Work Text:
He told you he’d be back by noon, but evening starts creeping up and there’s been no texts or calls or anything to let you know what’s going on. It isn’t unusual for Steve to be late, but soon evening turns into night and it’s past twelve. You’re lying on the couch, a pillow under your head and clutched in your arms as you try to fight back the exhaustion behind your eyes.
A sitcom rerun provides you with background noise, but it’s not enough to keep you from falling asleep.
Suddenly your phone buzzes on the end table and you’re awake, grabbing it with one hand that’s fallen asleep, prickling and numb. The bright screen blinds you for a few moments before your eyes adjust and a text from Steve greets you.
Emergency came up. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.
With a sigh you send off a quick OK and crawl into bed.
Morning comes and you’re groggy from lack of sleep. You try not to get your hopes up that he’ll be coming home – it’s something you should be used to by now.
You’re understanding, accepting that Steve’s schedule never goes as planned, that he can make promise after promise and always break them. But it’s not like it’s his fault. The Avengers demand a lot from him and without SHIELD a lot of the world’s problems go to him. It stresses him and he tries to hide it, but you can always feel the tension between his shoulders and see the lines in his forehead. You try to offer comfort, but he’s terrified to put his burden on your shoulders.
The day goes by slowly at work and you’re bored out of your mind. You check your phone every five minutes for an update, but nothing comes. You’re even tempted to contact someone, to at the very least make sure he’s alive, but you don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend who worries too much, who can’t handle even a few days away from him. Though you do feel the situation is a little more complex than that.
You eat dinner alone on the couch, watching the local news for some kind of distraction. You still haven’t heard from Steve since last night and it’s really starting to worry you. When he’s on missions or undercover it’s normal to not hear from him for days, even weeks. But when he’s supposed to be coming home? He’s normally texting and calling, updating you on where he is, telling you they landed safely and how long it’d be until he came home. He’s telling you how much he misses you and can’t wait to just hold you, how he can’t wait to wake up next to you again. But this time he’s silent.
By the time eight o’clock rolls around you’re pacing your apartment and upsetting your downstairs neighbor to the point that he comes up and asks if you would just sit the fuck down and you do, grabbing your phone and calling Steve’s number.
He doesn’t answer and you’re not surprised. You hang up before the beep and dial Sam’s next. He doesn’t answer either. You call everyone on the team and no one answers. You’re becoming desperate, your thumb hovering over call under Tony’s number, but you’re stopped when you hear the jostling of keys outside the door. You put down the phone and watch as Steve slowly slides inside, softly closing the door behind him. It’s silent as he sets the keys down on the counter and when he walks into the light you finally understand why it took him so long.
A purple bruise surrounds his right eye and you have a feeling the swelling was worse only a matter of hours ago. Butterfly stitches cover a cut on his cheek and more bruises are wrapped around his neck in the shape of fingers.
You say nothing as you jump off the couch and move to wrap your arms around him, careful not to put pressure where the bruising is the worst. He takes a sharp breath as you hug him and you loosen your grasp, but he pulls you in, his hands going to your back, his fists grabbing at your shirt. He buries his face in your neck and lets out a long breath.
Your fingernails trail across the back of his neck, gently crawling up into his hair. He doesn’t move and you both stand there for god knows how long. Finally he pulls away and groans as he moves. He masks it with a half-smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. His voice is hoarse and it crakes on the word “late.” He clears his throat, but the noise sounds strained and painful.
You shake your head at him and place your palms on his cheeks, keeping your fingers away from the cut.
“You’re an idiot,” you say.
He laughs and it makes him cough.
You insist he needs to lay in bed and rest, but instead he lays on the couch, stubborn as ever. By the time you’ve returned with water he’s fallen asleep and you place the bottle on the end table. His breathing is steady and his face is peaceful, so you leave him, heading to bed yourself.
You wake up first and try to be as quiet as possible as you maneuver around the apartment. Steve moved around in the night, his body turned the other way by the time you check on him, but he’s still as comfortable as a super soldier could be on a couch that’s too small for him.
He finally stirs while you’re making breakfast and you hear him groan as he tries to get up.
“Just stay down,” you tell him.
“I’m fine.” You come over and he reluctantly lets you help him. He starts laughing.
“What’s so funny?” you ask.
“I think I’m starting to feel my age.”
You roll your eyes and bring over a bowl of cereal, setting it next to him while he rubs at his abdomen.
“I’m a little afraid to ask what happened,” you say. Truth is, you’re desperate to know what happened. But you know how much he hates it when you dote on him. You’ve learned from experience that he doesn’t want to be taken care of. You try to keep the tone light, but it’s difficult every time you look at him. The bruising is already fading and the cut is just about healed up, but it would probably be another few days before he went back to normal.
He explains everything the best he can. The team tracked down Crossbones to Paris and stopped his evil scheme, but he got away and he couldn’t be found, so the team was sent back home – except Crossbones had other plans in store and attacked again, leading to a confrontation between him and Steve. It was a brutal fight where Steve was outnumbered until the team found them.
“You should see the other guy,” Steve says as he finishes.
You lean back where you sit on the couch and let out a sigh.
“Doctor said I got a few broken ribs, but that’ll heal.” He turns to you with a small smile. “Perks of regenerative healing.”
You hate when he jokes about these things, but you can see in his eyes how much pain he’s in and decide that you won’t say anything. You take his empty cereal bowl to the sink and leave it there when everything starts catching up to you. Your eyes burn and you grip the edge of the sink hard. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. The mantra doesn’t help and your hand flies over your mouth to hold back the sobs coming up your throat.
“Y/N?” Behind you Steve spots you struggling and he gets up, coming over to you and wrapping his arms around you. “Honey, it’s okay.”
You cry onto his shoulder and you hate it. It’s not that you feel weak or vulnerable, it’s that you should be thrilled he’s home and alive. Instead you’ve bottled up your stress and your worries until the dam finally broke.
You’re being just like Steve. When did that happen?
His hands stroke your back as he waits patiently for you to calm down. You feel him kiss your head, so sweet and soft.
“I’m sorry,” you say as you back up, frowning at the wet spot you left on his shirt.
“Don’t be.” He holds onto your shoulders before lifting your chin so you can meet each others’ eyes. The worry on his face mirrors yours and you almost start laugh.
“When you didn’t show up I thought you died,” you say.
He hugs you again and it feels so good to be in his arms. He’s warm and comforting and you love it more than anything. You finally calm down and pull away.
“I wanna make a promise,” you say.
This surprises him. “A promise?”
“Yeah. Let’s promise not to keep everything locked up.”
The corners of his lips twitch as you hold up a pinky. He wraps his around yours tightly.
“I promise.”
And it’s a promise that he keeps.