Hands Too Cold, but Heart of Gold *Avengers* Daredevil*

10) The secret - pt.2

You were standing in front of the door, staring at it blankly. Once again, you were replaying something in your mind, unable to leave the loop.

Natasha had given you a recording. A recording of her conversation with Steve. An impossible recording.

"When— when did-- this happen?" you had asked her shakily, absolutely stunned and carefully guarding your heart so you wouldn't let the hope in. This can't be real.

"Can't you tell? You were there in the beginning. It was the night you talked to Matt."

"You— how-?"

"Honestly, you are both so pathetically oblivious it hurts. You really need to finally make out. I'm sure it will feel better than with Matt."

You had had no words that could reply to that comment satisfactorily, so you had aimed for a different issue.

"He said that being with a teammate-"

"And you heard what I said back. Just take a fucking shower, brush your teeth and go talk to him, Frosty. And try to keep it quiet," she had mumbled and you had looked at her, honestly clueless.

"Keep it— you think we'll fight?"

"I think you'll fuck, sestra."

You were still blushing when standing in front of Steve's door almost an hour later. You were a nervous wreck, still not quite accepting the possibility of the recording not being fake. Then again, there was this annoying hope sprouting in your heart and you totally blamed the sneaky Russian spy for that.

"Captain Rogers, I would like to inform you that your teammate known as Frostbite, or Snowflake as you like to call her, is standing in front of your door for exactly five minutes now," a well-known British voice announced in Steve's room, loud enough for you to hear it.

Oh, JARVIS, you sly AI.

"Frosty? Wanna come in?" he called out lightly and you released the breath you had been holding and knocked on the door uselessly. Steve humoured you, inviting you in once more.

You hesitantly opened the door, all your mental bravado flying out of the window. Not that there had been much to begin with in the first place, but it had been something.

You peeked into the room, finding Steve cosy on his bed, resting his back against the headboard, his knees bended. He switched to sitting cross-legged when you entered.

"Hey," he greeted you softly, putting his sketchbook aside and you managed a half-hearted smile.

"Hi, Steve. Haven't seen this baby for a while," you noted, beckoning to the notebook. He smiled shyly, closing it.

"Yeah. I thought it needed revisiting so it wouldn't feel neglected. Haven't seen you for a while."

You closed the door, pressing your lips together at the strike. "Fair. I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't want to ignore you. I... I just needed some time for myself."

His baby-blues searched your face with a hint of worry.

"You look tired. Come sit?"

You couldn't help but smile at the care. Yes, of course, Steve cared. Steve loved you even, but... but.

"Thanks."

You approached the bed slowly; seating yourself on the bed felt like sealing a deal, as if there was no way out now. It was time to talk and possibly embarrass yourself for a lifetime. He moved a little closer, coy, but with a goal. He lightly caressed your bare arm, his honest eyes locked with yours. Shit you really could drown in that sea of blue.