Remember Me (Steve Rogers Fanfiction)

Chapter 5

STEVE'S POV

Sam finishes his story in a quiet voice. I just sit back, shocked. My world tilts for a moment.

She was pregnant.

"Are you okay?" Sam ventures.

"I don't even know what to say," I say, rubbing my forehead anxiously. "She never told me any of that. She acted like everything was fine. I never even knew she got hurt."

"I always thought she told you." Sam shakes his head. "I never wanted to bring it up. I'm so sorry, man. I should have protected her, it was my fault."

"No, it wasn't. It wasn't anyone's fault." My throat tightens as I remember something America tells me every time something goes wrong. "Sometimes things just happen, and we deal with them."

But why does everything have to happen to her?

We sit there in silence as I try to process it all. We had given up on the idea of kids. Completely. I was disappointed, but what could I say? Life was too unstable, and we didn't think America could even get pregnant. But she was.

"I can't believe I made her go today."

"You didn't know. You just said that yourself."

"But I still did it," I say remorsefully. "I can't believe she didn't tell me about this."

"Don't get mad at her," he says in her defense.

I shake my head quickly. "I'm not mad at anyone but myself right now. I should have been there for her, Sam. I can't imagine how she's feeling about it right now, or how she did back then."

"I haven't talked to her about it since it happened, and I know she didn't tell Natasha anything. We're basically hermits, so we don't really talk to anyone else. That's a year with it kept to herself."

An entire year. America hates secrets more than anyone I've ever known, and she has a right to hate them. I can't imagine how much this one's killing her. "I'm gonna have to talk with her about it."

"Just be calm. You guys love each other, and the two of you are both too busy blaming each other to be mad at the other one."

To my surprise, I chuckle a bit. "True."

The next few days pass slowly. All I want to do is talk to my wife again, kiss her, tell her how sorry I am. Flipping through my sketchbook one night, I find a page that makes me stop in my tracks.

It's a sketch of America, dated back to August of 2011. That would have been a few months after the Battle of New York, when I met her the first time. This, I remember, was the one I drew right before she was captured by Hydra. I wanted to kiss her more than anything. And then when she went missing, I realized it might be too late.

I smile. I miss her long red hair, although it does still look pretty now. She always looks pretty. That was so many years ago. So much has changed.

The sound of the front door breaking open is enough to jolt me from my memories and send me running. It doesn't matter that it's the middle of the night, or that there's still a fight hanging between us. She's here with me, and I'll be damned if I don't keep her there for a while.

"Steve, hi," Natasha says through a yawn. "We did it. Mission accomplished. No one caught us. I'm going to bed. See you in the morning." She leaves without another word.

America glances at me, unsure of exactly what to say. "Where's Sam?"

"Asleep. It's two in the morning." We stand there awkwardly in the entrance for another minute before I break the silence. "I missed you. A lot."

"I missed you, too," she says quietly.

"Here, come on." I put my arm around her and we walk to the bedroom. "You can take a shower.  I'll wait up for you."

"Steve, you don't have to do that."

"I know." She gives me a small smile and slips into the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later. She sits down on her side of the bed. "Mer, I think we need to talk."

"Okay." Her brown eyes, overwhelmed with fatigue, widen as she says this. "I'm listening."

I struggle to find a way to start the conversation. "First of all, I want to say I'm sorry. You didn't want to go on this mission, and I didn't listen to you. That was wrong."

"I understand why you did, though," she says, avoiding my gaze. "It was safest for me to go. Safest for everyone. You and Sam definitely would have gotten into trouble. I'm not mad at you anymore."

"Good." I move around the bed and, crouching down in front of her, I take her hands. "Mer, Sam told me about what happened last year."

Her head shoots up, face full of shock. "What?"

"I wanted to know why you've been down. I was worried about you, babydoll. He told me a few days ago."

Tears swim in her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I should have told you. I just didn't want to put you through that."

"America Rogers, when I married you, I didn't say I was only here for the good times." I tuck a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. "I want everything with you, and that includes the pain and the heartbreak. We're one now. We don't have secrets. We're a team. I can't stop you from crying, but I can cry with you."

"I'm so sorry," she repeats. "I don't want to have secrets either."

"It's okay, I'm not angry," I say comfortingly, rubbing her hand with my thumb. "Doll, I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something. I never knew."

"And I never blamed you. I just didn't know how to tell you that we were going to have a baby and I ruined what should have been the best thing that ever happened to us because I didn't listen to Sam and leave when I should have."

"You didn't ruin anything. If anything, I should have been there to keep you safe."

"You can't always be here. This isn't your fault."

"It's not yours, either."

She leans into me, and we just hold each other for the longest time, not saying anything, thinking everything, the light filtering under the bathroom door as the only illumination in the room.

"Someday," she murmurs, "we could have lots of kids, maybe. And a house, and a yard, and all that conventional stuff."

I stroke her hair absentmindedly, smiling at the thought of being a father. And whether America would believe it or not, as someone who naturally looks out for everyone over herself, I think she'd be an excellent mom. "I think that sounds like a good idea."

"I love you so much, Steve," she mumbles into my chest.

"I love you too." I tilt her chin up and she kisses me softly. When we break apart, she pulls a blanket over us and closes her eyes. I wait until she's asleep, pressed against my chest, safe in my arms, to finally close my own eyes and drift off.

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