The Silence Between Us (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Part Six

           

You sit in your room, lit by the television in front of you. You've sat here for hours, watching the same news footage repeat itself. There are no developments, nothing to report. The Avengers haven't returned and the news crews are scrambling to find anything about what happened at the gala.

A terrorist attack. A senseless tragedy.

You pull your knees closer to your chest. You showered and changed when you got back to the compound, hoping the familiar motions would calm your mind or that there would be an update on the Avengers when you got out of the bathroom. There hadn't been. So you sit on the couch, your eyes glued to the screen. You don't know how long you can stay this way. It's possible that the Avengers won't be back for weeks. That's happened before.

The door opens with a bang.

"You here?" Steve's voice is laced with panic.

You jump off the couch. His body blocks the light coming through the door, leaving only the massive outline of his form, comforting in how big he is. You rush toward him and he meets you halfway to pull you into his crushing embrace. He squeezes just a little too hard, but he's there and he's whole and if you can't breathe, it's proof that he's fine.

He pushes you back from him, leaning to your level so he can peer into your eyes. You okay?" His hands roam over you as if he's double-checking for himself. In the half dark of your suite, you can't make out his expression. "What happened?"

You place your hand over his, holding his palm to your cheek, and shake your head. Honestly... you don't know. Everything is a blur of adrenaline. Your flight down the stairs, the tomb of the lobby, the rush of freedom when you blew away the door... the memories have a dreamlike quality to them, as if it wasn't you experiencing them at all.

[you okay?]

"I'm good," he says. "I'm fine now." He pulls you back into his arms and rests his chin on top of your head.

#

Steve insists on showering.

It's as much to clear his mind as to clean the sweat and grime from his body. They came after his family. They came after you. How could he not have found them? They had been there—right there! They had blown up a building while he was in it and he hadn't been able to track them. He followed a dozen leads only to come away with his hands empty. That left a foul taste in his mouth. Stark is following up. The former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are using their contacts to find anything they can. They will find something. They have to. For now, there's nothing Steve can do.

So he showers. He takes his time under the icy water because he is wired. You were in danger, but you're safe now. His body has some ideas of its own about how he feels about that. He thought the frozen water would calm him down, but standing in your shower, where everything smells like you, it's too easy for him to imagine.

He's done a lot of that lately. Imagining. The shower features prominently in more than one fantasy. As does the bed. And the coffee table. And a few of the walls. The gym is in there too, but he isn't about to try that outside the privacy of his own mind.

Porn has come a long way from the racy magazines that Bucky used to keep under his mattress in 1942. In some ways, Steve's grateful—if slightly horrified—but, most of the time, he's just intimidated. Women are... uh... not his forte. Before Dr. Erksine, no one would give him the time of day. After the serum, there wasn't much of an opportunity. Things with Peggy were swept up in a blur of missions with no time for anything more than stolen glances. When he woke up from the ice, he was Captain America: National Symbol, nothing else.