rodrikstark's headcanons (part 2)

s. rogers + making up after a fight

last night:

i can't do everything, steve.

i'm not asking you to do everything.

you smile politely at the woman at the front desk. "captain rogers is in room six," she says.

"thank you."

your arms cross tight over your waist when you turn into the hospital hallway and find half a dozen of steve's coworkers milling around his room, their conversations rapid and hushed.

it's hard. when you forget, and all this stuff falls on me.

and my job is gonna fall on me. me, alone, always.

you peer through the glass window into steve's room. he is alive and well, as promised by phone call you got half an hour ago. as he discusses something with sam, their deep voices cut through, yet you can't make out the words they're saying.

so, jesus christ, baby, i need you to be my backup once in a while, and if you can't do that—

then steve's phone rang and he had to go.

your leg, bouncing frantically, launches you upward as soon as sam exits the room. he smiles at you. "hey, how are you doing?"

"i'm alright. you?" you scan him quickly. no visible injuries.

"not too bad." sam jerks his head toward steve's room. "he took the worst of it."

then you step inside, but not by much. the heavy door does a remarkable job of shutting out the bustle in the hallway.

"hi," you offer, your throat sounding strangled. "are you okay?"

"yeah." although steve's smile is small, it's enough to reveal the slight swelling in his face, making you wince.

"thank god, i was worried."

the silence between you stretches and twists.

you shouldn't have come.

"baby," he whispers, "why are you so far away?"

you're actually already sick of it, standing so distantly from him. you want to kiss his bruised face, make the pain go away, even if you're going to get hurt when this is all over.

your hand drops from the doorknob, and you find some bite-sized piece of bravery to push you forward. "we were fighting."

steve sits straighter, his jaw working. "are we still fighting?" a genuine question.

"i thought so."

as you approach the side of steve's bed, you want to crumble the second his big hand touches your waist, fond as ever.

"steve—"

"let's forget about it."

"what if i'm not enough?"

you want to support him, in everything he does, but you don't know how to be captain america's backup.

"that's funny." he tugs and tugs at your sweater, an invitation to be by his side, and eventually your body gives in. your cheek connects with the scratchy hospital gown material covering his chest. "i was just thinking the same thing," he murmurs.

your eyes shut. "are we breaking up?"

a pause that only lasts a second, then steve pokes at your waist, repeatedly, until you're whining at him to stop, and all your fear that had snowballed in the last twenty-four hours evaporates at the sound of his laughter. "we are not breaking up."

you bury your face in his warm neck.

"but we can't do this alone," steve murmurs, letting his unbruised cheek rest on your forehead. "tony has FRIDAY monitoring his finances all the time. we should ask him for help, figure our shit out."

you nod. "i guess this whole, you and me against the world thing isn't really working for us."

"we put up a good fight." he sighs, his hand tracing along your spine. "i'm sorry, baby."

"i'm sorry too." you swing a leg around him, squeezing tight. "will you come home tonight, or do you have to stay here?"

he reassures you with a smile: "home."