Ready Set Breathe (A Steve Rogers Destruction Story)

31 Pancakes

In the morning, Natasha brought Steve breakfast. He wasn’t sure how she got in, but she was knocking on his bedroom door and brought in pancakes on a tray. Steve was lying on top of his sheets, his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling like he had been for several hours. He glanced over at Natasha as she walked in and looked back up. He was grateful that Natasha didn’t mention the red and swolleness of his eyes.

Natasha set the pancakes down on Steve’s bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. She was quiet for a moment and Steve said nothing.

“James said you liked these,” she said, of the breakfast, and Steve let out a slow breath and looked over at Natasha and then at her pancakes. Finally, he nodded.

“Why do you keep making me food,” Steve said quietly, trying to avoid the way he knew his voice would break.

“We’re a little afraid that if we don’t do it, you won’t eat,” Natasha admitted.

“Hmm,” Steve said and almost considered saying more, then stopped.

“Well,” Natasha said, leaning over and nudging him in the ribs. “Come on. Sit up.” Automatically, Steve pulled himself up and sat there. “Now come over here and eat something. You’ll feel a little better, I promise.” Steve pushed himself across the bed to sit next to Natasha and he took the tray from her. In truth, he was famished, but it was a dull hunger because next to the sharp pain in his heart, nothing else really seemed to matter. Steve ate Natasha’s pancakes silently and gratefully. “I think we ought to get you out of the house today,” Natasha said when Steve was nearly finished. He was still hungry, but he was used to pretending that he wasn’t in order to not appear rude. Now, he was just too tired to eat more anyway.

“I, uh, I don’t really want to,” Steve said.

“I think it’ll be good for you,” Natasha encouraged. “Get your mind off of things.”

“I’m going to stay here,” Steve said and set the tray down on his bedside table again and scooted back up on his bed. “I’m not going anywhere.” In truth, he didn’t have the strength right now to fight and if Natasha had pressed, he would have given in, but she didn’t press and Steve found himself staring at the ceiling once again. “Thank you for the breakfast,” he added once the silence became too much.

“Of course,” Natasha said. “It’s the least I can do.” Steve didn’t say anything. Natasha pulled her legs up on Steve’s bed and turned herself around to face him. “What more is there?” She said. “What can I do for you?” Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“I think the least you can do is also the most,” he said.

“I don’t believe that,” Natasha said.

There was a long pause and Natasha brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them and sat there next to Steve until Steve looked over at her again and sat himself up a little. “I am glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “That’s what you can do. Just… I’m glad you’re here.” Natasha looked at him over her knees and her eyes were watering.

“Okay,” she said.

For the next few days, Steve was constantly surrounded by people and friends and all of them tried to convince him to leave the apartment with them except for Bucky. Bucky seemed to understand. He was gentle and quiet and offered a protective and sentinel-like comfort, like he always had, and Steve rarely grew tired of his unassuming companionship.

A few days into this routine, Bucky approached Steve honestly.

“You know what we’re doing here,” he said matter-of-factly. Steve was silent for a moment, his pencil hesitating over another sketch of Peggy, then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said and it was quiet again for a moment except for the scratch of Steve’s pencil on his notepad. He thought he probably ought to stop drawing Peggy and torturing himself, but he could think of nothing but her and the way her eyes gleamed, the way her laugh had brought him so much joy, the way their relationship had fallen into ruin when everything changed. They were sitting on the couch, he and Bucky, in front of the silent TV, and Bucky leaned forward on his knees and looked over into Steve’s face.

“Is it helping?” He asked and Steve hesitated again. He sat up, pulled himself away from his sketchbook, and looked up, blinking hard, then looked back down and his mouth turned upwards sadly as he looked over at Bucky, whose face was concerned. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he said again and Bucky looked down and nodded to himself, then leaned back and patted his metal hand on Steve’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Alright, good,” he said. “I wanted to ask you, though, about something.”

“What is it?” Steve said and sat up a little and turned to him as Bucky took his hand back.

“I want to make sure this is okay with you. I asked Sharon to help us out here a little,” he said and Steve held his breath for a moment as emotions launched themselves at him and he had to process them all.

“You did?” He said and Bucky nodded.

“Not for very long,” Bucky added. “Just here and there, to fill in the cracks if you need her. I know it’s complicated and that’s why I wanted to check with you, see if you’re okay with it.” Bucky looked down and rubbed his hand. “I just want to make sure you have someone to go to in case I’m not here, or you can’t get to me. Just someone to go to.”

“You approached her?” Steve said and Bucky nodded.

“I went right up and knocked on her door,” he said and Steve was somewhat astonished.

“How many times did she threaten to kill you,” Steve said and Bucky made a face and a sound that was almost like scoffing laughter.

“She behaved,” Bucky reported. “For the most part. She’s frustrating, but I take it she’s a little bit warmer towards you. And she said she’d be willing to help, for your sake. Do you want her help?” Steve looked down at the floor and thought. Sharon was mourning Peggy too, and Steve didn’t know if that was something that would potentially tie them together or drive them further apart. He didn’t know what to expect from Sharon. And, of course, there was always the uncomfortable problem that the’d split up and hadn’t talked since and Bucky’s report about how she’d treated him was less than comforting.

But, Steve had to admit, she could be acceptable for small amounts of time, as a back-up, like Bucky had said. He didn’t hate her, or resent her. And yes, it was complicated, but what in Steve’s life wasn’t?

So he wasn’t entirely happy about it, but after a time, finally, Steve accepted and Bucky studied his face and then nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll let her know.”