Chapter Text
The clinical silence of the office had always felt a little too heavy for Steve. He sat on the edge of the leather chair, his posture as rigid as if he were still in uniform, watching the afternoon sun cut a sharp, golden diagonal across Dr. Raynor’s desk.
Raynor didn’t lead with a soft touch; she didn’t have to. She simply waited, her pen poised over a notebook, her gaze steady and entirely unimpressed by the Shield or the Legend.
"I’m still waiting for the next mission," Steve said finally, his voice low and gravelly. "After the defrost, I told myself that 'home' was just the interim between wars. That I was a man out of time, pretending I could live a life that didn't involve a briefing or a battlefield."
He looked down at his hands, tracing the lines on his palms. "I felt like a ghost. And honestly? I was comfortable being a ghost. It was easier than trying to fit into a world that moved too fast for me to catch my breath."
"And now?" Raynor asked, her voice a sharp contrast to the quiet.
"That changed the moment I met Darcy," Steve said, and the tension in his shoulders finally gave way to something softer. "Home isn't a place or a word. It’s family. Me, Darcy, and Little Jane. I was told that the Super Soldier serum could make me sterile... every little kick against my palm is a blessing. It’s a new reality that I almost lost."
The mention of his unborn daughter brought a ghost of a smile to his face, but it was quickly chased away by a shadow of guilt. "It feels like a betrayal. Every time I’m happy—truly happy—I feel like a traitor to the people I left behind. Like if I fully embrace this life, I’m turning my back on the era that made me."
He reached into his pocket, his thumb tracing the worn edge of his old brass compass. He didn't open it; he didn't need to see the picture inside to know it was there.
"I keep this," he confessed, "not because I want to go back. I don't. But I’m terrified that if I let it go, I’ll lose the last thread of who I was before the ice. If I stop grieving, what’s left of the man from 1945?"
Raynor leaned forward, her expression shifting from clinical to sharp.
"Steve, you’re looking at grief like it’s a monument you have to guard," she challenged. "But you need to ask yourself: Is staying stuck in that grief actually honoring the people you lost? Or is it just making you a ghost in your daughter’s life before she’s even born?"
When the session was over, Steve waited until he was inside his black SUV to finally take a deep breath. The transition from the sterile truth of Raynor’s office to the vibrant, chaotic reality of his life with Darcy felt like a physical weight shifting in his chest.
He took out his phone and dialed her number, relieved when she picked up.
“What are you doing right now, Darce?” Steve asked, his voice betraying the heaviness of the hour.
“I'm lying on my couch, looking at the plans for my department's latest project,” Darcy replied. He could hear the rustle of papers and the familiar cadence of her voice. “I like the people I work with, but sometimes I feel like a babysitter who's not getting paid.” She paused, her tone softening instantly. “Bad session?”
“I have something I have to do first, so see you in an hour?” Steve asked hopefully.
“I'll have Jarvis open the door for you,” she replied, her voice warm before the line went dead.
Exactly one hour later, the smell of coffee and expensive lavender candles hit him—the signature scent of Darcy Lewis.
Darcy was draped across the sofa, surrounded by a sea of her favorite coffee mug, her laptop, notebooks, and a Stark Industries tablet. She didn't look up immediately, but she instinctively shifted her legs to make room for him.
“The new Keurig machine was a welcome home present sitting in the corner of the kitchen counter,” she said with a knowing smile, finally glancing up. “Conveniently with all my favorite flavors. It was begging me to save it from collecting dust. I had no choice, and I'm allowed to have one cup of coffee. Don't tell Jane. She'll go Momma Bear on me.”
“I think she'll go through me first,” Steve replied, handing her a box from their favorite bakery.
“You went out of your way just to buy me a pie?” Darcy asked, her eyes tearing up. Steve immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “You didn't have to.”
“I wanted to,” Steve replied, kissing the top of her head. “Honestly, sweetheart, I could use some pie myself.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Darcy smiled. “Get the fork and napkins. Pie therapy is the best!”
By the time Steve returned from the kitchen, the couch was cleared. Everything she had been working on was stacked neatly on the coffee table. She patted the cushion beside her, and Steve handed her the fork. He settled in, his right arm wrapping around her as she snuggled into his side.
“You get the first bite,” she said, bringing the fork to his lips. “You sounded like you had a rough second session. Raynor didn't break you, did she? Because if she did, I have several strongly worded emails drafted.”
Steve laughed, the sound genuine and bright. “I don't doubt it, sweetheart.”
He sat there, the old brass compass still heavy in his pocket. He looked at her—really looked at her—and then at the slight curve of her stomach where "Little Jane" was currently busy with a series of kicks.
"She asked me a question," Steve said softly. He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he rested it over her belly. "About whether I was honoring the past, or just staying a ghost."
Darcy went still, placing the pie box on the table. She didn't speak; she simply placed her hand over his, pressing it more firmly against her.
"I'm not a ghost, Darcy," he whispered, more to himself than her.
"No, you're definitely solid, Wonder Boy," she teased, though her eyes were glistening. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her glasses sliding slightly down her nose. "The past is a hell of a roommate, Steve. But Little Jane? She’s a feisty one. She’s going to scream at 3 a.m. and spit up on your favorite vintage flannels. You can't be a ghost for that. You have to be here. All of you."
“That’s the only badge of honor I'll proudly wear,” he said, reluctantly removing his hand from hers and pulling the compass from his pocket. He stared at it for a moment, but for the first time, it didn't feel like his only anchor. He handed it to her.
Darcy held the relic in both hands, looking at it in amazement. “I've only seen this in old newsreels. But seeing it up close… do you mind if I…?”
“Go ahead,” Steve replied.
Darcy gently opened it, smiling at the laminated picture of Peggy Carter. “Did you know that Grandma Maxine wanted to lock you and Peggy in a windowless room? She said whenever the two of you crossed paths, the sexual tension was obvious—well, to everyone but you two. There was even a bet going around. In today's language, you would be referred to as ‘idiots in love.’”
She looked from the photo back to Steve. “Your Best Girl still looks beautiful after seventy-five years. You have a lot of explaining to do, Steve Rogers, when you meet Peggy again. Didn't anyone ever tell you it's bad luck to leave a lady waiting? Especially one that can kick your ass, no matter how strong you are.”
“It's the lesson I'm learning now,” Steve replied. “It's hard, but I'm up to the challenge. I won't fail.” He took a breath, the honesty flowing easier now. “I should've started therapy when I was defrosted. But I was too busy fighting with a smart, sassy, beautiful lady with the looks of a 1940s pin-up girl, who called me a stubborn asshole for refusing her help navigating the modern world.”
Darcy smirked, but Steve grew serious again. “Raynor is helping by acknowledging things I keep deep down. Things I haven't told you—or realized myself—until now. I've been living in two very different worlds. One foot in the present, the other in the past. This compass was the tether to both. I didn't even know I was still grieving for the life I lost until she mentioned it.”
He looked at Darcy, his gaze steady. “I want you to keep the compass. I’m here, Darcy. I’m right here. I’m severing the tether and taking a wise old woman's advice. It’s time to live my life. No regrets. Peggy would be happy knowing I found my Best Girl in this lifetime... or in this case,” he smiled, placing his hand back on her belly, “my Best Girls.”
“Now, about that nickname, Wonder Boy,” Steve said, lightening the mood. “I get the reference, but—”
“What? You don't like it?” Darcy interrupted. “I can always go back to calling you a stubborn asshole instead.”
“Maxine told me something about you, too,” Steve countered. “That you asked if something was wrong with the women in 1945…”
“Oh no,” Darcy muttered, looking away as a blush crept up her neck. Steve cupped her cheek, gently forcing her to meet his eyes.
“How you ripped out a page of your high school history book and framed it. A picture of some 95-pound punk from Brooklyn. Is he still your first crush? Do you still have it?”
“Definitely yes, and yes,” Darcy replied, her bravado returning. “Now, you are going to shut up and kiss me. Then, pie and a movie.”
The shift from heavy realization to lighthearted teasing felt natural, a rhythm they had perfected during their relationship. He had hoped more like prayed that they would reach this moment. Mutual ground turning solid foundation. Steve leaned in, his hand still cupping her cheek, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw.
The kiss wasn't like the desperate, cinematic ones from the rom-com movies that Darcy forced him to watch, and he secretly liked. It was slow and anchored—the kind of kiss that belonged to a man who was no longer a ghost. When his lips met hers, they tasted faintly of the lavender from the candles and the lingering sweetness of the coffee she’d been sipping. It was a grounding heat, a silent promise that he was staying right here, in the present, with her.
Darcy reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him just a fraction closer as she sighed against his mouth. It was a soft, steadying moment that made the clinical quiet of Raynor’s office feel a lifetime away.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against hers.
"I still have it, you know," Darcy whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "The picture. I used a glitter pen to circle your face in tenth grade.” Making Steve raise an eyebrow amused.
“Yes,” Darcy admitted “I went through a girly girl phase. It’s tucked away in the memorabilia room at Grandma's Maxine's estate. You were a cute scrawny little thing, but you had the same 'don't-mess-with-me' eyes."
Steve chuckled, the vibration chest-to-chest. "I remember those eyes. Usually because I was looking up at someone twice my size right before they threw a punch."
He thought back to those first few weeks after the ice—the sensory overload of Times Square, the way the air felt too thin, and the crushing weight of a world that had moved on without him. He remembered the first time he’d met Darcy; she hadn't looked at him like a monument or a tragedy. He realized Darcy was the only one who saw Steve Rogers. How amazed he was when she called all the Shield agents assholes, underestimating his abilities to adapt by furnishing his first temporary apartment with 1990s yard sale items. Then she took him shopping to customize his apartment the way he wanted it. Never commenting or complaining about his style or taste, unless he asked for her opinion.
"I was so lost back then," Steve admitted, his voice barely a murmur. "I used to walk the streets at night just looking for buildings I recognized. Everything was chrome and glass. I felt like I was walking through a movie set I didn't have a script for."
"And then you met me," Darcy teased, though she squeezed his hand. "And I gave you the script. It mostly involved learning how to use Netflix and my list of useful and useless things to navigate the modern world."
"You gave me more than that, Sweetheart," He said, looking down at the compass in her hands, then back to her bright, sharp eyes. "You gave me a reason to stop looking for the buildings that were gone and start looking at the one we're building together. I was told that the Super Soldier serum could make me sterile.”
Darcy smiled, the kind of smile that reached her eyes and stayed there. "Well, this 'building' currently requires cherry pie.” Placing the compass on the coffee table as a treasured center piece. “And I think Little Jane agrees."
As if on cue, a distinct thump against Steve’s palm made them both jump slightly.
"See?" Darcy laughed, reaching for the fork. "She's a critic. Now, put on the movie. I want something with zero explosions and at least one upbeat montage."