steve slightly stunned at the bottom of your steps.

“You heard all that, didn’t you?” You ask, pausing on the bottom step.

Nodding in response, you lift your hands to your eyes and collapse down onto your step.

“Hey,” Steve mutters, reaching out to take your hands in his cold ones, no matter how warm it can get in Brooklyn, he always remains cold, not that you mind in the slightest as his smile simply warms your heart.

Now revealing your glossy eyes to Steve, you watch carefully as his blue eyes move closer towards you.

“If it helps at all, Y/n,” Steve whispers as he rests one hand on your cheek. “I love you too.” 

“And returning in five, four,” Bruce announces as he flicks several switches, the beams illuminating once more.

Yet, Bucky steps away much to Sam’s surprise.

“-three, two one.”

Sam watches closely as the lights flicker, but nothing happens. The podium remains empty, and Bucky chuckles beneath his breath.

“It’s not working,” Bruce exclaims as he stares at the monitor.

“Why not? Bring him back.” Sam states, frustration rising in his tone as he glances over to Bucky who faces the lake, hands buried in his pockets. “What do you know, Barnes?”

“That he’s not coming back.” Bucky speaks up, keeping his eyes locked on the ripples of the lake, the echo of laughter playing in his mind of the good ol’ days.

“I don’t understand,” Sam starts, but Bucky turns to face him with a solemn smile.

“You will.”

Sitting in the bar with Steve, Bucky laughs as they discuss his sudden rise to stardom. “But you were smaller,” Bucky chuckles in disbelief as his once frail friend sits broadly beside him. “don’t get me wrong, you look good, pal.”

Steve sighs to himself before taking a sip as dames walk past, whispering about the infamous Captain America. “I hope she doesn’t hate me.” Steve mutters, his eyes locked on the half-empty glass in his grasp. “I don’t know what to say, or, or,”

Before Steve can finish his sentence, the doors to the bar burst open and silence falls. All of the soldiers' attention turns to the dame in the entranceway, her lips lined red as she slowly walks in.

The sound of heels clicking against the floor increases until Steve hears his name being muttered delicately.

"Steve?" Turning around, Steve looks you in the eyes as tears fall down your cheeks. “Is that really you?” You quietly ask, lifting your hand up and rest it on his chest, slowly raising it to his cheek.

Smiling softly, Steve lifts his hand up, resting it on top of yours. For the first time ever, it’s warm, and you breathe out a laugh. “It’s me, Y/n.” Steve tells you confidently.

“Bonnie said I missed your grand entrance, why is it I can never keep track of time?” You laugh lightly and witness Steve smile shyly. “Steve? Is something wrong?”

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Steve notices you step closer. “You, you’ll still have me?” The question escapes his lips as his eyes dart across your expression, watching as your brows furrow and your previous smile disappears.

“You thought I’d leave you, just because you, you’ve changed?” The hurt in your voice is evident as Bucky seethes beside you both, quickly motioning to everyone else to carry on with their conversations so yours is drowned out from their ears.

“No, I,” Steve pauses before rising to his feet, now towering over you. “follow me.” He takes your hand in his, enveloping it firmly as he guides you outside for some needed privacy.

Now outside, you can hear faint conversations from inside the bar, the talks of Captain America and all he has done for the country. Yet in front of you stands Steve Rogers, your Steve.

“Listen, Steve, I don’t care what you look like, if you’re now suddenly six feet tall and have more muscle than my Uncle Jerry,” You explain, not missing the faint laugh from Steve. “you’re still Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, the man I fell in love with, okay?”

“So, this doesn’t bother you?” His nerves remain forefront as he glances down at himself before seeing you quirk a brow.

“Not in the slightest,” You reassure him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “if anything, there’s more of you to love, Captain.” You giggle and Steve can’t ignore the butterflies in his stomach before kissing you softly, missing the way your lips melt into his.

“Wait, guys?” Bruce suddenly announces as the energy field on the podium vibrates, and Steve reappears empty-handed.

“There’s no way,” Bucky mutters to himself, remaining still whilst Sam rushes forward, laughing happily.

“I knew you’d come back, you son of a bitch.” Sam jokes as Steve steps down from the podium, removing the white suit and reveals himself dressed in a black suit. “So, how was it?”

Steve remains quiet, his eyes fixating on the ground as his thoughts remain tied to the past.

“Let’s give him some space, Sam.” Bucky interrupts, looking over to Bruce who nods in response.

“Come on.” Bruce mutters, walking alongside Sam as they head back to the cabin, leaving Bucky alone to talk to his oldest friend who he anticipated being a lot older.

Stepping forward, Bucky tries not to stare at Steve whose cheeks remain red, marked with previous tears.

“What happened, Steve?” Bucky asks. “I thought, I thought you’d be with her, I-”

“She moved on, Buck.” Steve cuts Bucky off coldly. “Y/n carried on living without me, without us around she had no choice but to carry on.”

Bucky doesn’t miss the gentle sniff escaping Steve as he averts his gaze, turning his head to the left remaining out of sight as fresh tears fall.

“Was she happy?” Bucky can see Steve’s shoulders tense at the question, almost feel the heartache Steve is feeling as he shifts on his feet, now fully facing Bucky.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, patting Bucky on the shoulder. “she really was.”

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” Bucky states sadly.

“Me too, pal.” Steve comments, but Bucky can tell there’s something he’s not admitting, his eyes say more than his words could. “Me too.”

Walking alongside one another, the old friends walk back toward the cabin, knowing now they can only carry on, there’s no going back.

Steve was running, he’d been running for far too long in a world he didn’t understand. All he craved was a return to his own time, a world he felt comfortable and understood in. A world where you lived and breathed.

His feet guide him directly to the cobbled street he walked numerous times, either by your side holding hands or bantering with Bucky. Nothing had changed, it remained just as he remembered. There weren’t any alien threats, no destruction, the war was over.

Slowly, Steve walks up the steps to your house. He forms a fist as he knocks, having discarded the case the stones were once in mere hours before and returned Thor’s hammer to its rightful place in Asgard.

He can feel his breathing hitch in his throat as silence falls upon him before knocking on the door. Looking over his shoulder, Steve decides it’s best to step down in case you open your window like old times.

Yet, a few minutes pass by and there’s no response. Steve knocks once more, then twice and thrice more times.

“They aren’t there, sweetie!” Someone calls out, and Steve glances over his shoulder to see a neighbour perching from their door, a child on her hip.

“Do you know when they’ll be back?” Steve asks, noticing the woman's smile drop immediately like his heart.

“They don’t live there anymore I’m ‘fraid.” The woman states, but Steve isn’t listening as he crosses the road, now standing in front of her door. “The couple couldn’t bear to stay there, up’t and left about two months ago now.” She explains, but Steve cannot fathom it.

Your family adored that house, though it was small, it was perfect for you and your parents. The three of you sung and danced from room to room, Steve and Bucky often in tow.

“How come they moved away?” Steve forces the question from his thoughts to his mouth, afraid to hear the answer.

The child on the woman's hip begins to cry loudly, and she quickly hushes it. “I’ll be one moment,” She mutters, moving away from the door and returns a few minutes later, arms folded across her chest. “They erm, they lost their daughter, precious thing she was.”

Steve falters backwards, he watches as the woman's lips continue to move, but silence consumes him.

“-she kept coughing up blood after all those nights sat in the cold waiting for her soldier to come home. Apparently, she had some underlying condition, incurable. Tragic really.” The woman sighs sadly, now glancing up to see Steve silently distraught. “I’m sorry, hon, did you know her?” She asks, but Steve steps away and turns around, forcing his feet as he runs down the street, ignoring her shouts.

He had no idea where he was going, but all he could feel were tears streaming down his cheeks, the cool breeze burning against them as he forcefully wiped them away. 

For once, Steve was the one who was too late, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“You sure you’re okay, pal?” Bucky reiterates his previous question, seeing Steve longingly watch as Morgan plays with Pepper, giggling away.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “I’ll be fine, Buck.” He lies, knowing if he were to tell the truth, he’d simply fall apart.

t a g l i s t (thank you for the support!) link in my bio and at the top of this piece to add yourself☺️(if your user isn’t tagged, it’s because nothing comes up- sorry!)

He fights against the panic, the disbelief as he searches for an answer, some explanation for what’s happened.  Dr. Michel did not mention amnesia as a possibility, though it does make a certain amount of sense after the beating Kaidan took. Surely, they tested for that? Wouldn’t they?  “I…”  His voice cracks painfully.  Meeting Kaidan’s gaze again, he chokes out, “You…you really don’t know me?”

Kaidan shakes his head back and forth slowly.  “Should I?”

As he sits back in his chair, the room starts to spin around him, and Lachlan throws his hand out to grasp the edge of the bed in an effort to steady himself.  Why is this happening?  Why now? Why when we now have a chance to –

The door behind him opens with a familiar whoosh. Lachlan pushes himself to his feet and glances over his shoulder, anger rising at the intrusion.  Though the room still spins awkwardly in his periphery, it’s impossible to miss the white, black and gold uniforms of two armed and armored Cerberus operatives as they enter the room ahead of Councilor Udina.  

Lachlan reacts on instinct, reaching for weapons he does not carry at the moment.  Not even a pistol at his hip.  Udina’s laughter, deep, dark, dangerous, reverberates through the room, sending a different sort of chill through him this time.  Lachlan moves without thinking, positioning himself between the intruders and Kaidan – the man may not remember him, but Lachlan will protect him with his life if it comes to that – until he realizes, the laughter that echoes through the room feeds from the man lying in the bed as well…

 ~

 “No!”  

Bolting upright, panic chasing his heels for purchase, Lachlan reaches desperately for something, anything, to pull him back into reality.  His arms flail momentarily before wrapping around legs drawn to his chest.

A moment later, he jumps as a warm hand settles on his back, a familiar, deep and rumbling voice murmuring reassuringly, “Lach, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

The panic nearly takes control as he turns, seeking out the familiar face in the dark, half-afraid of what might meet him.  “K-Kaid?”

“Right here.”  The hand rubs soothingly but firmly across his back.  “Must’ve been some dream.”

Shuddering violently, Lachlan covers his face with his hands and lowers to rest it against his updrawn knees.  

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”  

Kaidan’s fingers trace over the tattoo of white heather at the base of Lachlan’s neck, between his shoulder blades.  The shape is recognizable; the man has done this numerous times over the years they’ve been married.  The sensation calms, soothes, heals, more than anything else can in that moment, and Lachlan releases a soft sigh of relief.  Without lifting his head, he reaches his left hand over to Kaidan’s.  When the other man wraps his around it, Lachlan immediately links their fingers together, squeezing as tightly as he can without causing injury.  Kaidan does not fight it, does not pull away; he returns it.  

“Who am I?”

The fear-driven whisper fills the dark spaces of the room, a test as much as a request for reassurance.  

Kaidan’s arm drops around Lachlan’s waist, tightening as he leans over to rest his head on Shepard’s left shoulder.  “You are Lachlan MacRae Shepard,” he replies quietly.  “Survivor of Mindoir, the Hero of the Skyllian Blitz, the Savior of the Citadel.  You are the man I fell deeply, madly in love with, and who has spent the last ten years of our lives as my other half.”  He lifts their joined hands, brushing his lips across their knuckles.  

Blinking, Lachlan turns his head just enough so their gazes meet.  When Kaidan smiles, one of those brilliant, radiant smiles that pierces any darkness, Lachlan pulls their joined hands to his chest and holds them there.  “You really believe all of that?”

Kaidan leans forward and ghosts a kiss across his lips.  “I do.”

Rising off his knees, Lachlan tips his head until their foreheads touch, his eyes closing once more.  “So, you do remember me after all…”