Living as a wanted criminal is no easy task, but if America Rogers knows one thing, it's how to run. She, Steve, Sam, and Nat begin new lives as vigilantes, traveling all around the world but never settling for long.
Even though they're evading the...
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AMERICA'S POV
"Steve, I'm home!" I call, pushing the front door open before I get even more wet, which would be hard to do. I forgot an umbrella, slipped in a puddle because I was running too fast, and it's been pouring all day. "I got the paint."
He glances up from where he's been sketching at the kitchen table. "What color?"
"Light blue," I answer, bending down to give him a kiss on the cheek. "It's Addi's favorite color. I checked."
"Good choice. We've got a week to pull the spare bedroom together. You just about ready to get to work?"
"Yeah, I'm just going to get some lunch first."
"I'll get started, then. See in a bit." He winks and grabs the paint before walking down the hall. I look down at his drawing and smile when I see it's based on one of our wedding pictures.
After successfully cooking myself an omelet (yes, I can cook now, but that's the only thing I'm allowed to cook without Steve's express permission in writing), I sit down on the couch to enjoy the one thing I know how to make. Unfortunately, lunch turns into accidentally falling asleep on the couch for a few hours. When I open my eyes, I find a thick blanket draped over me. Instead of getting up, I bury myself further under the quilt and sigh. It's nice to lay down on a rainy day.
I haven't been sleeping well recently and Steve won't stop worrying about me. It was nice at first, but it's getting a bit annoying. Seriously annoying. Super annoying. He keeps bothering me about going to the doctor but I've never fully shaken my fear about hospitals. I'd prefer to stay away from them.
"You feeling any better?" Steve's forehead creases between his eyebrows. My poor husband is sitting on the floor, leaning on my couch, and completely covered in paperwork. Probably adoption forms. He looks completely frazzled.
I run my fingers through his hair and he leans back into me. "You should take a break."
"No, I'm almost done," he insists. "And you didn't answer me, sweetheart."
"You have paint in your hair," I say, giggling when I find flecks of blue in his blond hair. "Steve, I'm sure you've been working all afternoon."
"You still didn't answer my question. Are you feeling any better?"
"I'd feel better if you were on the couch with me." I kiss him on the neck and playfully flap the quilt. "Come on. There's space under my blanket! It'll be cozy!"
Steve sighs in defeat. I scoot over to make room on the couch while he stacks the papers. He wraps his arms around me and I snuggle closer to him, laying my head on his chest.
"Feel better?"
"A bit." I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, steady as ever, trying to ignore the fact that he smells like paint and it kind of makes me want to throw up.
