#univer5e

“I am.”

“Trying to get me back in the world?”

“I think one of us has already achieved that one,” you stepped in, a smirking glance sideways to see Steve’s face. He didn’t spare you the same glance, instead locked on Fury. You sighed. You might have cleared him for duty and he might have accompanied you in eliminating a few low level threats, but that didn’t mean he wanted a mission from Director Fury.

There was a part of you that wanted to kick Fury out of the room and keep Steve completely cushioned and safe, to tell him he never had to hold another shield again, to tell him he’d seen enough war and he never had to see any more.

But Steve wouldn’t want you to do that, and the world probably wouldn’t thank you either.

“Trying to save it,” Fury said gravely, and you realised you’d been so focused on Steve and his well-being that you’d missed the little gravel in Fury’s voice that meant this was something serious. That this was something big.

He handed Steve a file and you moved closer to him to read it with him. The Tesseract. HYDRA. Having spoken to Steve about his past in some late nights past, some of the words sounded bone chillingly familiar. One look at his face told you that you were right.

“Hydra’s secret weapon…”

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you. He thought what we think, the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That's something the world sorely needs.”

“Someone took it?” You chimed in and Fury nodded.

“He's called Loki. He's not from around here. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

Steve finally looks to you, but there’s none of the usual playful glint in his eye that you’ve come to know so well in the last six months of being assigned to him. Or in the last three months of him being your closest friend. His slight smile is resigned and painful and it makes your face contort into a pity he probably doesn’t want.

“At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me,” he directs his comment at you even though he should be talking to Fury. You place your hand on his bicep. An understanding.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong,” Fury counters and the tender moment is gone as you drop your hand to fold your arms across your chest again, “There’s two debriefing packages waiting at your apartment, Captain. Y/N will go over everything with you.”

Fury spares you a glance and you give him an almost imperceptible nod. Steve’s already beginning to leave and you know he wants nothing to do with this, not really. But you also know he wouldn’t even think about not accepting. You pick up your bag and his bag, slinging one over each shoulder as Steve picks up a punching bag on his own. You know he’ll want a private anger release tomorrow morning in the comfort of his apartment.

Before he can get away, Fury speaks again.

“Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

You’re wincing, because you just want to get Steve the hell out of there and be able to talk to him properly and Fury just can’t take a hint. Steve doesn’t even turn around, just turns his head and he looks at Fury and then right at you. You inhale sharply.

“You should have left it in the ocean.”

And with that, he walks out of the gym and you’re left with the two bags and an eerily silent Nick Fury. Without much second thought, you offer a half smile Fury’s way but ignore the fact that he looks like he wants to say something and instead follow Steve out of the door.

He’s waiting for you out on the street. It’s clear he needed the fresh air. He’s gulping it in, chest heaving and eyes narrow. You arrive at his side and he starts walking, letting you fall into step beside him and taking his own bag from you with a mumbled thank you. You take the ten minute walk back to his apartment in silence, the darkness only cut into by occasional headlights and the orange glow of street lamps illuminating your footsteps.

A couple of steps and an elevator ride later, you’re dropping your bag near the door of his apartment, tucking your copy of his keys into your pocket again and dropping down onto the sofa with a grumble. Steve’s disappeared into his bedroom and you give him a minute or two to put his bag away and position the new punching bag, picking up the debriefing package on the table and flicking through it.

You’re surprised that he walks back into the living area and that you don’t have to go fetch him. You sit up and pat the sofa cushion beside you and it doesn’t take him long to collapse down onto it next to you and pick up his own copy of the debrief.

“One of the reasons I was at peace about going into the ice,” he begins, quite suddenly and you let the debrief fall into your lap to show you’re listening, “was because I knew I was taking that...that thing with me. That it would never corrupt anyone again. I was so naive.”

You shake your head.

“You weren’t naive, you had hope. I don’t often have much of that. I admire your penchant for it.”

“And I admire your realism,” he retorts and you smile, picking up your debriefing again to read it, speaking with your focus on the pages.

“Well that’s why we’re partners, right? We complement each other, bring out the best in each other,” you say it as cheerily as you can, even though this mission makes your stomach twist with nausea, “We’re better together and we’ll stop this ‘Lowkey’ guy, or whatever the fuck his name is, together too. Okay?”

He stares at you with eyes just beginning to spark again. Lets the corners of his mouth turn up in a quiet and unassuming smile.

“Okay,” he concedes, with an overwhelming need to place a hand on your elbow, or to tug you into his arms or even, and the thought makes him blush, pull you onto his lap and just hold you for a little while.

He continues reading instead.

---

Watching Agent Phil Coulson go full on fangirl over Steve was one of the only things keeping you happily preoccupied on the quinjet. For a while, he managed to make normal conversation about Dr Banner based on the video Steve was watching, but it didn’t take him long to begin complimenting his idol and explaining his input in the new uniform. You watched on from a few seats away, smirk firmly planted on your face.

“I could’ve made an excellent Adjustment Officer, you know,” Phil says wistfully as he finally leaves Steve alone and wanders over to you and you stand from your seat with a fond smile.

“I have no doubt,” you agree, even though you actually have many, many doubts about that one. Steve wouldn’t enjoy having someone gushing about his prowess on the daily, certainly not someone they had to actually see on the daily, “But you have other things to take care of. And speaking of, I haven’t managed to do this yet.”

You pull him in for a quick hug and then pull back and continue holding on, eyes scanning his face and body.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking you’re okay, of course. Nobody else does that for you, Phil, least of all yourself,” you roll your eyes and finish your check with a curt nod and he looks relatively touched by the sentiment, “Once my mentor, always my mentor.”

He knows what you mean. You mean a lot to him too, after all, and you know this even if he’s never told you directly.

“Missed you too, kiddo,” he says sincerely, ruffling your hair and finding glee in the scowl it gains him. He seems to remember something and suddenly glances behind him at Steve and lowers his voice to a volume only you will hear, “You think he’s ready?”

“Oh, he’s ready,” you say without hesitation, “Even if he doesn’t know it yet. We’re ready.”

---

Descending the ramp and spotting none other than Natasha Romanoff waiting for you at the bottom of it did nothing to calm the fast beating heart in your chest.

“Agent Romanoff,” you call as you near her and she looks up at you with a smirk that you’re pretty sure she’s wearing in every photo you’ve ever seen of her, “I can’t quite believe that two of the most powerful women in SHIELD haven’t had the pleasure of meeting until now.”

You shake hands firmly and Steve arrives beside you.

“Ma’am,” he nods politely and she raises her eyebrows slightly at you but says nothing of the formality.

“Hi,” she directs this at Steve, a subtle way of dismantling whatever formal ideas have gotten into Steve’s head, “And I think they kept us apart on purpose. Can’t have too much power in one place.”

Oh, you like her.

“Something like that,” you agree, following her as she begins walking.

“There was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice, Cap,” Natasha continues as you walk, “I thought Coulson was gonna swoon. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?”

“Trading cards?” Steve asks, clearly confused and you have to bite your lip to stop your laugh from spilling out.

“They’re vintage. He’s very proud,” she says it matter of factly, but your attention is caught by an anxious figure making his way through the crowds, gripping the satchel bag on his shoulder for dear life. He looks up and- it’s him. Seeing him like this makes you feel guilty for the tiny sliver of fear that creeps up your spine upon recognising him.

Steve is better, knows this better, the alienation, because he’s the first to approach him with a handshake and a quick reassurance when it’s clear that Dr Banner is a little apprehensive of what people will think of him. It only makes you feel more guilty.

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself then, stepping forward to shake his hand too and offering what you hoped was a kind and not a pitying smile. Much like Steve, he did not seem the kind for pity. You see the opportunity for a joke to lighten the tension and you take it, “I’m the muscle and he’s the comic relief.”

You nudge Steve with a smile and he rolls his eyes even though he’s smiling too and Dr Banner looks just ever so slightly more relaxed.

That is, until the helicarrier begins to lift into air. You and Nat share a look and quickly hurry the men inside, Steve looking more than shocked and Bruce looking much the same for an entirely different reason.

---

With Loki locked up, a joke that only Tony laughed at when you told it, you had a distinctly uneasy feeling that everything had been too easy. Steve had it too, it seemed, even though Tony and Thor seemed relatively unfazed by the whole thing.

You sat around the table, watching the feed of Loki’s imprisonment and frowned at his total lack of worry in this situation. He had a plan. You just knew it.

Having captured him in Stuttgart, meeting Iron Maiden himself and none other than the God of Thunder along the way, you and Steve seemed the most uncomfortable with the whole thing. Tony was talking, it seemed he was always doing that, joking about something or other while you sat there silently, staring at the screen, deep in thought.

Steve was still joining in, asking all the right questions and getting less than conclusive answers. When Tony and Banner walked off to their lab to do...whatever the hell it was they did, Steve finally turned to you.

“I don’t like this,” he said simply and you nodded your agreement, looking between him and the live feed of Loki. It was as if you thought looking away from him was dangerous, “And I don’t like him.”

“Who? Stark?”

“Yeah. He’s not taking this seriously.”

“I think he is, Steve,” you reasoned carefully, finally looking away from Loki properly and deciding it wouldn’t hurt, “This is how he deals with things. His coping mechanism.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but clearly thought better of it. He stood instead, rolled his neck and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m going to find somewhere to train in this place. You’ll call for me if anything happens?” he said it sincerely and you merely nodded in response, knowing that the two of you were on the precipice of an argument and wanting to avoid that at all costs.

You could understand where Tony was coming from. You, too, sometimes used jokes as cover for an underlying fear and though training as an agent forced a lot of that out of you in mission situations, it was still a default reaction. To hide everything with humour. As someone who was good at reading people, you were almost certain that was the case with Stark.

You were also almost certain that it wasn’t a point of view Steve would understand just yet.

---

You were sat, still watching Loki on the screen but now with the added Agent Romanoff, talking to him. One calm, the other irate. At one point, when Loki banged on the glass, you flinched right along with Natasha.

“Y/N?” Steve entered the room you’d been in alone and you spun to face him, hand at your holster before you could realise who it was. You relaxed and Steve’s brow furrowed at your jumpy nature but he didn’t say anything of it, “A word?”

He sounded pissed off and you agreed reluctantly, following him down the corridor and into the hull of the ship. You asked three times where you were going, what exactly you were doing, but were met with silence each time. It was only when he began heaving a heavy door open that you placed a hand on his forearm to stop him.

“Steve, you’ve gotta give me something here.”

He sighed, like he really didn’t want to do this, but knew he had no other choice.

“Fury’s hiding something,” he said it matter of factly and a look of confusion overtook you, “Stark’s looking into some encrypted files as we speak and Banner agrees that something’s off. I want to check it out.”

The look on face showed you that he desperately didn’t want to have to check this out and your heart sank. But there was a bad feeling in your gut about this one and despite your loyalty to Fury, there was a certain other loyalty that may have taken precedence nowadays.

“Okay, we’ll check it out,” you conceded, then with a playful wink, “Old school style.”

Steve shook his head at you, before you stepped back and allowed him to open the door, not bothering to help when you knew you weren’t needed. He only opened it just enough and the two of you slipped through and into a dark warehouse area.

You glance around, but there’s nothing of note, no markings that stick out or capture your attention. After a few moments, Steve nudges you and points upwards and you follow his finger to gaze at an upper level you hadn’t noticed and one that couldn’t be reached.

At least, that looked like it couldn’t be reached, until Steve leaped up there, grabbing the railing and hauling himself over. He leans down and holds out a hand.

“Jump, I’ve got you,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitation but then you come to your senses and you take a few paces back before jumping just as he says, your hand clutched in his own and him pulling you up with relative ease.

“Thanks.”

You continue on in relative silence until you see a crate with markings that don’t feel familiar and a serial code too high for what should be stored in this warehouse. You stop Steve with a hand across his chest and crouch down, running your fingers over the lettering.

“Open this one,” you say briskly and he frowns but does as you say, hauling the lid from the crate.

You gulp. Close your eyes for a second as your heart rate spikes. You hear Steve’s heavy exhale beside you and see him look away and back again, clearly more angry than you had ever seen him. These were Hydra weapons. A strange guilt began gnawing its way through your stomach.

“I promise you, I had no idea,” it’s a gut reaction to the sight of the weapons, a desperation for him to know where you stand, that you stand with him, that you have done for months and you will do for as long as you can possibly do so.

“I know,” he murmurs under his breath, and you can hear the icy anger in his tone but it’s not directed at you. He picks up one of the weapons, not that you can understand what it is, “Let’s go.”

You follow him back along the walkways to the place where you ascended and he jumps down, placing the weapon on the ground then turning back to you.

“You’re sure you can handle this?” you ask playfully and you’re worried you sound a bit like Tony but Steve smiles at you and insists, only holding his arms out closer.

You vault the railings and carefully lower yourself into his arms, letting them encircle your waist and then he lowers you down until your feet are almost touching the ground. Almost. He stops just before, just when your faces are level and your breathing becomes the most laboured. He stops and holds you there, noses almost touching and breath mingling together, before his ulterior motives seem to slip away and you’re back on the floor without a word.

Your heart is racing as you slip back through the door and make your way to the lab, but it has nothing to do with the Hydra weapon in Steve’s hand.

---

“Phase 2 is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons.”

All eyes are on the two of you as you interrupt the conversation in the lab, standing beside the table. You look at Fury and see a flash of guilt behind his eyes as he glances to you and you look away, shaking your head in disgust, arms coming up to fold across your chest.

“Sorry, the computer was moving a little slow,” Steve says to Tony and there’s almost a little pride in the way Stark changes his stance. Under other circumstances, you might have smiled at this back and forth. These two were more similar than they’d probably ever care to admit.

“Director, you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” you butt in, fixing him with an apathetic stare that you hoped would be as unnerving as possible.

“We gathered everything relating to the Tesseract, that does not mean we’re…”

“I’m sorry Nick,” Tony slides the screen across to where you can clearly see plans for weapons powered by the cube, “What were you lying?”

You roll your eyes and hear a small scoff from the figure next to you.

“I was wrong, director. The world hasn’t changed a bit,” he sounds furious, yes, but there’s also a resignation there that forms a lump in your throat. The life that he’d had these past six months brought him into a new and changed world, one that was finally becoming a home, one that you had introduced him to. All that had changed again now.

It’s then when Natasha and Thor enter the room and you find it hard to listen to the argument that ensues, wishing you could simply storm out of the room as you would have when you were a child, found a nice quiet corner to slink down into and cry, knees bundled up to your chest. There was also an unfamiliar irritation that felt almost outside of yourself settling as a weight on your chest, and made it increasingly hard to bite your tongue.

It’s only when Tony and Steve start squaring up to each other that you step in, a hand on each chest pushing both backwards until they’re at a safe distance. It doesn’t stop the biting remarks between them though, the insults hurled and points of weakness pressed. You see Steve’s mouth in a hard, thin line and Tony’s contorted into a cruel smirk.

“Stop it,” you say firmly between them, “Just stop it the both of you.”

But then Banner is holding the scepter and you’re holding your gun and there’s an explosion and the floor is gone from under your feet and you’re down in a lower section of the ship, looking upwards at the room you had just been in.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice echoes into the chamber even though your vision is just blurry enough that you can’t see him. You look to your left and see Banner, all bundled up and clutching the floor.

“Go!” you shout back up at him, seeing the figure looking through at you hesitate before moving away, then you lower your voice to a soothing volume, “We’re good, Bruce, we’re good.”

You sit up with a small groan and finally manoeuvre yourself to be able to see Banner’s face. You balk. He’s struggling with something, something you don’t want to name, his eyes wild and face showing just the beginning signs of changing. There’s a couple of Agents running towards you, to check on you, and you wonder if Steve has insisted on that, but you quickly wave them away as Banner only writhes further.

“Come on, Bruce, we’re okay. This is just what the bastard wants. Don’t let him win, don’t give in to it,” you know that you’re pleading but you can’t help it, especially when Bruce lifts his head suddenly and the look he gives you is completely alien to the man you’ve known over the past few hours.

“Give in to it?” he asks, but its cruel and its ugly and its threatening. You press your lips together, moving slowly as you try to stand, but another explosion sends you off your feet again and takes out the lights this time too.

There’s something heavy pinning your right leg and you struggle to get it free, trying to keep your movements as measured as possible as your eyes dart around, trying to adjust to the new low lighting. You can hear his thundering footsteps as he stumbles around and you know right then that its happened. That Bruce has gone. A few blinks later and the metal having fallen onto the floor with a clang, you can make it out, the huge shape just a few feet away, shoulders rising and falling with laboured breaths. You take a couple of tentative steps away from him, from that thing, but his head turns to the side and you freeze.

“Please,” you whisper, mostly to yourself, but he turns fully and you’ve turned away before you can comprehend it, taking the stairs two and a time and running through the maze of pipes in the upper level of the room, ducking and weaving as best you can, banging your elbows every few seconds and only being carried forward by a fear-induced adrenaline coursing through your veins.

He’s ripping floor right from your feet, forcing to you to jump and swing, but you see an opening and jump down from the catwalk, pulling your gun from your waist, readying it and trying to steady your breathing and the slight shake in your hands. You look upwards, checking for any signs of him, but there’s nothing.

You’re just turning to find a way to the others when there’s a footstep. You turn. His face is right there, roaring at you and then he’s ripping away the pipes in between you and you’re running again, through a series of some kind of electrics, you can’t stop to think about it, but there are sparks that you have to shield yourself from as you run. As you reach the end of whatever server room you were running through, you feel the footsteps closer and though you strive to run faster, there’s a solid force on your side and you’re knocked sideways, bashing into a stack of crates and crumpling to the floor.

You sit up with difficulty, wincing as you clutch your side and look up at him, your eyes wide, your chest heaving. He’s walking towards you, mouth half open and you brace yourself, unable to look away, until there’s an almighty crash through the wall as Thor flies in and tackles him into the next room. Suddenly ‘The Hulk’ has gone. You’re alone.

You take a couple of shaky breaths, eyes still fixed on the spot they had been previously, willing the tears that were biting at the back of eyes to go the hell away, back to where they came from, not to rear their ugly head. You didn’t need to cry. You didn’t want to cry.

With a wipe of your face, you stand up and rush off in the direction of the stairs to return to the upper levels and help the others, knowing there’s nothing you can do to help Thor now.

---

Barton is here somewhere apparently, leading the attack against you. He’s an agent you happen to have met a couple of times and worked with once and it baffles you that someone could have their mind so warped by a mere object.

It’s a thought you end up preoccupied with even as you aid the Director in defending the helicarrier’s bridge. There are men coming left, right and center and you take them out one by one, a combination of precise gunshots and a couple of throwing knives to the chest. If you had it your way, it would only be the knives, but apparently using a gun was more ‘cost efficient’.

At least that was what Director Dick Fury had told you. That name, however childish, made you feel a little better.

“Why are these guys still trying to get in here?” he shouts across at you and you ignore him, dodging a swing from an oncoming attacker and shooting him in the back, kicking the back of his knee and watching him crumple to the ground. You saw the arrow fly past and onto the control panel before you saw who shot it.

But you knew who shot it.

Nick gets Natasha to follow up on that one, chasing after Barton with purpose, as you rush over to assess the damage. It’s clearly hacking the systems but what the endgame is, you don’t know y-

The other engine on the same side as the one you’d just lost cuts out too and there’s a lurch as you lose all thrust on one side.

“Fuck,” you mutter, typing in a few override codes but only receiving more error messages in return.

“Y/N,” Nick tried to get your attention but you were locked on the monitor, “Y/N!”

You turn then and he shows you his monitor, your heart sinking right through your stomach, through the bottom of the helicarrier and freefalling in the sky below. Because the hatch had been opened.

“Phil’s there,” you murmur with a look to Fury that would have looked a lot like terror even though the emotion looked foreign in your features.

Maria gestures for the two of you to go and you waste no time, running through the door and to the prison area in record time, boots pounding against metal grate flooring and hearts pounding in your chests.

The sight that greeted you in the detention section had you gasping and not just for breath. Fury reached the door and stopped, resignedly, almost like he froze in the doorway. You, on the other hand, were by Coulson’s side in seconds, his hand in yours, other hand holding his head up as best you could.

“No, no, no, no,” you mumbled, words more and more angry, eyes frantic as you flit from all the bleeding to his face. He was smiling. The man was infuriating and it brought tears to your eyes.

Nick is calling for backup, for a medical team in the background.

“Y/N, I’m clocked out here,” Coulson says, because he knows and because you know too, even if it’s the last thing you’d ever admit to anyone. You clutch his hand tighter.

“You are not,” you say firmly, despite the wobble that tells him all he needs to know, “You are staying. Who else is gonna look after me, eh? Who else will fight my corner no matter what?”

“You have...Steve now. You don’t need a mentor. You-you are a...mentor.”

He can hardly get his words out.

“Phil-” your voice cracks now, large and noticeable as you choke on a sob, “-please.”

“This was never going to work…if you didn’t have something...to…”

He looks away from you and you can hardly bear it as he stutters a breath and then stops. No more stuttering. No more breathing. His face limp in the palm of your hand and his grip on you loosened.

“No, Phil, come back,” you say frantically, using both hands to prop his head up now, shaking it only slightly as you rest your forehead against his shoulder. The tears come fast and thick. Unchained, “Come back, please!”

Eventually, Fury has to pry you from his body and guide you away from the scene with physical force.

---

The table is surrounded by people and yet the room feels empty. Cold. Your wrap your arms a little tighter around your still-shaking frame.

Steve is looking at you, you can feel his eyes but you don’t meet them, knowing one look will send you sobbing into his arms. He’s holding the bloody trading cards, refusing to let them go and it’s a testament to Phil Coulson himself that such a short meeting with these people could have had such profound impact. With years of his guidance, the impact on you was immeasurably more significant.

Nick is talking, has been for a while, but it’s not as if you can be bothered to listen.

When Tony stands and walks off a little way, the room falls silent. You speak, even though you don’t know what you’re saying, what you’re going to say.

“I don’t give a shit,” it’s blunt and it’s raw and you’re not meeting anyone’s eye, “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about you trying to use Phil to inspire us. Phil Coulson was a good man. More than anything, a good man and a good friend. Stop spouting bullshit to get us to-“

You trail off, partly because you don’t know where you’re going anyway and partly because you don’t have the heart right now. Steve scoots his chair closer to yours and puts an arm around you, tugging you into his side without question and letting you curl up into him. His warmth is comforting and his smell is heavenly.

Fury leaves, as does Tony and Natasha and Clint, one by one, without a word. Thor’s gone, dropped out of the sky and Bruce is gone too, although he jumped. You can’t help but be relieved about that one.

“He looked after me, Steve,” you say once it’s been quiet for a little too long, “When I had no one else, I always had Phil. In my corner.”

“I know, doll,” he says, an attempt to be comforting that might work given time, “I know. He was a good man.”

You nod and let Steve hold you through the fresh wave of tears that overcome you.

What could be minutes, hours or days later, you calm yourself down and breathe properly again, wiping your tears and making a feeble attempt to clear the small wet patch on Steve’s dirty suit. He waves you away.

“We have to stop him, Steve,” you croak out the words but the fire behind them remains. Steve pulls away from you then, making sure to look you in the eye as he replies:

“We’re going to stop him, Y/N. As a team. Together.”

A surge of warmth floods your bones and you lean in and kiss his cheek, an unstoppable reaction, one that arose from fear of loss and that which was best left unspoken. You linger, of course, what else was there to do, and when your lips leave his cheek his hand comes up, involuntarily of his brain and cups your face, keeps you close.

A glance upwards. His eyes are closed. You’re so close and yet, you realise, so close could never be close enough.

It’s tender as your lips meet, tentative and sweet. In a way, it’s tame, not the desperate crush of tongues and teeth you’d expected. Each time you’d dreamt of this moment, it was slightly different, but the most common interpretation was a heated argument, eyes flaring and words cutting, ending in heaving chests as you watched each other warily. But then Steve would take a few steps and pin you to a wall behind you and he’d be kissing you, dominating you, you a willing participant, lips parted and needy sighs escaping you. Then his hands would find the backs of your thighs, lift you up into his arms with such ease it made your-

It wasn't important.

This was so much better than the steamy hook up you’d pictured. This meant something. Meant something real, something tangible. Neither of you taking too much, taking it further. Just his hand sliding into your hair and yours resting uselessly against his chest. Loving.

He pulls away first. He can’t bear anymore without moving things on, without deepening the kiss and lifting you onto the table in this room. That’s not how he wants this to happen, however much he really, really wants this to happen.

“We should go,” he says, utterly and wonderfully breathless. There’s the faintest sheen of lipgloss on his upper lip and you can’t help but use your thumb to wipe it away and certainly can’t help the tiny gasp when he kisses the pad of it, “Go help.”

You gulp. Sit back. Away.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding and now standing up, anything to quell your heart and remove that unbearable warmth that’s taken over you, “We should.”

He starts to walk away, and you begin to follow, even though your legs are trembling and you feel overwhelmingly lightheaded. Your timing couldn’t have been worse. That didn’t really matter though. If you and Steve needed to wait for a good time, then you might have to wait forever.

You’re thinking about this when he stops and turns back to you and you’re so preoccupied that you gently bump into his chest. You blink as you step back and see his slight smirk as he tries not to laugh at you. You press your lips together.

“Sorry,” you mumble and he shakes his head, the smirk he’d been trying to keep a lid on morphing into a full blown grin.

“Don’t be,” he says, still grinning. It’s infectious, “I just want to check that...that we’re not going to pretend that this never happened when we leave this room.”

“Steve-“

“Cause if that’s the case then I’m not leaving,” he cuts you off, folding his arms and staring you down, the grin slipping into a serious gaze that you just want to shake right out of him.

You can’t help yourself. You lean up on your tiptoes, your hand sliding around the side of the neck to hold the back of his head as you kiss him again, tears welling in your eyes. You were far too fragile for all of this right now. You only kiss him for a few seconds, just enough to make your point. There wasn’t time for anything beyond that, and regardless this wasn’t the place. You pull away, but leave your hand there and relish the feeling of one of his at your waist.

“If you think-” you pause as you choke on your words and his face softens as his grip becomes tighter. It’s enough for you to swallow the lump in your throat and kiss him again, fleeting, before pulling away with a small smile, “If you fucking think that I could pretend anything when it comes to you then you do not know me as well as I thought you did, Spangles.”

He’s gazing down at you then, his expression a mixture of what looks like awe and fascination and… something else. Something you probably can place, you know him as well as he knows you after all, but something you probably weren’t going to place right now. Again, the timing was all off.

So when he opens his mouth to say something, you cut him off before he can.

“Now we really need to go.”

“What about Maria?”

“She’s busy.”

“So am I, Nick!” you threw your arms up in the air, still spinning but with most of your momentum lost, “I’m fucking busy too! I do not have the time - or the patience - to babysit your latest pet project.”

You finally stood from his chair and crossed the floor to stand beside the floor to ceiling windows that lined one of the walls. You looked out across the city. Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America himself, born in 1918, was out there somewhere, defrosting as you spoke and you were supposed to be looking after him? Showing him the ropes of the 21st century? Teaching him how to use a computer mouse and taking him for ice cream on a Friday evening for being such a good boy. Not happening.

“I’m not asking you, Agent. You know that.”

And yet apparently, it was happening.

All too soon, you found yourself walking into a room with a certain supersoldier - not that you’d ever be caught calling him that - opposite you and sat at a table that he seemed to be handcuffed to.

“Who did that?” you nodded to his trapped hands and he looked up at you warily, regarding you with an apprehension which could only have come from so many SHIELD agents sedating you and taking you to a strange room that you weren’t allowed to leave in a time seventy years after your own. It was a strain to remember this man had lived through WWII.

“They did,” he eventually answered, glancing to the two guards posted at the doorway, guns in hand, eyes staring straight ahead without a falter. You rolled your eyes.

You took a pin from your hair and straightened it with your teeth, smiling apologetically at him as you picked the lock of his handcuffs and let them clatter down onto the tabletop.

“Ma’am? We’re under orders-”

“New orders,” you interrupted, turning to them with hands firmly planted on your hips, “Go to Starbucks and get yourselves something fancy. I’ve got this.”

“Ma’am-”

“I’ve got this,” you assured them, a twinkle in your eye that went hand in hand with the steely glare and was just enough to get them to nod at your demand and make their way out of the room, leaving just you and the Captain in the empty room.

“Was that a tactic to get me on side?” he asked when you’d sat down opposite him and leaned over the table, elbows resting on either side of you, face studying him lightly. Taking him in.

“No,” you shrugged, leaning back and placing your feet on the table, one after another, ankles crossed and posture completely relaxed, “I just find them annoying. And I’m almost positive I don’t need protection from Captain America.”

“Almost?”

“Well, we don’t know what seventy years under ice has done to you yet, do we?” you joked but his face fell and you inwardly cursed yourself. Bad timing.

“It’s Steve,” he said suddenly, tone harsh and you looked at him quizzically, “Not Captain America. Just Steve.”

“Okay ‘Just Steve’,” you addressed him, finally seeing just the hint of a smile twitching at the right corner of his mouth, “You understand what’s happened now? I believe somebody came and filled you in?”

“Vaguely.”

“Okay. Well, I’ve been assigned as your-” you shuddered, “-Adjustment Officer. My sole job is to help you in your transition, answer any and all questions you might have and to eventually ensure that you become one of our best assets.”

“What did you do wrong to get this job?” Steve asked, a dark and hollow chuckle escaping him and you frowned.

“More like what did I do right. This is an important job, Cap- Steve. Our director needed somebody he could trust.”

“Great. That’s just great,” Steve retorted, his eyes flashing with an anger that you’d never seen on the numerous posters of him you’d seen, “I’ve been assigned a glorified babysitter but at least it’s someone trustworthy according to the guy with the eyepatch.”

You took a deep breath.

“I know this must be a difficult adjustment for you. That’s why I’m-”

“No, Agent, the reason you’re here is because you have to be. You don’t want to be, or you wouldn’t have physically shuddered when you talked about it just now. You’d rather be in the field, with a reason to use that gun you’ve got hidden in your boot, but instead you’ve been stuck with the old man and his retirement plan,” his voice was getting louder and louder until eventually he was leaning over the table, palms pressed into the metal as he dropped his voice low and hissed, “Well sorry sweetheart, but I don’t want a babysitter and I certainly don’t want you.”

You stayed in your position. Unfazed. Steve wasn’t a threat to you. But your jaw was clenched and your body rigid. Because it was now clear that he was going to be annoying as all hell.

“You listen here, sweetheart,” you spat out the word as if it tasted bad on your tongue as you stood from your chair to gain the height advantage, “You’re damn right. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to have to look after you. You’re a burden. You’re too emotional. You’re a liability. But I’ve been given an assignment. So we are stuck with each other and unless you get your head out of your ass and decide to play along, being stuck with me will be worse than being frozen in time. Do we understand each other, ‘Just Steve’?”

He gaped up at you, jaw slackened and eyes slightly wider. Then he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and dropped his eye contact.

“We do,” he muttered and then, with a renewed fire, “Just don’t expect me to like it.”

You scoffed.

“You and me both, old man.”

---

You were sat on a park bench. Steve Rogers was sat beside you.

Well beside you wasn’t quite the right term. He was actually sat well away from you, in a position that could only be described as hunched. It was quiet. Peaceful, even. Until-

“So these phones…” Steve was glancing from person to person around them, watching them tapping away at tiny screens, “They’re all connected.”

“In a way,” you replied, “They’re all on a network which connects them which is how they communicate with each other. Electromagnetic waves and stuff such as that.”

Steve nodded. Took it in. In all fairness, he was a very quick learner.

A lot of that came from the fact that he actually listened to you.

“Thank you.”

He always said it. Meant it. You could tell. You knew liars, hundreds upon thousands of liars. Rogers wasn’t one. He told the truth, even if sometimes you wished he didn’t.

Three weeks into this arrangement and you felt like sharing some truth of your own.

“Hey Steve,” you said calmly and he turned to face you, “I never said - I really admire you. Everything you did. It was a big inspiration, you know, when I was training.”

He looked utterly taken aback. As if that was the absolute last thing he expected to come out of your mouth at that moment. You tried not to be too offended at the fact that he thought you incapable of giving him a compliment.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he smiled, his small little genuine smile you’d only seem twice so far. You resolved to see it more often, “I appreciate that. You have a lot of…”

He paused. You got antsy.

“A lot of…?”

“Definitely not patience,” he joked and you huffed and turned away from him, prompting him to answer seriously, “A lot of heart. You’re impatient and you swear too much and you’re generally quite insufferable. But you have a lot of heart.”

When you glanced back at him in surprise, he was back at his people watching, refusing to meet your eye. Despite everything, you felt your heart grow a tinge warmer along with the back of your neck.

“Yeah well you’re stubborn and far too serious and generally intolerable but you have a lot of heart too, Spangles.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed softly and then, as an afterthought, “But in case it wasn’t clear enough -  you’re still an ass.”

He laughed, shaking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep out the chill in the air. You folded yours into your armpits. Tapped your toes against the grass.

“And you’re still a glorified babysitter so who’s the real loser here?” he asked smugly, sitting back into the bench in a rare moment of comfort. You leaned back too and enjoyed the brief relaxation.

“The grown man who needs the babysitter - duh.”

He grumbled a little at that and the sound made you smile despite yourself. That, and the fact you had a lot of heart was still replaying in your quickly fraying mind.

“Anyway, nanny, I believe I was promised ice cream?”

“It’s freezing,” you deadpanned, blinking at him but he simply pulled himself from his seat and looked at you expectantly.

“And?”

You muttered expletives to yourself as you swatted the hand he’d held out to help you up away and pulled yourself up on your own instead.

“Come on then, you child.”

Steve followed behind you with little complaint.

---

Six weeks into the arrangement. Things were not smooth sailing, but there were never going to be. There was still this same understanding though, one that just managed to keep things at a simmering tension, just stopped things from boiling over.

Most of the time.

“Honestly, if you don’t get out of my apartment right now I swear I will call Fury and tell him to find me a new babysitter,” you gaped at Steve as he spoke, eyes wide but he merely shrugged, “I’m not kidding.”

“Steve, I am not having chinese again. That is final.”

“And that is why I’m telling you to get out.”

Admittedly, things ‘boiling over’ no longer meant biting matches where you’d try your best to truly cut into each other and instead had changed into what could only be described as ‘comfortable bickering’. Your life had been many things, but you couldn’t remember for the life of you a time when any aspect of it could be called comfortable.

“Fine, we can have chinese. But four times in one week isn’t healthy, Spangles.”

“I’m a super soldier, I eat what I want to.”

“And what about me?” you ask and when he shrugs in response you mumble, “Fuckin’ bastard.”

“That’s 36 minutes. A new record.”

“What?”

“36 minutes without swearing. That’s the longest ever!” Steve says, sarcastically proud of you in just the worst way and you sink into the couch cushions in response, folding your arms.

“Why do you always have to be so fu-“

Your phone rang and interrupted you. You answer. Maria is on the other end, tone clinical, explaining a situation that was all too familiar. A threatened terrorist attack, many people in danger. You were needed. You gave her a rough ETA and hung up.

“I’m coming,” Steve was already up off the sofa and you knew he’d heard your phone call. You sighed as you stood too, brushing down your jeans and pocketing your phone.

“We’ve been over this Steve, you’ve not been cleared for-“

“I’m coming.”

He was persistent. You took the silent opportunity to glance at him and saw the man that you’d always seen on the posters. The determination. The steel. The...concern? Well that was new.

“I can handle myself, Steve.”

“Oh I’m well aware,” he said, with just the slightest shiver as he remembered the time you’d punched him in the gut for one of his comments in the first week, “But I’m coming. You and I? We protect people. Let me do what I do best.”

There was an unspoken extra word, please, that you didn’t even need to hear to have your pulse pick up by four beats per minute. But only four, which wasn’t too bad, you reasoned. And in your mind, there wasn’t a choice.

Because you did protect people. And so did he. So who were you to stop him?

“Okay.”

You readied yourselves and stepped out of the door, taking the stairs down two at a time and you hopped into the driver’s seat without a second thought. He didn’t question it.

“No, seriously,” his tone was now holding something else as he tilted your face to look at him properly, “What’s there to be nervous about? Our family is growing, again. And we get to tell everyone we love.”

You paused. Moved your face out of his grip to stare at the numbers again.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you mumbled grudgingly and you could see Steve’s stupid smirk in your mind’s eye.  

The ding of the elevator signalled it was time. As the doors opened, you were quickly drawn to the scene in front of you and you couldn’t help but smile. You couldn’t remember a time when you walked through these doors and could stop yourself from smiling. It just wasn’t an option anymore.

“Mama!”

It seemed James had spotted you first and you grinned at him as he circled the couches and tottered over to you, your arms open wide to receive him. You decided to take mercy on him and took a couple of steps towards him until you were able to lift him high in the air. Your eyes lit up at his laughter and you kissed him on the nose, adoring the little wrinkle that came with it, before hoisting him onto your hip.

“Hello little man,” you beamed, giving his leg a small tickle, “You have a good day with Uncle Tony and Auntie Pep?”

He nodded vigorously and began telling you all about his day, to which you were only half listening. You had half your concentration elsewhere, on Steve and your three girls, who were huddled around his legs and looking up at him with adoration. He snuck a knowing glance at you, raising an eyebrow. It was going to be a task and a half to get them all to sit down and listen to your news. Then you heard something about bottle rockets that slightly alarmed you and your focus slowly returned fully to your son. Something about lava definitely woke you up.

“I’m sorry, honey, did you just say something about lava?”

“Yeah! The floor was lava and we jumped on the sofa and the cushions. Uncle Tony has the best games!”

You shook your head fondly and agreed with him before handing him off to Steve to tell him about his very eventful day with lava and let him have a cuddle with Papa too. The girls quickly ran to you.

“Daddy said we should let James have a bit of alone time with you,” Claudia told you as soon as she was hugging your legs and you crouched down to hug the three of them properly.

“Well that was very kind of you girls,” you praised happily, they’d always been so good with little James and his slightly possessive habits of you and Steve. You were gradually getting him used to the fact that he had to share you but it was a slow process, “Did you play this lava game James was talking about?”

“Yeah! Uncle Tony has the best games,” Margie chimed in and you nodded.

“So I’ve heard! Where is Uncle Tony anyway?”

“You called?” came a welcome voice and you looked up to find Tony towering above you, something that was very rare for him to do and balancing both a mega bowl of popcorn and his own little bundle of joy, Rosie. You squeezed your girls one last time and then stood up, reaching over them to pull them in for a hug.

“Hey, you,” you greeted him happily, then turning to Rosie and giving her a wink, “And hey you!” you pulled out of his hold but kept a friendly hand on his shoulder as you felt Steve walk up behind you and a hand find the small of your back, “How’d they treat you today?”

“Brilliantly, as usual,” he said breezily, squeezing your elbow before moving past you and kissing each of the girls on the top of their heads on his way to the sofa. He sat down with a thump, a few pieces of popcorn flying out of the bowl, “We were just about to start a movie.”

The kids ran over to the sofas at the mention of their movie, even James signalling to be put down so that he could run as best he could to the sofa. When he was there, Alice helped him up to sit with her and your heart warmed inexplicably at the sight.

Little Morgan came running from the kitchen then, carrying yet another bowl of popcorn which she clambered onto the sofa with, sitting next to your Margie with a giggle.

“If we could just get Pep in here, that would be everyone,” Steve whispered in your ear and you nodded, excited enough now to just want to get on with it. You still had that nervous energy in every atom of your body, after all.

“Where’s Auntie Pepper?” you asked nobody in particular and watched as Tony looked over his shoulder at you.

“She’s just getting some paperwork finished. I told her not to, but you know Pep,” Tony rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen, flicking through Netflix as the kids chattered excitedly. You formed the plan.

“You stall them on the film, I’ll grab Pep and we can tell them before they start,” you whispered to Steve and he nodded solemnly, walking towards the sofas as you turned on your heel and speed-walked towards Pepper’s home office.

It was only a short walk down the corridor and it still felt like it was taking forever to get there. When you finally reached her door, you knocked twice and entered, greeted by the tired smile of a working mother that you knew all too well. You returned it, although for once yours wasn’t quite so tired.

“Look, I know what you’re going to say, but I just need to sign off on this one thing-”

“No no, I’m not here to comment on your work habits, for once, don’t worry. I just need you to join me in the living room for a few minutes,” you said and, upon seeing she was about to protest, added, “You can come back after. I promise.”

She narrowed her eyes at that one.

“After what?”

“Shit, Pepper, would you just come?” you said, exasperated and you resisted the urge to add a ‘that’s what he said’ afterwards.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming, sheesh Y/N,” she mumbled as she dropped her pen on the desk and stood up, gesturing for you to start walking down the corridor. You smiled gratefully at her, if a little guiltily, but began nonetheless, the bounce in your step almost too prevalent to keep hidden.

Steve’s eyes were on you as soon as you entered the room, all giddy and flouncy and he smiled despite himself.

“Can we watch the film now?” one of the girls whined, you thought it might have been Alice, as you and Pepper entered the room and sat down on the sofas. Pepper joined Margie and Morgan on their sofa, ruffling the two girls’ hair with a smirk whilst you sat yourself next to Steve, on the edge of a corner sofa where everyone was in full view.

“Not yet, pumpkin,” Steve cooed, “Mummy and I have some special news for you all first.”

You caught the look exchanged between Tony and Pepper, the confusion swimming in all eight pairs of eyes that were staring at you.

“Go on then,” Claudia urged and you smiled at your eldest and her typical impatience. You could’ve predicted that one. She probably just wanted to watch the film.

“Okay, so...there’s no easy way to say this and, as you’ll know, we’ve tried many different methods of breaking this kind of news before. But it’s easier to just come right out and say it,”  you took a deep breath, reaching out beside you and tangling your fingers with Steve’s for support, resting them on your stomach with a watery smile, “I’m pregnant.”

“The Rogers are getting a new baby brother or sister!” Steve announced, his tone ecstatic and the kiss he pressed to your temple just the same.

There was a gasp from Tony and Pepper and some relatively blank looks from the younger kids, like James and Rosie who were unfazed by the whole thing. You had a feeling James would be rather fazed when he actually understood what was happening. Margie and Alice had been subject to this announcement before, albeit when they were younger, but they seemed to get it enough as their eyes lit up in delight, whilst Claudia burst out into a silly grin and ran up to hug you both.

“Yay, yay, yay!” she squealed happily and you tried your best not to get emotional, though you knew that was unlikely to happen. Crappy hormones.

You could always rely on Claudia to be excited about a new arrival in the family. Even when she was only two and learnt of her soon-to-be little sister Alice and what that would mean, she had this beautiful idea of being the best big sister ever, an idea she had carried with her ever since. Each new birth was a chance for her to show her responsibility and her usefulness and you certainly wouldn’t have it any other way. It could come in really handy.

It only took Claudia running up for a hug for Alice and Margie to run up too it seemed, though Morgan just sat there looking rather happy. She was a natural born protector, after all, just like her father, and any new additions simply meant more young’uns to look after. She was only four though, and so her help wasn’t quite as handy as Claudia’s.

“Oh, congratulations!” Pepper cried, and you noticed she was in fact crying as she rushed over to the group hug that was building, wrapping her arms around your head and bringing it to her chest, kissing the top of it and laughing. A new addition to the Rogers family was practically a new addition to the Stark family at this point, with a shared home and shared childcare arrangement, so you’d known this would be a big excitement for them too.

Tony seemed a little overcome at that moment and you looked over to him to find him staring at you with teary eyes, which only made your own tears worse. He eventually wandered over, setting Rosie down on the couch cushions gently on his way over. Pepper managed to pry herself from you and Tony grabbed your face and kissed you on the cheek before wrapping you in a bear hug that had you crying harder.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” he said tenderly and you buried your face in his shoulder in response.

Tony pulled away again, feeling the kids at his legs trying to push past him for your attention again. Pepper had been hugging Steve and Tony followed her in that too, patting his back and whispering something in his ear that seemed to make Steve himself well up a little.

“When, mummy?” Margie asked, holding onto your knee with tiny grip and you thought it over in your head.

“In the new year, angel, after Christmas. It’ll be an exciting winter!” you wiped your tears, not wanting to give the kids the wrong idea about how happy this moment was. They struggled to grasp the concept of happy tears yet.

Steve had to leave your side to go pick up a now distressed James, who couldn’t understand the commotion and understandably had become overwhelmed. It was in his nature. Rosie, however, of a similar age, didn’t seem overly bothered by all the noise and the crying, instead enraptured in the strands of the fluffy pillow she’d found.

Steve returned to your side almost instantly, James perched on his lap and you reached out a hand to stroke his hair and then to run down Steve’s arm with a smile directed his way.

“A very exciting winter,” Steve agreed instantly, leaning in for a quick kiss, short and sweet and tasting just like family. You held his jaw as he pulled away, nudged your nose against his despite a half hearted protest from the kids and then moved away properly with no regrets. You wanted your kids to grow up knowing their parents were true soulmates and if that meant a little bit of embarrassment every now and then, that couldn’t be helped.

“Can we come in now?” a voice sounded from the elevator and the doors opened to reveal Uncle Clint and Auntie Nat, changed from the mission into jeans and t-shirts and smiles to light up the room. They sauntered in and the kids jumped for joy at the sight of them; a visit from them wasn’t exactly rare, but it was rare enough for them to look forward to seeing them each and every time. They always had presents, too, which helped.

“Who wants cookies?” Clint called, waving a paper bag in the air and Alice, Margie and Morgan instantly ran over, Claudia joining them after a nod of permission from you. Nat came over to swoop James from Steve’s lap with cuddles and tickles and carry him to the cookies herself whilst Pepper carried Rosie over too.

“Wait,” Tony began, and you knew exactly where he was going as he stood with his hands on his hips in front of you, any trace of emotional Tony well and truly gone, “They knew before we did? What the hell, Rogers?”

You knew instinctively that he was talking to you.

“It’s a long story,” you insisted, “But I didn’t mean to. And I only told Nat about-” you checked your watch, “-15 minutes ago.”

Tony looked like he was considering what you’d said.

“Okay. Forgiven.”

Steve chuckled beside you and you elbowed him in the ribs, stopping him from laughing at Tony too much and setting him off on one of his faux-rants. He coughed to cover his ass and you rolled your eyes. Dork.

“It’s a shame Bucky isn’t here,” Steve said, sincerely, but in what was also a deft change in subject, “And Peter. Although I suppose then I could include Bruce and Thor and Carol and Wanda in all that. There’s so many people to tell.” “I think just Buck and Pete will do for now,” you said, already resting your hand on your stomach with an absentminded fondness in settled in your heart, “We can’t tell everyone.”

Steve nodded, because you were right. You had so many family members, were so lucky to have so many, but it wasn’t even twelve weeks yet. You needed to pick and choose.

“I can invite them over, if you want?” Pepper called from over near the elevator where the kids were still tucking in to their cookies with wild abandon and without a word. Clint knew the way to their hearts and also the way to get them to be quieter. That too.

“I’ll call Buck if you call Peter?” Steve offered and Pepper nodded, offloading Rosie onto an all too happy Clint, who booped her nose repeatedly as Pepper fished her phone out of her pocket.

Steve rubbed your back briefly as he stood up and your gaze followed him, shooting him an almost bashful smile at his retreating form when he glanced back at you.

“Hey Y/N,” Tony said, quieter and only for you to hear and so you shuffled down on your sofa until you were on the other side of it and beside the one he had unceremoniously fell down into, “You’re okay, right? You’re happy about this?”

You smiled, a smile full of love and gratefulness. Tony had always looked out for you, but ever since your rather difficult pregnancy a few years ago and the low mood that accompanied it, he’d been ever more careful to keep an eye on you and your state of mind. It was a welcome check in every once in a while, one that reminded you that you really were okay, that you were happy. It hadn’t always been that way and it only made this all the sweeter.

“I am happy, Tony. Overwhelmingly so. This feels right, for some reason, my fifth little one,” again a hand on the stomach, a reminder. It seemed you needed a lot of those, “I love you for checking in though, you know that. Thank you.”

“Always, sweetheart,” he said honestly, truthfully, compellingly and then that sincere Tony was gone again as soon as he’d arrived, and he was back on the jokes, not that you’d have him any other way, “So what’s the gender then?”

“You know I don’t know-”

“Come on, I know you, and I know you’re gonna think you know the gender already.”

You paused. He’d got you there.

“It’s another girl. Definitely,” you said confidently, a little wry smile on your face that you couldn’t shake, “I can feel it.” “You could feel it last time,” Tony scolded and you pouted like one of your children.

“That’s exactly what Steve said!”

“It’s a mother’s intuition, Tony, you leave her alone,” Pepper said as she re-entered the room and sat down next to you, a hand around your shoulders, “Peter’s on his way.”

“So’s Buck,” Steve clapped Tony on the back as he sat next to him, “But he can’t shoot webs to swing through the city and public transport is crap so, he could be a while.”

“Daddy said a bad word!” Margie called out from where she was sat on Nat’s lap on the floor with half a cookie in her mouth and you glared at Steve with little malice. He pulled a face.

“Sorry sweetheart! I’ll put a dollar in the jar later,” he said, actually sounding rather apologetic and you chuckled at him.

“How many dollars in the jar is that for you now Steve?” Tony asked playfully and he shoved him lightly in retaliation.

‘Only seven. How many have you put in, honey?”

You bit your lip at Steve’s question and looked down at the floor. You mumbled your response to which he only asked you to repeat yourself.

“$24 okay? It’s hard to remember.”

The group laughed at you to which you joined in after a couple of seconds, because your inability to keep from swearing in front of the children was somewhat a running joke between you all.

“Um, little help here guys,” came a muffled voice from behind the sofa and the four of your turned to find Clint lying on the floor, six kids sitting on him and giggling manically while Nat tried not to cry from her own laughter as she held up her phone and took a video.

It was probably time to set him free.

You pulled each other up from the sofa like four old and tired parents that hadn’t slept enough and didn’t sit down very often, which may have been true but the groans that sounded as you stretched your legs were not very Avenger-like. It seemed like being in the family zone turned you into parents alone and rid you of any dirt or blood from a battlefield.

Just as you were each hauling a child from Clint’s breathless body, you heard a thud behind you and rolled your eyes fondly, seeing Tony beginning to go but you stopped him.

“I’ll go,” you said, passing Margie’s hysterical body to Steve along with Alice who was already under his arm and skipping over to the balcony to open the door. Instead of letting him in, you closed the door behind you and stepped out into the cool April breeze.

“Y/N!” Peter cried, pulling off his mask and wrapping you up in one of his signature hugs, the ones that the kids loved just as much as you did. Somehow Peter always managed to be warm and comforting, even if he’d been zipping through a cold New York City for an hour before you saw him, “Aren’t we going inside?”

“In a second,” you pulled back from his hug and left your hands on his upper arms, looking at him with an easy to read excitement flashing in your eyes. He eyed you warily, “I need to tell you something first.” “Okayyy,” he answered, looking past you briefly to see Nat and Clint watching at the window, only to duck down as soon as he looked at them, “What’s going on?”

“Well, we’re going to need you over here even more often, Pete,” you said gravely, with a raise of your eyebrows, “All hands on deck for the new baby.”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“New baby?”

You nodded and placed one hand on your stomach with a grin.

“I’m pregnant!”

He gasped, fully audibly gasped, a reaction you hadn’t really expected and one you couldn’t take in before Peter was squeezing you way too hard and crying into your shoulder. Your eyes widened and you looked over your shoulder to find Steve watching, his expression torn between one of affection and one of amusement.

What do I do? you mouthed, your arms rubbing up and down Peter’s back as he sniffled and Steve pressed his lips together to stop from laughing with a small shrug.

Peter eventually calmed down, still sniffling but at slightly larger intervals now. He pulled out of your hold and wiped his eyes and nose with the back of his hand and your features softened at the sight of his puffy face.

“You okay?” you asked hesitantly, unsure how to deal with a reaction that was even greater than your own tears had been. You absentmindedly wondered whether teenage hormones might be worse than pregnancy hormones, but quickly waved that away. That was bullshit.

“Y-Yeah, I just-” one big sniff, “-I’m really happy for you guys. I get another f-family member.”

Now you were gonna cry alright.

“Hey, what are we crying about out here?”

Bucky walked out onto the balcony, Steve following close behind and leaning against the doorframe with a look that you could barely bring yourself to tear your gaze away from. But you did, of course, because whilst Bucky’s tone was light, his concern was still palpable in the way he held himself. Luckily, he had broken the mood of emotion that Peter had just set and you were able to choke back the tears that had been imminent.

“Oh, nothing really,” you breezily said, composing yourself and signalling for Steve to come and join you. He did, willingly, immediately, giving Peter a small pat on the back as he stood next to you which almost set the boy right off again. Such a sensitive soul, “We just have some news.”

“Is that news that you’re kicking Peter out of the Avengers, or what?” he joked, again concealing any concern with something lighthearted, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Peter and earned him as much of a steely glare as Pete could manage through his red eyes.

You looked at Steve beside you and nudged him in the ribs, nodding towards Bucky, indicating to him that he could be the one to tell him. He smiled at you, then turned to his oldest friend.

“Not quite,” he said calmly and then with a hand of stability on your shoulder, “We’re pregnant.”

There were already three grins out on the balcony and as Bucky’s slowly spread across his face, that three became four.

“Seriously?” his voice was a little higher than usual as he walked over and hugged you and Steve with an arm around you both, Peter not being able to resist but to bound over and join you, “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Knock knock,” came a voice from the door to the balcony and you turned your head from the group hug to see Tony, Pep, Nat and Clint peeking around the glass door, pointless because it was a...glass door. The four of them crept out onto the balcony, smiles contagious and slightly sheepish.

“Can we join you?”

You laughed, proper laughter, head tilted back slightly and beckoned them over jovially, laughing even more when Tony ran back inside and brought the kids out too. They ran over and attached themselves to all of your legs, as the grown-ups joined the hug at a regular height. You and Steve found yourself in the middle of the embrace.

8 adults. 6 kids. One on the way. You leaned over and kissed Steve and desperately tried not to let the hormones affect your tear ducts once again.

“Where are we going?” he asked, genuine curiosity seeping in and you smiled shyly at the thought of him refusing to go anywhere with you not six months ago.

“For a walk. And a talk. If you’re up for it?”

It made him smile to think of a time when you definitely wouldn’t bother asking him what he wanted to do.

As it was now, though, he told you to make yourself at home and that he’d be less than ten minutes. He was true to his word, emerging just seven minutes later in button up and jeans, his lovely brown leather jacket that he wore almost everywhere on top. You smiled. Beckoned for him to grab his keys and follow you out. He did so happily.

“I was thinking Martha’s? But if you’d rather-“

“Martha’s is perfect. I could murder a muffin right now,” Steve replied, mouth watering and you chuckled at him, taking the necessary directions to arrive at the cafe you two frequented together, but stayed well away from when apart. Which was no longer very often.

Once drinks and muffins were set in place in front of you, Steve leaned across, ignoring his delicacies and spoke.

“Okay, something is definitely wrong and it’s starting to scare me.”

You paused, which only confirmed his theory.

“Why would you say that?” you asked, not entirely convincing of your confusion but that was probably because he was completely and embarrassingly right.

“Well let’s see: you haven’t called me Spangles yet. You haven’t needlessly sworn at me yet. You barely spoke to me on the way over here. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual,” he listed them off on his fingers until you had buried your face in your hands, “Oh, and the real giveaway? You’re picking at your muffin like a chipmunk.”

You chuckled despite yourself, rolling your eyes fondly and returning your gaze to his to see his concerned eyes staring back at you, waiting for an explanation.

You sighed.

“I’ve done my job really well,” you say unhappily with the hint of a pout and Steve tilts his head, confused, “You’ve been deemed ‘Adjusted’. You don’t...You don’t need me anymore.”

The final sentence was so alien a concept to you that it came out as almost a whisper, like you didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to believe it. It had been nice to be needed in a different way for a little while. Really nice.

Steve, on the other hand, was taken aback.

“But I’m not adjusted. I know I’m trained up and I’ve been cleared for combat but, but-“ he was getting panicked and you cursed yourself for doing this in a public place, “-but I’ve not adjusted Y/N. You have to ask Fury for more time, I need to adjust more, I haven’t adjusted.”

You placed your hand on his on the table and took a few slow and deliberate breaths until he was matching your breathing. You smiled.

“We’ve come a long way,” you thought back to the day you’d got the assignment, how much you hated it and how much you hated him for it. You’d thought it would take you out of the field, out of the extraordinary and into the mundane. But soon, after just a couple of months, you had learned that life with Steve in tow was anything but mundane.

And fighting back to back with Captain America was pretty damn cool too.

“Not far enough.”

“You do know that I haven’t been your Adjustment Officer for about three months now, right?” you said and Steve furrowed his brow, “I mean I have, on paper, but we’ve not been doing any adjusting. You did that quickly. It’s just been dinner because I wanted to have it with you and cinema visits to show you some of my favourites because I wanted to see what you thought of them. It’s just been friendship, Steve. Pure, unbridled, uncomplicated friendship.”

That was maybe, just maybe, a little white lie. Sometimes you thought your feelings surrounding Steve were quite complicated indeed.

“But if you’re not assigned to me, then when will I see you?” he was such a little puppy, you thought as you looked at his shining eyes. You couldn’t help but be overjoyed by his hurt reaction to this news, however selfish that was.

“Well that was the second thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you wet your lips and noticed for the first time that your hand was still resting on Steve’s but he’d turned his over and was holding yours now, thumb rubbing knuckles and subconsciously calming you, “Well, I know we got off to a rough start-“

“You listen here, sweetheart,” he said, imitating your voice from the day you had met and you laughed at the sound.

“-and I certainly don’t want you,” you countered, imitating him now and the dismissal he had shown you then. It seemed oh so insignificant now after so many shared secrets and careless chatter, the late nights and the early mornings in the training room, the confiding and the bickering. The bickering was never going to go away.

“Touché,” he sounded slightly guilty and you winked at him to prove you were joking in your impression, “Continue.”

“I know we got off to a rough start,” you continued, obligingly, “but now I consider you one of my...no, my closest friend. And we’re a team.”

“A good team,” Steve affirmed, already grinning and you hadn’t even asked him yet. You hadn’t even asked him.

“A good team, yeah. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, we work really well together and I was wondering if…”

A lengthy pause. Too lengthy for Steve.

“If what?!”

His impatience reminded you of something.

“I wondered if you wanted to become partners, you know, for assignments and stuff. It means we’d still see each other and work together and - well I don’t know. I just thought-“

“God, you think too much,” Steve said and you barked out a laugh and wrenched your hand from his hold, giving his palm a lighthearted slap, “Stop thinking. Just do.”

You took those words to your heart and held them close.

“Will you be my partner?”

“Yes,” Steve grinned, then clearly had an idea and stood from the table, rounding it to stand beside you and suddenly his arms were around your waist and you were being wildly twirled and you let out a cry, “Yes, yes, a million times yes!”

You heard the whole cafe burst into a hearty round of applause as he set you down on your feet again and you fell back into your chair.

“Oh no, we’re not...we’re not getting...I-I was just asking…”

Steve looked so smug as he returned to his seat that you wanted to revoke your partnership offer then and there. He was so infuriating in the soft glow of the cafe in the early morning, his hair more golden than ever and his lips upturned ever so slightly in a smirk.

“When do we start, partner?” he wiggles his eyebrows and you audibly groaned.

“I should never have showed you what Youtube was, you’ve been watching cheesy proposal videos again,” you accuse him and he tries not to blush but fails miserably, “You’re such an ass.”

He was still smiling as he sat back in his chair triumphantly, but now it was a genuine smile, bordering on a grin and you cracked and raised an eyebrow in question.

“You swore at me,” he explained simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “My girl’s back.”

And-

Your heart stopped.

Did a somersault. Did a triple toe loop and double salchow before returning to its rightful place in your chest, pounding against your ribs.

If Steve saw the look in your eye then he had made no physical indication that he did, no sudden embarrassment, no worries. He just took a sip of his drink and then got to work on his muffin, only stopping to murmur something muffled with a full mouth about how good it tasted.

You found yourself still semi-frozen. Eyes darting around the room for someone to confirm what you’d just heard and finding no one. Eventually, what felt like hours later but was really just seconds, you forced yourself to defrost, just as Steve once had to, and took a shaky bite of your muffin distract you from some new and altogether unwanted thoughts.

You were Captain America’s girl. That would have made any woman jealous. Made any mother proud. Made any father sleep safe at night.

But you didn’t care so much about that bit.

Being Steve Rogers’ girl? Now that was something you felt like writing home about, in whichever way he had meant it.

And thus, on the 8th March 2012 at approximately a quarter past eight in the morning, you developed a full blown, can’t-stop-thinking-about-you, wanna-rip-your-clothes-off-but-also-wanna-cuddle-you-to-death, spine-tingling, mind-numbing, heart-wrenching crush on Steve Rogers.