The Silence Between Us (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Part Four

           

Steve has gone on dozens of missions since you've met him. Dozens. You've always gotten along fine in his absence. But he's never kissed you right before he left and that makes concentrating over the next week almost impossible.

It's not like the kiss was earth-shattering. Really, if you're honest with yourself, it was more awkward than anything—kind of rushed and desperate. You hadn't even had time to respond because you were too surprised that it had happened at all.

It really had happened, right? You're not imagining it? Because there had been zero build up to that point. He barely touched you unless you were a panicked mess. Sure, you had talked plenty, late night chats over games and coffee when you had a nightmare or he came back from missions too jazzed to sleep. Had he ever hinted at wanting it to be more?

You're mindlessly organizing first aid supplies, trying to decide whether Steve really is clueless about what 'Netflix and chill' means, when Banner calls you back from your distraction. His voice registers, but not his words.

You shake yourself and emerge from the daze you've floated in ever since Steve left. [what?]

No one is as good at looking worried as Bruce. His whole face gets involved, scrunching up as if that will help him discern what's wrong. "Are you feeling okay?"

'Okay'? No, you do not feel okay. You're second-guessing every conversation you've ever had with Steve, reliving every lingering touch. You had to take a cold shower this morning because you remembered the way the sweat made his shirt cling to his chest when you saw him after he finished training. You don't gossip, but you are at a loss. Next to Steve, Bruce is the person you are closest to at the compound. He's kind and thoughtful and, most importantly, discrete. Maybe he has some insight.

[S-T-E-V-E kiss me]

Bruce laughs. He fucking laughs. For a second, you want to throw a book at him.  So much for kind and thoughtful.

[you know?]

"I figured it was a matter of time." He shrugs. "Good for him. How was it?"

Clumsy, but you're not about to tell Bruce that. You scowl at him. [why you know?]

His smile is sheepish. "I think everyone knew that he liked you. Actually, when did you kiss? If it was recently, Nat won the pool."

You actually do throw a book at him this time. [you not tell me]

"It wasn't my secret to tell."

The blaring of an alarm interrupts you—emergency call to the medical bay. You give Bruce a panicked look and you both rush out of the room.

The medical team is fully equipped, but sometimes they just need more hands. You pitch in where you can. Dr. Cho is talking as you enter, her voice even and precise. The Avengers are on their way back—multiple injuries, some of them serious—GSWs, burns, cuts—the kinds of wounds that leave scars, even on superheroes. It's an all hands on deck situation.

She doesn't give details on who is hurt. The thought that Steve might be the one coming in with a gunshot wound makes your heart stutter. He is not allowed to die, not without giving you a satisfactory follow-up to that kiss.

You're helping prep the medical area when the first of the injuries come in. Sharon is as composed as someone with a bullet in her leg can hope to be. Her blond hair is dyed with red, her face contorted in pain. The medics apply pressure to her thigh, which soaks blood through her uniform. You follow the doctor that goes with her.

Medicine is one of those blessed things that requires all of your attention. You keep up with the doctor's movements, anticipating what they want before they ask. You know when to apply pressure, when to adjust the light, when to get the hell out of the way. And it's clear that it's going to work—Sharon is going to be okay.