Work Text:
Sam Wilson was used to making room.
When he was five, he made room for his little sister. He had anticipated a brother, because he was full of himself and wanted to play with someone just like him. He moved everything on his shelves to one side and even tried to convince his dad to put the crib in his room (but dad, I promise to pick up all of our toys, not just mine!) When she finally came, Sam wasn’t too disappointed about her being a girl because she looked like his baby pictures did, and that was close enough. So he still put her stuff on his shelves (but he’d kind of fallen off with his promise to pick up her toys; he occasionally forgot about his own.)
When he was sixteen, he made room for little cousin Ricky. Dad was that one uncle everyone threatened to send their kid to when they gave their parents trouble. Aunt Mary was the only one who ever made good on that threat; she wanted Ricky out of Compton. So Sam helped set up the twin bed and tried to help his little cousin find himself. He was convinced it didn’t work, until Ricky went back home. (“Sam, he’s different. He wants to be a teacher, wants a future. And he talks about you a lot. I owe you, nephew”). He didn’t mind that he had to share his space so much after that.
When he was twenty-two, he made room for Riley Owens. This…insane white boy who basically got bunked with Sam because no one else wanted to put up with him (What makes you think I want to?) but his Sargent wasn’t asking. Sam resisted him, because Riley ran his mouth too much and got into too much trouble in the barracks. He loved Sam though; thought he was funny as hell and was convinced that they were best friends. After a while, he finally convinced Sam of that, too.
Sam was used to making room, and when he couldn’t anymore, after Riley died, he thought he’d never have enough room for anything, ever again. And years after, when he’d finally been picked up and dusted off, after he became best friends with Captain America and went back into the same world that broke him, he thought that maybe there wasn’t any room left. Maybe he was done making room. Maybe this was it.
And then he met Nicole Ford.
He saw her on the train, once. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, but she was wearing headphones and he really didn’t want to be that guy but man, she had the cutest nose he’d ever seen. The second time he saw her, they were both in the grocery store at 2am, before closing. He had liquor and chocolate bars. She had cupcakes and coconut oil. “Don’t I know you from somewhere” turned into old school telephone calls for hours and coffee dates (she drank tea every time. It was confusing as hell; it’s called a coffee date.) He told her he worked for the government; he didn’t think many people knew The Falcon (the way they knew the Cap, at least). But apparently, he was famous, because he came to pick Nicole up from work and her whole class came out behind her because Ms. Ford knows The Falcon. After three months, he and Steve were on a mission and, instead of, you know, giving some orders, he told Sam in the most disbelieving voice he could muster, “you’re still not her boyfriend? I’m 95 and I move faster than that”
+
But he was still messed up and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin a good thing by dragging Nicole into it. One night, he said as much. He’d thought about it for almost a week nonstop, and came to the conclusion that if he cared about her he’d let her go and not even burden her with it. So he asked if he could come over one night, and brought brownies, pepperoni pizza and a copy of Friday. Deebo and Craig were fighting and he was about to get knocked out; maybe it was the building momentum to the conquest that made Sam feel like he was running out of time to say it, “Nicole?”
She was still caught up in the movie, and turned her head before she turned her eyes, “yeah?” His face must have been telling of his distress, because she paused the movie, “what is it?”
He breathed out, turning to her so that they were mirroring one another; she had a legging clad leg tucked under her in a college t-shirt with her hair pulled into a puff atop her head. He was already regretting this, but there was no turning back, “I think we should talk…”
Her brow arched and she turned the TV all the way off, “what’s going on?”
“I like you”, he started, and they both let themselves smile for a minute because, no, that wasn’t it, but it was nice to get it out in the open. They’d spent so much time together for the past few months and neither had really addressed the elephant in the room. That’s why it made it that much harder, because Sam was about to put it down. “I like you…so much. You make me feel so good” he smiles, bringing his eyes up to hers and trying to not think about how glossy hers have gotten, “you make me feel like I’m okay. Like I’m good. Thing is…I’m not—I come with a whole lot of baggage, and I don’t wanna make you carry it.”
She’s suddenly in his space, knees on either side of his legs and hands on his cheeks, lifting his eyes up to hers. For a minute, they just look at one another. He feels like he’s breaking, and usually that means free falling in pieces with no idea where he’s going to land. But her eyes tell him everything. He can look in her eyes and see everything he couldn’t; she made room for him. “Shut up”, she says, her smile shaking, “shut up. We’ve all got baggage. It’s a part of living. You have never made me do anything. And if I had to carry anyone”, she pressed their foreheads together and Sam wishes he could help the whimper that escapes his mouth but it's free, like he's feeling right now, “I’d choose you every time.”
“I sure know how to end a date, don’t I?”, he talks around the tears and they laugh until he’s breathing regularly and then she’s kissing him. And that room that Sam was so sure he didn’t have any more is suddenly filled up with Nicole.