The Greatest of Them All (Book 3)

Part 4: The Light

AN: Light by Sleeping at Last is featured. EnJoy!

Five Months Later

"And after I told them my favorite color was purple, Wanda—your Aunt Wanda—said hers was red," I say, telling the peanut—which is more of a banana or avocado (according to the internet) at this point—the story of when I met the twins. "But not a dark red like an apple. It was scarlet—which is more of a pinkish red. So then, I asked your father what his favorite color was and would you guess it? It was purple. . .just like me."

I rub my stomach that only continues to expand so much I learned how balance a cup on it at this point. I'm also unable to fit most of my clothes so I'm lounging in another one of his sweaters, one that's dark green and a pair of sweats—because it's what's comfortable. "But turns out that your father lied because it's blue. Cerulean, to be exact. It's a shade of blue—one bright and soft at the same time. That doesn't mean that your's father a liar, though. He just had a crush on me since we were kids so he wanted to like the same things that I did."

I chuckle to myself, leaning against the bench as I stare out at the lake near the compound. "You'll know more about all that one day when you experience it for yourself."

I close my eyes, listening to the flow of the water and the gusts of wind and watch as the moment plays out in my head like it was yesterday. I can picture Wanda's scarlet scarf, her long wavy hair. The way his dark curls covered his forehead and how he'll let them grow out until they covered his eyes. The way Wanda laughed so loud that everyone felt her happiness. The way he smiled with his whole face that his dimples were on display every time. How loud they could argue with each other and anyone else. How strongly they protected each other. How they loved each other with their whole hearts. How much they loved me. . .

"Tea?" Steve asks me from behind.

I open my eyes and turn to watch him place down a tray carrying a porcelain teapot and mugs on the picnic table. "What kind?"

"Chamomile," he says, pouring each of us a cup.

"Wait, you actually made tea?"

"Yeah, I remember reading drinking tea helps with stress and sleep," he replies, unwavering. He must have thought I'm giving him some sort of look because he continues, "You mentioned earlier how much pain you were in and that you didn't get much sleep."

There have been these shooting pains from my lower waist that have been making me lose sleep over the last couple of days. When I'm not spending my time reading or drawing or learning how to play the violin (since I have so much free time) I spend it on struggling to find a single position to relax when I'm sitting or lying down. I just forgot complaining about it to him, though. I mean, I spend a lot of time complaining about all the other perks of pregnancy.

"Thank you," I say, taking the warm mug he hands me. Then I watch as he sits beside me and he takes a sip from his own mug, gazing out at the lake as it sparkles under the sunlight. It's why it's my favorite spot to come out here and tell the banana a story. I blow on the tea, trying to hold in a chuckle at this random thought I get, but fail miserably.

"What now?" he asks, his eyes still on the water.

"Captain America drinking tea, wish we could put this in the textbooks."