Archive of Our Own ^beta

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here.

Well, he thinks then, that’s not completely true. He was there when the call was made, overhearing Fury as he asked the person on the other end of the line for a favor. There was some gentle persuasion needed and he thinks he heard Nick say something about a promise made a long time ago, but by then the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director had already walked into an empty conference room nearby and only clipped whispers of the conversation made their way to where he was waiting for a decision to be made. 

The call ended soon after and the only thing he was told was that a car would come to pick him up the next morning at 5 AM and not to be late. He just nodded, which, he is sure, surprised not only him, but also Fury, because he was never really the type to agree to something that easily. He remembers being so, so tired, not just because of the events that got him here, but because of everything leading up to that and he thinks that must have had something to do with his compliance at the time. 

Nick took him to an apartment somewhere downtown for the night, telling him to leave the key in the mailbox the next morning and to stay inside, reminding him there were people who’d rather see him locked up somewhere. The apartment was more a studio, a single bed hidden behind a room divider in the far corner, a small kitchen to his left and a dining table with two chairs to his right. 

He wasn’t really hungry but could do with some sleep and so he laid down on the bed, a piece of paper on the wall next to him catching his eye, the handwriting on it rushed as though it was a warning and it almost seemed like the first part of it was missing from the way the paper was torn. 

...when a good man goes to war.

He read the sentence over and over again, until he felt his eyes getting heavy, and then he drifted off, a restless slumber that only left him feeling more exhausted by the time his alarm went off.

The car took him to JFK Airport where he boarded a commercial flight to Toronto, and he wondered why he couldn’t have just taken the Quinjet until he realized this was, of course, the safer option. No need to compromise the location of the safe house by showing up in a stealth aircraft just because it would be easier. His disguise that day was a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap and a pair of glasses and even though there was a little boy eyeing him curiously all throughout the flight, he still doesn’t think the kid recognized him.  

A smaller plane waited for him at Pearson International Airport, flying him to Thunder Bay in just under two hours. By then it was past noon and the lack of sleep from the night before started to catch up with him as he wondered how much longer he would have to travel to reach his final destination. There was someone waiting for him at the gate, leading him straight down the stairs and onto the tarmac, where he had to grab his duffel bag from a baggage trolley before following the man to one of the hangars on the far end of the airfield. By then it was raining, the gentle breeze from earlier turning into stronger gusts of wind, and he could see the dark promise of a storm starting to form somewhere on the northern horizon. 

Somehow he knew the aircraft in the hangar was a Piper Turbo Arrow, with a range of almost seven hundred nautical miles, and so he tried, rather unsuccessfully, to calculate where that could possibly have him end up, but he was too tired to come up with a coherent answer. The man from earlier, who turned out to be the pilot, took his bag from him then and placed it in the hold, informing him that they had a ten-minute takeoff window or else they would have to wait for the storm to pass, and asked him if he was good to go. 

They were in the sky minutes later and with the stormfront slightly more to his right, he figured they were flying northwest even though that still didn’t really tell him where they were headed. He must have dozed off at some point, because it felt like only minutes later when the pilot informed him he was preparing for landing even though they had been in the air for almost two hours. As soon as they left cruising altitude they hit a bout of turbulence, the small aircraft shaking violently and the pilot joking that the storm had finally caught up with them. But they made it to the ground safely, the heavy rain hammering down on them once they exited the plane.

He thanked the pilot, grabbed his bag, made sure the phone, of which he had given the number to Tony and Tony only, was still in the pocket of his jacket, and walked over to the main building which, by the looks of it served as both the arrival and departure hall. It was empty except for what he assumed to be a janitor mopping the floors. He sat down on one of the chairs, wondering if there was another flight he would have to take and if it maybe was delayed because of the bad weather. Leaning back in his seat he stretched out his legs in front of him, closing his eyes just for a second.

There was some commotion then, as the double doors opened and a young woman stepped inside, the rainboots she was wearing making a squeaky sound on the tiled floor. She was wearing a long, yellow raincoat, and he thought she brightened up the place instantly. She pulled her hood off and apologized to the janitor for wetting the floor before she made her way over to where he was seated, rambling on about a tree on the road that made her late. She told him she was sorry, that she should have called, but that she didn’t have his number and so that she just tried to get here as soon as possible. He felt some of his weariness disappear from the way she seemed to radiate energy and so he got up instantly and took her outstretched hand, introducing himself as Steve Rogers.

She replied she already knew that, then laughed, almost like she was a little embarrassed, and told him her name with a smile, her hand warm in his. He grabbed his bag and followed her back outside, where an idling SUV, similar to the one Nick Fury used to drive, was waiting for them. He wondered if it was decked out the same way Fury’s was and if so, if she knew how to operate it. He threw his bag in the trunk and sat down on the passenger’s seat, a smile passing over his face when he saw the interior was nothing like Fury’s car, what with an air freshener popped into one of the vents and a tiny stuffed monkey hanging from the rear view mirror. 

She put the car into drive and smiled up at him, and somehow he remembers a drop of rain sliding down her face when she told him it would take just under an hour for them to get home. He nodded and leaned back in his seat, enjoying the warmth inside the car and the music she had playing over the radio. A couple of minutes into the drive he caught sight of himself in the window, surprised to see the beginnings of a beard already starting to form. And even though up until now he had always been clean shaven, he decided right then and there he would keep it until, well, things were at least slightly back to normal. 

Once they turned off the main road she let him know they were almost there, then, after a few minutes, pointing out the fallen tree that had made her late earlier. She muttered something about having to go back tomorrow to with a chainsaw to clear the road and he wondered just how isolated her place was. As it turned out, very. 

Her log cabin was located at the very end of the road, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the last house he saw was miles away, just on the outskirts of town, and they had passed it almost thirty minutes ago. It was the perfect location for a safe house and when he told her so she agreed, even though she did admit it could get a bit lonely in the winter, when the roads would be covered in snow and it could take the snow plough weeks to reach her cabin. She was quick to assure him she liked it that way though, and that she always made sure to stock up well before winter arrived. She promised to show him the greenhouse she used to grow her own vegetables later, but that now what they needed was a some coffee and something to eat. 

His stomach growled in response and so he got out of the car, admiring the two story building in front of him. It seemed fairly old, but structurally sound, and he wondered how long it had been hers. It was almost surrounded by tall green pine trees, but behind it he could see a shallow embankment that led to a lake. She motioned for him to follow her inside, out of the rain, the overhanging roof on the back porch already offering some relief. She opened the door and stepped inside, kicking off her rain boots before she lined them up on a shoe rack. Her raincoat followed suit, as she explained that the floor here had heating and so all their wet garments should be dry in no time. She didn’t wait for him, instead made her way to the coffee machine on the counter and switched it on before she walked into the living room, where she muttered something about adding some more wood to the fire. 

He took it all in from where he stood, the kitchen to his left, stairs leading up to the second story right in front of him and the living room behind that. He could hear her somewhere in there, the crackling of the fire getting louder as she fed it more wood. He followed her example and untied his shoes before he put them next to hers, his jacket on one of the hooks of the coat rack, the warmth of the floor heating very pleasant. 

She told him to sit down, make himself comfortable while she would make him something to eat and he watched her from the couch that was in the far corner of the room, next to the fireplace on one side and some double doors that led to the front porch on the other. The room’s decor simple yet cosy, with candles on every available surface and rows and rows of books in the bookcase across from him. She handed him a cup of coffee then and told him to be careful because it was hot. Another trip to the kitchen brought him a plate with two sandwiches, made with what seemed like homemade bread, and a slice of something sweet for her. 

The coffee warmed him up even more and the first bite of the sandwich made him realize just how hungry he was. She let him eat in silence, focused on her coffee and he appreciated the gesture more than he could ever explain.

And so even though he’s still not quite sure how he ended up here, in this cabin somewhere in Canada, he sure is glad he did.

=X=X=

He sleeps for most of the first couple of days he’s there, as if his body and mind finally allow him to catch up on all those hours of sleep he’s missed over the years. When he is awake he always find a fresh glass of water and a plate of sandwiches on his bedside table, which he is grateful for because he is still so tired, but also quite hungry. As he eats, he listens for her from his bedroom, more often than not hearing her quietly humming along to whatever song is playing on the sound system while she busies herself downstairs. 

It is on day five that he finally wakes up feeling well rested, but then he sees himself in the mirror in the bathroom they share, and he has to do a double take because his beard has taken over half his face and he almost doesn’t recognize himself. Still, he keeps it, only trimming the edges. The shower is nice and hot and he comes out of it feeling ten times better. He puts on a dark blue pair of jeans and pairs it with a flannel button down shirt that seems appropriate in this setting.

He finds her in the kitchen, kneading some dough that he hopes will get turned into more of that fabulous homemade bread. “Hey,”

“Well, hello Sleeping Beauty,” she says from over her shoulder, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she smiles.

“Yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest at the base of his neck, “sorry about that.”

She tuts, shaking her head, “Please. After what you’ve been through I didn’t expect you back in the land of the living for at least another day or two.” 

“So you know then?”

“It was in the file Nick sent over after he made the call,” she replies almost apologetically. Then, as though she wants to change the subject, “There’s fresh coffee in the pot.”

“You’re the best,” he says with a grin, realizing he actually means it. He wraps both his hands around the mug after he’s poured the coffee, leaning against the counter to her right, watching her as she kneads, and kneads, and kneads. She makes it looks effortless, but he’s sure he’d be able to mess it up if he ever gave it a try. His eyes travel across the kitchen and the living room and he finds more and more evidence of ultra modern technology he hadn’t seen when he first got here. He figures that even though it might look like a simple log cabin from the outside, it is probably decked out with the latest technology on the inside, which, no doubt, is a requirement for a safe house. 

“So, I assume you have some questions?” She gives the dough a final fold before she picks it up and carefully drops it into a bread basket. She washes her hands and dries them off on the towel hanging over her shoulder before she helps herself to a cup of coffee and gestures towards the living room, “Let’s sit down.”

He finds himself pulling out a chair at the dining table, sitting opposite of her, realizing then that yes, he actually does have some questions. Which is strange because he always thought it would be the other way around. But she mentioned a file from Nick earlier, and if one thing, those always tend to be very detailed. He allows himself to really look at her then, instead of those quick glances he kept stealing on the way from the airport. She has kind face, there’s no doubt about it, but there’s also something else there, something he recognizes as sadness and he wonders what her story is. That’s not for now though, he decides.

“Don’t be shy,” she challenges him from across the table, a mischievous grin playing around on her lips.

“Ok,” he starts, “This is your cabin, right?”

“Yes,”

“Right,” he replies. “Please don’t be offended, but-”

“You want to know if I’m going to be here all the time or if I’m actually going to leave you alone at some point?”

“Well,” he sighs then because she seems to have read his mind. “Yeah.” 

She laughs, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” She looks around the room, “The cabin and I, we’re kind of a package deal.”

“That’s fine,” he’s quick to reassure her. “I’ve been on my own long enough, I quite like having someone around.”

“Good,” she says before she fishes a piece of paper from the pocket of her apron and slides it towards him. “Chores are another part of the deal I’m afraid-”

“Seems fair,” he quickly assures her. 

“It’s just,” she starts, smiling, “you could probably chop more firewood in an hour than I could in a day so it would just be a waste of resources if I didn’t let you do that.” Her finger taps the second line then, “I will make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but in return you’re in charge of the dishes and taking out the garbage.”

He smiles, “No problem.”

“The last one isn’t really essential,” she clears her throat, “but  uh, I’ve already killed so many of them that I’m now putting each and every one that is still here into your care.” 

“How?”

“I don’t know,” she sounds defeated, “I’m just not good at keeping things alive, ok?” She must realize what she’s just said then, because she buries her face in her hands, “Oh God, that came out wrong, because I’m sure I’ll be able to keep you alive.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters quitely.

She hasn’t heard because she shakes her head and continues, “It’s just plants I have a problem with.”

He puts one of his hands over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “It’ll be fine.” 

=X=X=

They settle into an easy rhythm after that, where he’s the one who wakes up early and makes sure to get the coffee going before she joins him downstairs about an hour later. Breakfast then, after which she’s in the kitchen to either make bread, pickle vegetables, or make jam from a variety of berries she finds somewhere deep in the forest, only stopping to make them lunch. He’s outside most of the morning, chopping firewood, making sure the wood’s properly stacked alongside the cabin, and that there’s enough to last them through most of the winter. He usually tends to her vegetable garden after lunch, even though surprisingly enough she’s been able to keep most of her crops alive so far. 

They go into town about once a week, on Wednesday when there’s a farmer’s market, a trip that takes them most of the day and so they treat themselves to lunch at the Thirsty Moose bar, where he takes a special liking to their Philly Cheese Steak Poutine. She tells him she always treats herself to fresh flowers when she’s there and so every Wednesday night there’s a new arrangement adorning the dining table. He’s decided he likes it. 

The evenings are spent on the porch, catching the last rays of sunshine after dinner, quietly talking about anything and everything, but nothing too serious yet. They are getting to know each other more day by day and he quite likes that there’s still somewhat of a mystery about her. When it gets too cold they head inside, where she makes them both a hot chocolate that they finish on the couch. He almost always goes to bed first, while she stays up late, reading books about whatever topic holds her interest at that moment. He has seen her scribbles little notes in the margins of the pages, and he doesn’t know why, but it makes him like her even more. 

She surprises him with a variety of cupcakes on his birthday, which happens to be exactly two weeks after he arrived here. There’s also a gift, and he finds himself a little speechless when he unwraps a beautiful handmade axe, which is amazingly balanced. She tells him he’s been using her lightweight axe, and that this seems to fit him much better. He agrees wholeheartedly. 

She’s  put a birthday candle into the strawberry cupcake, telling him he has to make a wish, even though he argues he’s technically ninety-eight and might be too much of a grown up for that. She giggles then, tells him he looks pretty darn good for his age, before she argues that he’s been put on ice for 66 years and so she thinks they’re actually only celebrating his thirty-second birthday. He can’t really argue with that logic and so he blows out the candle in one go. 

She tries to get him to tell her his wish, but he warns her not to push him or he’ll give up on the plants and at least that gets her to back off a little. 

=X=X=

The wish he’s made on his birthday lasts exactly two months. 

And what a great two months they have been, he reminisces. Summers here are mild, she told him, and she wasn’t wrong. Still, being this far north meant they got plenty of sunshine and the forest offered them an abundance of edible plants and berries, which they collected on what quickly became their regular afternoon walks. He feels comfortable around her, things are easy between them, and so he finds himself opening up to her more and more. 

He tells her about his upbringing in Brooklyn, about Bucky, the war, and how lost he felt without his best friend, both the first and second time he thought he had lost him. He admits easily that it took him a long time to somewhat adjust to this modern society he woke up to after being defrosted, and that he’s still not sure he’ll ever really be a part of it. There’s a lump in his throat when he tells her about what happened to Bucky after he fell from the train, and how he ended up fighting his best friend several times before they were able to help him. 

He’s still angry when he talks about the Accords and what happened after, even though he’s quick to reassure her he’s happy that it made him end up here. More about Bucky then, how this time he got to fight alongside his best friend and how Bucky is now trying to heal with the help of T’Challa and his people in Wakanda. He tries to explain Wakanda to her, but knows he’ll never be able to do it justice and so he promises to take her there some day. 

She just lets him talk, only asking questions when something is unclear to her, and God, it feels good to finally tell someone the whole story, even though he’s sure she already knew most of it from the file Nick Fury sent over. Still, she listens and he talks, and he thinks that maybe his birthday wish is coming true. 

But then, somewhere at the end of summer, she calls out for him, “Steve?”

He hears it in her voice, even though he can’t quite explain what it is, only that it’s not good. He stacks the two pieces of firewood he’s holding and rushes inside, finding her in the kitchen, looking upset. 

She nods towards the living room, “There’s someone here to see you.” 

His heart’s in his throat then, because how did they find him? Does this mean he’s compromised? Should he just make a run for it? No, he thinks, he can’t just leave her here. He turns around, a sigh of relief escaping him when he sees the familiar redhead sitting on the couch.

“Hey, stranger,” she says with a smile.

“Natasha.” He wants to be happy to see her again, really he does, but he knows she’s not just here on a social call and so he asks, “Sam?”

“He’s outside,” she replies with a nod towards the front porch. 

“You can come in,” Steve says, knowing the comms unit she’s wearing will pick up his voice, and sure enough, Sam comes bursting through the door seconds later.

“Steve, man it is good to see you!” 

He returns the hug, because yes, it is good to see his friends again even though he’s sure what will follow next will make him wish they never showed up. He tells them to take a seat on the front porch, says he will join them in a minute.

Natasha glances over his shoulder with a knowing look, then throws him a wink before she gently pushes Sam outside.

He turns around, “I’m sorry, I had no idea-”

“I know,” she smiles. She holds up the phone he knows only Nick Fury has the number of, “The message came just as they pulled up. I would have told you earlier, but I didn’t-”

“Hey, no,” he takes a few quick steps towards her, hands on her arms. “I’ll go find out what they want ok?”

She nods, biting her lip because he’s sure she knows as well as he does it means he’ll have to leave soon. “I’ll,” her voice catches in her throat, “I’ll get you some coffee.” 

“Thank you.” He lets go of her, but then something makes him go back and kiss the top of her head, “It’ll be alright.”

“Yeah.” 

He joins Natasha and Sam outside then, listens to what they’ve been up to these past weeks, not surprised to learn they’ve gone rogue and are now doing missions on their own. He asks how they found him, but he doesn’t get a straight answer out of either of them, even though he knows they must have contacted Nick. He’s the only one who knows where he is. 

“Cap,” Sam starts once there are three steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. “We need you, man.” He looks at Natasha, but she just nods, and so he continues, “These missions, well, it’s not like they’re super dangerous, but there’s only so much we can do when it’s just the two of us.”

“We’re doing Nick Fury’s dirty work,” Natasha explains, “but it’s work that needs to be done.” And, because she knows him and knows what he’s about to ask next, “It’s not illegal per se, but yes, we are trespassing and taking things that technically don’t belong to us.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, Steve,” Natasha puts a hand on his arm, making him look at her, “we wouldn’t be here if it was absolutely necessary.” She explains then, how there are five missions in total, spanning a little over a year, that he’d be gone no more than six weeks at a time, that she and Sam will do all the preparations, that he just has to show up and help them complete the mission. 

“I don’t know.” He sighs, casting a glance over his shoulder, finding her in the kitchen, where she’s trying to knead some bread but he can tell her heart’s not in it. They’ll have to feed it to the birds, he thinks wryly. He looks back at Sam and Natasha, knows they need him too if not more, knows he’ll never be able to forgive himself if something happens to them because he’d rather stay here and ignore the outside world. “I’ll do it,” he says, “but not as Captain America.”

Natasha nods, “That seems fair.”

“So you’re really going rogue with us then?” Sams asks with a grin. “Tell me, man, what should we call you now that you’re not carrying the shield?” 

He thinks about that for a while, but then, because it seems fitting, “Nomad.”

=X=X=

He can tell she’s not happy about it, even though she never says anything. If anything she just becomes more distant, the chatty nights on the porch now spend indoors, with her reading, and reading, and reading, and him waiting until Natasha sends him the mission details on the secure phone she handed him after their visit. It hurts, but he gets why she feels this way, she was meant to keep him safe, after all. He’s tried to explain once, why he choose to go, but she just shook her head and he stopped talking. 

When they go into town together that Wednesday he lets her do the grocery shopping, while he meets up with the guy he’s been in contact with about the bike he has for sale. It’s a Harley Davidson WLA ‘Liberator’ and it reminds him of the bike he used to drive when he was in Europe. After taking it for a test drive and agreeing on the price he’s a little hesitant to show her his purchase, but she just shrugs and tells him it’s a nice looking bike. Small victories, he supposes. 

The message comes a week later, just as he’s done with the dishes for the day, giving him the coordinates to the pickup point where they’ll pick him up with the Quinjet the next morning. His GPS tells him it’s a three hour drive from here and so he’ll have to get up early, meaning he only has one night with her before he has to leave. He tells her about the mission, that this is their last night together for a while and to his surprise she asks if he wants to have a hot chocolate on the porch.

“I’d love to,” he replies, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It’s already getting dark outside and so he busies himself turning on the two gas lanterns on either end of the porch before lightning the candles on top of the table. 

She joins him not much later, handing him a big mug topped with a generous amount of whipped cream, “Here you go.” 

“Thank you,”

“Listen, I uh,” she sits down on one of the Adirondack chairs and motions for him to do the same. “I’m sorry, about well,” she raises her eyebrows, “this week, I suppose.”

“Honestly, don’t-”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I wasn’t being fair. You don’t have to answer to me about well, anything you do, really.”

“Except the plants,” he says, trying to let her know it’s ok. That he understands.

“Except the plants,” she echoes, smiling. 

“I left the instructions  on the fridge, ok?” 

She nods, “I will follow them to a T.” She looks at him then, “Just be careful, ok? The plants and I’d like to see you back here in one piece.”

“Will do,” 

“Promise me.” Her voice catches in her throat somewhere and she tries to smile but he can tell she’s fighting back tears.

He reaches for her from across the table, his hand on hers as he gives it a little squeeze, “I promise.”

=X=X=

He’s missed her, he realizes now that he’s finally on his way back to her. 

He’s been gone for almost four weeks, the mission somewhere in South America, where the weather was much more forgiving than what he’s dealing with now. The cold wind bites through his gloves and jacket, like little needles pricking in his skin. The signs along the road tell him he’s almost there and so he opens up the throttle, wanting nothing more than to see her again as soon as possible. 

She must have heard his bike coming up the road because she’s waiting for him on the porch, smiling when she sees him pulls up.

He parks the bike at an impossible angle, right in front of the steps leading up to the cabin, but he doesn’t care, because it only means he can get to her quicker. He takes his helmet off as he steps off the bike and hangs it on the handle bars, before he walks up to her and wraps her in his arms, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says from somewhere against his chest, her arms having found their way around him. “I’ve missed you.” 

He lets go of her ever so slightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I’ve missed you too.” 

She looks up at him, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I am now.”

“Come on,” she lets go of him and takes one of his hands in hers, “let’s get you inside.” She leads him to the kitchen, where she examens him carefully, her brows furrowed when she sees he’s got several cuts on his face.

“It’s nothing,” he assures her, but then her fingers ghost over the cut above his brow and he winces, because he took a pretty hard blow there just this morning, the skin still tender. 

She tuts, “Go take a shower. I’ll take care of that once you’re done.”

“It’ll be healed by tomorrow,” he counters. “The serum, remember?”

“Yeah, well, humor me.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest then, “Upstairs. Shower. Now.”

He does as he’s told, the warm water actually making him feel a bit more human. He puts on a pair of sweatpants she bought for him on one of their trips into town, claiming you can’t really relax in a pair of jeans when he told her he didn’t have any other pants. He grabs a t-shirt from out of his closet, not bothering to put it on because he knows she’ll want to see if there are any other cuts and bruises that need her attention.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters quietly when he makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She lets her eyes travel across his chest before she looks up at him, “Are you even real or?”

He chuckles and shrugs, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs. 

Standing in front of him she hands him the first aid kit, her fingers once again examining his skin, her eyes widening in surprise when she sees most of the cuts are starting to heal already. “You really weren’t kidding,” she whispers.

His eyes find hers and he shakes his head, “Nope.” 

Something that looks like relief flashes across her eyes then, but she hides it by telling him to put his shirt on and handing him a cup of hot chocolate.

=X=X=

Natasha already warned him that the next mission would start soon, but he never thought he’d only get four days of rest before they’d ask him to head out again. The mission brief suggests a short trip, two weeks tops, but he knows from experience that’s way too optimistic. At least the pickup point is closer this time, only a two-hour drive from the cabin and they won’t pick him up until late tomorrow afternoon so at least he still gets to spend some time with her. And the plants that have been in her care the past four weeks.

“You know what?” He can’t help but smile when he examines her work, “I’m not mad about this.”

“No?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “you really did a great job.”

“So they’re fine?” 

“More than, I’d say.” He turns towards her, a little thrown of by the mischief in her eyes. “What?”

“Even that one?” She points to one of the succulents in the windowsill, and he can tell she’s trying to keep a straight face.

He looks closer and laughs then, “It got smaller.”

She giggles, “It got replaced.” She throws her hands up in defense then, “I don’t know what happened, one day he was fine and the next-” she makes a face, “-dead.” 

“Uhu,”

“Steve, I promise, I did everything you told me to do.” 

He throws an arm around her shoulder then, pulling her close, “You can’t keep buying new plants every time one dies.”

She scoffs, “I’ve been doing it for years.”

=X=X=

He was right about the second mission, they were gone a little over six weeks and by the time he gets back the forest is covered in a thin layer of snow and so he has to park his bike on the side of the house, next to where’s he stacked the firewood. He finds her on the porch, like the last time, and she throws her arms around him as he pulls her into a hug.

“I thought you were never coming back,” she says quietly.

“I know,” 

“Let’s go inside,” 

He takes her outstretched hand and follows her into the cabin, the warm glow of the fireplace welcoming him back. Like last time, she examines him closely, but he came out pretty unscatched and so she’s quick to tell him to go take a shower. She asks if he is hungry when he’s halfway up the stairs, and when he tells her he is, she sets out to make him a quick dinner of some leftover she finds in the fridge. 

She allows him to eat his dinner on the couch, which she’s never done before, but she must see how tired he is. This mission was a waiting game more than anything else, long days spent trying to gather as much intell as possible before moving in to secure what they came for. 

“I really missed you,” she says suddenly, and when he looks at her he finds her eyes a little glossed over. “I never felt lonely here before, but this time, I don’t know,” she tries to smile, and he can tell she’s trying not to make too much of a big deal out of it.

He puts his plate down on the coffee table and motions for her to come closer, wrapping his arm around her once she’s snuggled up to him, “I really missed you too.”

=X=X=

Things change after he comes back from that second mission. 

He catches her stealing looks at him more regularly, and finds himself doing the same when she’s engulfed in one of her books or busy in the kitchen. They are together even more than before, the colder weather making them move most of their activities indoors, even though he has to go out every now and again to get them more firewood, and so there’s more touching and accidentally on purpose bumping into each other too. 

One night in November she spikes their hot chocolates with whiskey, because, as she defends her actions, they were out in the cold all day today, clearing the roof  and driveway from snow, and they deserve a treat. She challenges him to a game of ‘Truth or Dare but Truths only’ once they’re settled on the couch and allows him to go first.

On his third question he finds out her father used to work together with Nick Fury after he retired from the Army a few years after she was born. But then the Iraq War happened, and even though by then he had already been retired for a few years, they still requested his assistance and he felt like he owed it to his country to go, even though she begged him no to. The circumstances of his death are still not clear to this day, but Nick personally went to retrieve his body even though this wasn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, and promised to always look out for her. In return she offered to turn her cabin into a safe house, because that was what her father intended to do during his retirement, quietly adding that he’s been the first person she’s ever hosted and that it’s been just her for all these years. 

She tells him she’s received basic training, that she has a couple of weapons stowed away somewhere closeby, and that Nick provided her with a car that had the same technology his has. He knew it. He can’t help but laugh then, because he wonders out loud what Nick would say if he knew that up until now she’s only used the car for her weekly shopping trips. 

She laughs to, asks him to not tell on her with a wink, and then, to lighten the mood after this depressing story, as she puts it, she asks him whether he knows people call him the human dorito, what with his broad shoulders and narrow hips. When he admits he doesn’t know what a dorito is she just laughs and pulls an image up on her phone.

“People say I look like a tortilla chip?” He narrows his eyes as he reads the Wikipedia entry on Doritos.

“Apparently,” 

He just sighs and hands her her phone back. 

“Ok, your turn,” 

“Uh, right,” he sits up, but finishes his hot chocolate first, trying to come up with a good question. He smiles then, “Have you bought any more new plants during my last mission?”

She shakes her head, looking extremely proud, “Nope.” She laugh when he raises an eyebrow at her, “I swear!”

He nods, “Sure.”

“Steve Rogers!” she exclaims and hits his upper arm, making a face when it doesn’t seem to have any impact whatsoever, “when have I ever lied to you?” 

He makes it seem like he has to think about it, which winds her up even more, her arms now crossed in front of her chest as she eyes him suspiciously. 

She straightens her leg and gently nudges him with her foot, “Well?”

“No, you’re right,” he admits, gently patting her leg, “never.” He smiles at her, “Your turn."

“Ok,” she says as she grabs her mug and holds up a finger as she drains the last of her hot chocolate. She mumbles something about a refill and Dutch courage then as she gets up and grabs his cup, “I’m getting us more.”

“I’ll take one without the hot chocolate,” he says, even though he’s not quite sure where that came from. He’s not a drinker, not really anyway, but somehow it feels fitting for this evening. 

She looks at him from over her shoulder, already halfway to the kitchen, and nods appreciatively, “I’ll join you.” He hears her rummage through the cabinets, before she pours the drinks and returns with two tumblers. She hands him his and clinks hers against it, “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” he echoes with a smile before he takes a sip, the amber liquid burning down his throat in not an entirely unpleasant way. “Still your turn.”

“Oh. Yeah, right,” she agrees, “So truth, or truth?”

“Truth,” he agrees solemnly.

She looks at him for a moment, and seems a little lost in her own thoughts until she puts her glass down on the coffee table. She looks up at him, the hint of a smile playing on her lips as she takes a deep breath, almost as if she’s about to jump into the deep end. Which, he guesses, in a way she does when she asks, “If I were to kiss you right now, would you let me?”

He opens his mouth to tell her, yes, of course, but words fail him and so he just nods. He can feel his heart beating faster and faster in his chest, and it’s like suddenly he’s hyper-aware of everything but especially her. He watches her as she leans forward, her hands gently cupping his face, her thumbs stroking his beard before she pulls him towards him and her lips meet his. She’s hesitant at first, the touch featherlight, but her hands find their way into his hair then and she pulls him even closer.

His body reacts immediately and he wants to feel more of her, and so he puts his hands on her waist and pulls her onto his lap until she’s straddling him, her lips never leaving his. He presses her against him and opens his mouth, deepening the kiss and it’s like there are sparks flying between them. She responds by running her tongue along his teeth, her arms now draped over his shoulders, hips grinding into his. A groan escapes him and he pulls back a little, panting now.

She rests her forehead against his, breathing a little faster too, “That was-”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a smile.

“Wow.” 

=X=X=

He ends up in her bed that night, but nothing else happens because they agree to take things slow, at least for now. She marvels at how much heat his body radiates, joking that at least she has found a way to keep warm during the winter. He retaliates by pulling her even closer to him, wishing they could stay like this forever.

By now he should know to be careful what he wishes for because the message from Natasha comes just three days later, the pickup a five-hour drive away this time. He finds her in the kitchen, of course, and shows her the mission brief.

She looks up at him once she’s done reading, and he can tell she’s putting on a brave face, “At least you’ll be home in time for Christmas, right?”

If they’re lucky, he thinks, because they’ll be cutting it awfully close. He doesn’t tell her that though, doesn’t want her to worry about having to spend yet another Christmas alone and knowing he’ll do whatever it takes to be back in time. He cups her face and presses a kiss to her forehead, before he wraps her arms around her, “Right.”

“You need to get ready,” she says, her voice muffled by his flannel shirt. “I’ll make you some food.”

He reluctantly lets go of her and walks back upstairs, finding clothe for the bike ride, his suit waiting for him on the Quinjet. He makes a mental note to ask Natasha to give him a little more time for now on, because he hates these rushed goodbyes. Back downstairs he puts on his trusted brown leather lace-up boots and then throws on his jacket.

She hands him a carefully wrapped package and a thermos he knows is filled with coffee, before she stands up on her toes and kisses him. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” 

There’s more weight behind her question this time, almost like a plea, and so he makes sure to look at her when he says, “I promise.” Then, because he realizes it’s true, “I love you.”

She smiles, “I love you too.”

=X=X=

He gets back the night before Christmas Eve, one day earlier than predicted, the mission surprisingly easy once they knew what they were dealing with. Sam wanted to celebrate, get a couple of drinks somewhere, but all he wanted was to get back her. Natasha looked at him the way she always does when she thinks he’s hiding something from her, and so even though he told her it was just because he wanted to make sure everything was alright back at the cabin, what with the first snow falling, he was sure she knew he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. She let it go though, and he was thankful for that. 

Like last time he finds her waiting for him on the porch, wrapped in big scarf, blowing warm air into her hands that are cupped in front of her mouth. It’s snowing ever so lightly and so he parks the bike next to the house, like last time. She catches up with him there, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. 

He answers her kiss with the same determination and hooks his hands under her thighs, lifting her up, smiling when he feels her wrap her legs around him. He starts his way back to the door, but after bumping into the stack of firewood he reluctantly ends the kiss so he can at least see where he’s going. She whines at the loss of contact, which makes him laugh,  “‘M sorry, doll, almost there.” 

They’re inside then and he sets her down on the kitchen counter so he can take off his jacket before he unties his shoelaces and kicks his boots off, not caring where they land. His mouth finds hers again and he knows he’s not gentle, a want behind the kiss that she responds to by pulling him close to her, once again wrapping her legs around his waist. He has to brace himself by putting one hand on the counter, the other one tugging on the hem of her sweater, before he pushes it up and over her head, trying to be quick because he wants to feels her, taste her, and not let go. It’s the middle of winter and so there are two more layers he has to get out of the way before he gets to her bra, softly kissing the swell of her breasts.

“This seems unfair,” she mutters, hands in his hair as she watches him through hooded eyes. “Too much clothes.” Her hands find his belt then, unbuckling it with ease, before she grabs both his sweater and t-shirt and pushes them up, letting him take care of actually taking them off while she runs her fingers over his chest, quietly admiring the rise and fall of his pecs and stomach muscles. 

He feels himself getting harder and so he picks her up in one swift motion, earning him a little “Ooh,” from her. He carries her upstairs with ease, turning left to what is now their bedroom, and sits down on the bed, with her straddling his lap. She’s grinding her hips in a way that makes him dizzy and he’s lost all restraint then, letting himself fall backwards and taking her with him.

She grins and pushes herself off him, standing at the edge of the bed, pushing down her jeans and panties in one go before she takes off her bra. He follows suit and lifts his hips to get rid of his jeans and boxers and watches as she climbs onto the bed and lies down on top of him, his erection pressing against her stomach. One of her hands sneaks in between them, and she wraps it around his length, a sparkle in her eye when she realizes she can’t get her fingers to meet. She pumps him a few times, placing gentle kisses along his jawline and down his neck, whispering a quiet, “You ready?” into his ear.

He nods, words failing him. 

She pushes himself off, positioning herself while guiding him towards her entrance and then slowly lowers herself onto him. A shiver runs through her as he fills her and if it wasn’t for the look of pure bliss on her face he’d be worried he was hurting her. Once he’s fully inside she takes a moment to adjust, her eyes closed, hands resting on his chest, and he thinks it the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. A groan escapes him when she moves, before she does something with her hips that makes him fill her up even more, and then she’s riding him for real and he wants to last longer, really he does, but it’s almost too much. 

“Doll,” he warns her and she takes his cue, slowing down her rhythm. There’s some primal instinct that takes over then, and he grabs her hips and effortlessly moves her so she’s now underneath him, making sure he doesn’t pin his whole weight down on her. He keeps still for a moment, marveling at how good she feels and how well they fit together, before he picks back up where he left things.

“Steve,” she moans, her nails raking over his back, no doubt leaving marks every time he trusts and she seeks something to hold onto.

He can feel himself coming closer once again and when he looks at her he can tell she’s right there with him, her breathing more ragged, her eyes half-closed, and a sheen of sweat covering her face. She looks absolutely beautiful and he buries his face in her neck, his teeth dragging over her skin as he sends them both over the edge.

=X=X=

When he comes downstairs the next morning it’s cold, neither of them wanting to get out of bed to add more firewood during the night. He’s surprised to find a decorated Christmas tree in the corner next to the couch, and actually wonders if it was already here when he came home yesterday. But he was distracted by other things, he reasons, so he supposes he simply missed it. He investigates the tree after he gets the kindling burning and sees there are presents underneath it, each of them carefully wrapped with a red bow tied around them. He remembers something then and finds his jacket on the kitchen floor, taking a small package out of his pocket and placing it in between the presents, hiding it from view just a little. 

He tries to go back to bed after he gets the fire going, but she’s relentless and tells him they have chores to do and food to make and so he finds himself outside a little after breakfast, chopping some firewood to restock what they’ve already used. There are delicious smells coming from inside the house, but she won’t tell him what she’s making, wanting it to be a surprise for tonight, and so she has banned him from the kitchen for the next couple of hours.

It isn’t until late afternoon that he hears her call for him, letting him know he’s allowed back inside. He has to do a double take when he sees her, because all of a sudden there’s a black dress underneath her apron, which is the complete opposite of what she usually wears. When he steps closer to her he notices the heels she’s wearing means she’s now at eye level with him and boy, is it a turn on.

She simply shakes her head at him and then throws him a wink, promising they’ll get to that later, before she tells him to hit the shower because dinner will be ready in an hour. 

He takes his time, makes sure to trim his beard, and smiles when he sees she’s bought him new clothes that she’s laid out on the bed for him. The dark blue pants fit perfectly and he likes the dark grey button-down shirt she’s paired them with. She even bought him new shoes even though she has a strict no-shoes-inside rule. Christmas must be the exception, he muses as he makes his way downstairs.

She’s just finished setting the table and smiles up at him when he walks into the kitchen, “Hello, handsome.”

“RIght back at ya,” he says as he puts his hand on her hips and pulls her in for a kiss. He feels her drape her arms around his neck while she opens her mouth, and he kisses her slowly, simply enjoying the moment. There’s a beep then and she mutters something about how that must be the turkey and so he reluctantly lets go of her and asks her if there’s anything he can do.

“Maybe open the wine?” She nods towards the table, “I’ve put it there.” 

He admires the way she’s set the table, the dark red and green colors complementing each other and the decorations on the Christmas tree perfectly. He opens the bottle of wine as she asked, but doesn’t pour it yet, because well, she tells him not to. 

She joins him at the table with two small plates filled with what she tells him is smoked salmon on a beetroot blini, and he believes her in an instant. Returning to the kitchen she finally takes the apron off before she returns with two glasses of Lemon Sgroppino, which he recognizes only because Tony once served them at one of his more fancy parties. She tries to hand him a glass, but he’s too busy admiring the way her dress clings to her body in all the right places before flaring out towards the bottom. It hits just above her knee and he thinks she looks absolutely gorgeous. 

When he finally comes to his senses again he finds her looking at him with an amused look, and so he clears his throat and takes his glass from her.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking her glass against his.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he replies with a smile and a wink.

The rest of the evening is spent eating, and drinking, and unwrapping gifts. They’ve moved to the couch for that, because as she reasoned, they’d be closer to the source that way. Most of them are useful, like the new gloves she got him, or the new lightweight axe she got herself, but then she spots his present in the pile and picks it up curiously, “What’s this?”

He shrugs, “Dunno.” 

“Hmm,” she replies, turning it over in her hands until she spots her name on the paper.

“Go on,” he encourages her. “Open it.” 

She does, and when she sees what’s inside she looks up at him with tears in her eyes, “You shouldn’t have.” 

He holds out his hands and motions for her to turn around so he can help her put the necklace on, his fingers stroking the skin of her neck when he’s done, marveling at the goosebumps that immediately appear. 

She turns back and shows him, the small ruby pendant glittering in the light. 

“It’s my birthstone,” he explains, “that way I’m always close to you even when I’m away.” He saw it on a market somewhere while he was away on his last mission, and it wasn’t until Natasha told him it was actually his birthstone that he just knew he had to get it for her. 

“It’s perfect.”

=X=X=

They spent the rest of December holed up inside, only going outside to either get more firewood or to go on one of their afternoon walks. It has been snowing non-stop since Christmas day and by New Year’s Eve he’s not sure they’ll ever make it back into town again. Not that they need to, what with all the food she’s been stocking and preparing ever since June. She’s trying to teach him how to knead bread but he just doesn’t seem to get it right and so he tells her he’ll stick to taking care of the plants instead. 

Both January and February pass by in a blur, with Natasha checking in on the secure phone at regular intervals even though there’s nothing to report. Apparently Fury has had some setbacks while preparing their next mission and so it has been postponed for now, which suits him just fine. The snow clears a little by the end of the month and the snowplow has finally cleared the road enough for them to venture into town. The farmer’s market is moved indoors during the winter, she informs him as she pulls up to a sports hall, which he thinks is sensible with these temperatures.

The mission brief comes early in March, the one that took Fury too long to prepare, and so he goes into it with a feeling of dread. The mission has them try to infiltrate the black market in Russia and he’s gone for most of the month. Technically they succeed, but Sam’s severely injured and they have to fly the Quinjet to Finland so he can get the medical attention he needs, delaying their return by more than a week. When Natasha gives Fury a status update she almost loses it when he tells her going in was a calculated risk. He knows it’s futile to try and get her to calm down once she ends the call, so he lets her use him as his punching bag for a while, letting her hurl verbal abuse at him until she’s lost most of her anger.  

When he gets home she’s not there waiting for him on the porch like she did the last three times and so he worries something’s wrong. He rushes inside but doesn’t see her and that’s when he really starts to worry, until he hears noises coming from upstairs. He finds her in bed, looking terrible and she tells him to stay away from him because she thinks she has the flu. He ignores her, and sits down beside her, his hand on her forehead telling him there’s nothing wrong with her temperature and he wonders if maybe it’s food poisoning. He tells her to try and get some sleep, promising her he’ll take care of the chores for a while.

She’s feeling a little better the next day and so he moves her to the couch, where he can keep an eye on her and she can guide him through preparing lunch and dinner. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to cook, it’s just that she has her ways of preparing things that he wants to learn as well. After dinner he sits down with her, her head resting on his lap as he tells her some of what happened in Russia, although he downplays Sam’s injury because he doesn’t want her to worry about them more than she already does. 

They make it into town that Wednesday, but he drives, and the market is still indoors. It’s two days shy of April, but still cold, and she tells him it doesn’t really get better until the end of May. She hands him the shopping list and says she’ll be back in a few minutes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he tries, because he still thinks she looks a little pale.

“I’ll be fine.” She gestures to somewhere across the street, “I just need to get some shampoo and toothpaste and stuff.” 

“Alright, well, if you’re not back in ten,” he grins, “I’m coming to get you.” 

“You do that,” she says as she starts walking towards the drugstore, then quietly, “see what happens.” 

He laughs, because this little jab tells him she’s back to her old self and there’s nothing to worry about.

=X=X=

“Steve?”

There’s something about her voice that’s different, but it isn’t the worried tone he’s heard before. He wonders what’s going on and if it has something to do with the strange way she’s been acting ever since they got back from their trip into town yesterday. There was some secrecy involved when it came to the contents of her drugstore buys and really the only thing he can come up with is that maybe she’s dyed her hair and wants to show him. She has been in the bathroom for a quite some time already, after all. 

He finds her upstairs, but in their bedroom, hair looking her normal color, pacing up and down the room with something that he thinks looks like a thermometer in her hands and a smile on her face. To say he’s confused would be an understatement. He sits down on the bed at her request and can’t help himself, “Are you ok?”

She stands in front of him, smiling even more widely and then she shows him the stick that says ‘over three weeks’ followed by a whispered, “I think I’m pregnant.”

It’s a good thing he’s already sitting down, because his head is spinning, and he can’t believe this is actually happening. He knows she’s waiting for him to say something, anything, but all he can think about is how he finally seems to get to have the normal life he’s been dreaming of for so long. He looks up at her and when he sees the worried look on her face he quickly takes one of her hands in his and pulls her closer. 

“You ok?” Her voice is soft, her free hand running through his hair before she presses a kiss to the top of his head.

He nods, gently tugging on her hips to make her sit down in his lap and then he kisses her to show her that, really, he is. 

She smiles into the kiss before she pulls back a little, resting her forehead against his, “I know we never talked about this,” she clears her throat,  “but-”

“Hey,” he interrupts her, pulling back a little so he can look at her, “there is nothing to talk about.” He kisses her again before he continues, “I have two missions left, but once they’re done I can’t wait to settle down here with you and,” he puts his hand on her stomach, “this little one.”

“I love you,” she says, sounding a little relieved, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close.

“I love you too, doll,” he replies with a smile, vowing right then and there he’ll make her his once he’s back for good. 

=X=X=

Natasha visits them somewhere in May and somehow she knows? He’s pretty sure he hasn’t told her anything, but still she shows up with a present for them, a wooden toy that turns out to be Russian made and exactly like the one she had when she was just a baby. Something passes over her features as she tells him this that stop him from asking about it, after all he knows her well enough to know she doesn’t like to talk about her childhood. 

He is surprised to see Natasha greet her like their old friends when she steps into the cabin, their quick banter making him realize there’s more to their story than he first thought. He looks at them expectantly.

“Yeah, so uh,” she clears her throat, and nods towards the woman standing next to her, “Nat and I know each other from way back.” 

“Right,” he says, because of course they do. Honestly, he should have seen this coming. 

“I taught her some basic hand-to-hand combat skills when she first started running this safe house,” Natasha offers with a grin. “Fury set it up.”

“So that day you and Sam came over?”

“She knew who I was,” Natasha nods.

“Huh.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, not sure if he should be mad or relieved. He decides he needs more information, “And you’ve been keeping in touch or?”

Natasha nods, “We use the secure line and sort of developed a code for everything.” She snickers then, “We call you ‘The puppy’.”

He looks from Natasha to her and sees she’s trying to keep a straight face from the way she’s biting her lip, but ultimately she fails and laughs, “It was the only thing we could come up with that would make sense to talk about once you moved in.” She looks at Natasha, “He’s a good boy, though.”

Natasha nods in agreement, a sparkle in her eyes, “He really is.” 

“I hate you,” he says, shaking his head, trying his hardest not to laugh. 

“No you don’t,” both she and Natasha counter at the same time.

=X=X=

There was a mission somewhere in June, but both Natasha and Sam assured him they could handle it, and so he got to stay with her, preparing the cabin for the summer months. He tended to the vegetable garden mostly, making sure to remove the dead crops after the winter and sowing new ones in time for the harvest in September, while she busied herself with the annual spring cleaning. 

She’s just over three months when his birthday comes around, and he loves the way she’s already showing a little. The first trimester passed without too much trouble, except for some morning sickness she keeps telling him to stop worrying about. Like last year she’s made him all sorts of cupcakes for his birthday, the candle put into the blueberry one this time. He slightly alters his wish from last year, but ultimately he wishes for the same thing even though there’s still one mission coming up. 

They’re on the front porch, where she’s sitting on his lap, her fingers running through his hair over and over again in a way that make him completely relaxed. Once again he wishes he could stop time and just enjoy this moment forever. 

“Have you thought of any names yet?” 

Her soft voice interrupts his thoughts and he shakes his head, “Not really.” 

“No?” She sounds surprised, “I have."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replies, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

He looks up at her expectantly.

“Oh, you want me to tell you?” she acts surprised. “Nope,” she says then, popping the p, “not until you come up with some of your own.” 

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” He gently pinches her sides, making her laugh.

“Yeah, it’s like that,” she counters with a grin, hollering then when he lifts her up in one swift motion and throws her over his shoulder, “Steve!” 

=X=X=

He leaves for his last mission somewhere at the end of August, even though every fiber in his body tells him not to go. She assures him she’ll be fine and that she won’t do anything crazy, but still he’s a little distracted when Natasha and Sam pick him up, and Natasha gently tells him to snap out of it when they take off. 

When he returns home four weeks later she’s waiting for him on the porch, her stomach much rounder than when he left. She is glowing and he falls in love with her a little more, this strong woman that he knows will be an amazing mother soon. He holds her as tight as he can, pressing a kiss to her temple before he bends over and kisses her stomach, whispering a quiet, “Hey little one, Daddy’s home.”

“And here to stay,” she adds with a smile, relief washing through her voice as she runs her fingers through his hair. 

He stands up straight and pulls her in for a kiss, smiling against her lips when he murmurs, “‘M never leaving you again.” 

“At least not until we’ve finished the nursery,” she jokes before she throws her arms around his neck and kisses his passionately, a quiet moan escaping her when she opens her mouth and his tongue slips in. 

His hands are halfway to her thighs, ready to lift her up, when he realizes there’s now a bump in the way and so instead he pulls back from the kiss and picks her up bridal style, carrying her up to their bedroom with ease. She snuggles up to him once he’s joined her on the bed, her fingers drawing intricate patterns on the arm that’s carefully draped over her stomach, and a quiet sort of happiness settles over him because she’s home to him.

She asks him if he has thought any more about names, but he tells her he still has some time and to not rush him otherwise he’ll name the kid Natasha whether it’s a girl or not.

=X=X=

They finish the nursery with a month to spare, the pale yellow walls of his old bedroom now a soft green with tangerine accents, or so she tells him anyway. To him it’s just green and orange. They decided early on that they’d rather not know the sex of the baby in advance, hence the lack of blue and pink in the room, which suits him just fine. 

He makes good on his promise to make her his early November, exactly one year after their first kiss. He wishes he could say there was an epic proposal that knocked her off her feet, but in reality it was more of a joint decision. Like everything they have been doing so far. She was quick to tell him that she wasn’t one for big parties and so they travelled just across the border, to Littlefork, where they got married at city hall. They made a weekend out of it, and drove back home the long way round, spending their wedding night in a lodge somewhere in Caribou Falls. 

They call Natasha on their way back home and tell her the news, but ask her to keep it to herself, at least for a little while. After all, he’s still not really talking to anyone else but Natasha and Sam and he’s not sure he ever will. Natasha invites herself and Sam to a visit on Christmas Day in the way that only she can, and of course they tell her they’re more than welcome. 

Once they get home, time seems to go even faster and before he knows it’s early December and she yells at him to grab the hospital bag and gun it to town because she thinks her water has just broke. He panics, just a little, but she stays remarkably calm and jokes that maybe she should drive. They make it there in about thirty minutes,  a record he’s not necessarily proud of, but according to the doctors they got there just in time because the baby’s head is already crowning. 

He gets to go with her to the delivery room and there he gets to witness a primal power that far exceeds his own when she pushes and pushes and pushes until there is a baby and he is a father. 

He thinks it is the best feeling in the world, but then they put the baby on her stomach and he can actually pinpoint the moment she becomes a mother, and it’s like his heart grows ten sizes with nothing but love for her. He presses a kiss to her temple and whispers, “I love you,”

She smiles, a little exhausted, and sweaty, but still more beautiful than ever, and then the doctor informs them that it’s a little boy and she nods, looking down at the baby, whispering a quiet, “Hello, little man,” before she looks up at him, “I really like Wyatt.” 

“Wyatt it is,” he replies, because somehow it fits, but also because right now he would do anything she’d ask him to. 

“It means ‘brave in war’,”  she offers, gently stroking their son’s blond hair. 

One of the nurses steps in then, taking the baby from her, wrapping it in a blanket and handing it to him, because they’d like to clean her up a little, and so here he is, holding this tiny little baby boy that is his son. He takes it all in, the little fingers, the tiny toes, and the scrunched up nose that he hopes will end up looking like hers. 

He knows he’ll be forever indebted to her now, because there is nothing he could ever give her that matches this, even though he vows right then and there, with Wyatt as his witness, that he’ll never stop trying. 

=X=X=

Natasha and Sam visit them on Christmas day like they planned and suddenly the house is filled with people and laughter and stories of the good old days, and he doesn’t remember a time when he was happier. He tells them stories about Christmas when he was a kid, how Bucky would always find a way to get enough money to buy them a slice of fruitcake from the bakery around the corner. Talking about Bucky makes him realize he misses his best friend and he wonders how things are over in Wakanda. Maybe he should try to contact T’Challa in the new year, see if they can come over for a visit. After all, he did promise her he’d take her there someday.

Wyatt ends up spending most of the day in Natasha’s arms, who keeps whispering, what sound like little secrets, to him in Russian. Wyatt just stares at her intently, like he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He’s a little hesitant to let Sam hold his son, but it turns out Sam’s a natural, quietly singing Marvin Gaye songs as he walks around the living room with Wyatt in his arms until dinner is ready. He is sad to see them leave at the end of the night, but they promise they’ll see each other again soon and he knows they will.

They spend New Year’s Eve like any other night, except now they struggle to stay awake until midnight, while Wyatt’s sleeping soundly in his crib upstairs. And for Wyatt, New Year’s Day is like every other day and so he doesn’t care his parents were up way past their bedtime the night before, he would still like his bottle at six AM, thank you very much. 

The morning shift is his, like any other shift really, because it’s his way of paying his dues. He lets her dote on their little boy while he takes care of bottles, nappies, and laundry as much as he can. Wyatt seems to thrive, and as happy as a one-month old can be, and she’s very relaxed about everything as well which makes him feel like maybe they’ve got this.

They venture out into the cold a few days into the new year, Wyatt bundled up and tucked away in the baby carrier he’s put on under his jacket. The sun is watery in the sky, and the snow covered ground shows endless animal tracks, most of them from deer and squirrels  but he also thinks he sees some larger prints that would indicate moose. When he asks her about it she tells him it’s just a single family, who have been here as long a she can remember. 

=X=X=

Day by day they get back into the swing of things, with her back in the kitchen more and more, and him doing whatever he can around the house. Wyatt is six weeks old and as happy as can be, which in turn makes them a little more relaxed too. And so one night, when they’re snuggled up on the couch, the three of them, Wyatt sleeping soundly in her arms, she rests her head on his shoulder, a content sigh escaping her, a quiet, “I love you,” following.

He kisses the top of her head, “I love you too.”

She’s about to say something but then she’s interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from one of the kitchen drawers. He gets up immediately, cursing quietly, and she looks up at him, worried because she knows what this means.

He finds the old flip phone somewhere in the back of the cutlery drawer and answers it with a solemn, “Rogers.”

The voice he hears on the other end isn’t Tony’s but Bruce’s and he’s immediately on high alert. He listen to the other man trying to form a coherent story, but in the end Bruce just says, “We need Captain America, Steve. Things are bad.” 

He answers with a simple, “Ok.” and then ends the call. He turns towards her and shakes his head, “I need to go.” His other phone, the one Natasha gave him, beeps them, and he takes it out of his back pocket, opening the message and quickly scanning her message. Bruce was right, it is bad.

She joins him in the kitchen, Wyatt still undisturbed by the change of atmosphere, and looks up at him, “How long until you have to go?”

“Natasha and Sam are at the airport in an hour,” he replies, running a  hand through his hair. 

“With the Quinjet?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

“Oh God,” she whispers, hand in front of her mouth because she knows as well as he does that they would never use a civilian airport unless there was no time to lose. A sob escapes her then, but she clears her throat and he knows she’s trying her best to stay strong. “Ok,” she starts, “you have about ten minutes before you have to leave. What do you need?

“More time,” he thinks, but instead he says, “Nothing. All my gear is still on the Quinjet.”

“When will you be back?”

She’s never asked this before, but he sees her looking at Wyatt and he understands. He wishes he could give her an answer, but instead he shrugs, “I don’t know.” He holds out his arms and pulls her in for a hug, “I’m really sorry, doll.” 

“It’s ok. The world needs you more right now, so you should go and save it, Captain,” she tries to smile even though he knows she’s just trying to put on a brave face. “We’ll be fine,” she nods, “I’ll be on the porch when you get back. Promise” 

=X=X=

The goodbye is hard, maybe the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he keeps telling himself that she’s strong enough for both of them. He told his son that he’d be back soon and to be kind to his mom, and he could have sworn Wyatt seemed to understand. 

He’s at the airport with minutes to spare, the Quinjet already waiting for him, a solemn nod from both Natasha and Sam as a greeting. He suits up once they’re airborne, Natasha then explaining everything to him way better than Bruce ever could and it’s then he understand the gravity of the situation and wishes he would have taken her and Wyatt with him. 

“Don’t,” Natasha says, because of course she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “They are safe where they are.” Her hand is on his shoulder then, “I don’t know if she told you, but there’s a bunker, not far from the cabin. It has everything she needs to survive at least five months, if not more now that it’s just her and Wyatt.” 

He looks at Natasha, surprised, because no, she never told him this. 

“Smart girl,” Natasha comments before she explains, “The less people know about it, the better.”

“But we’re-”

“I know,” Natasha squeezes his shoulder, “but Nick pretty much made her swear on her life. Me too, by the way.” She nods towards Sam, “Sit down, get some rest. We’ve got this.”

They arrive in Edinburgh a couple of hours later and nothing is ever really the same after that. 

=X=X=

They’re on their way to Wakanda, Rhodey and Sam flying the aircraft, while Bruce and Vision talk about how to safely remove the soul stone. Wanda keeps trying to come up with other ways to make this work, but so far her attempts are futile. He finds himself seated next to Natasha, mentally preparing himself for what seems to be a war against Thanos when suddenly he remembers something.

“When a good man goes to war,” 

“Sorry?” Natasha says from somewhere on his right.

“When a good man goes to war,” he repeats, “I read it somewhere, right before I left for Canada.” He looks at her, “Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

“Oh Steve,” she reaches out, her hand on his arm then, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stephen Strange wrote that,”

“What?” 

“Yeah,” she nods, “there’s more to it though.” 

“Tell me,” he says, probably against better judgment, because she looks very hesitant.

“Not now,” she says and points towards the window. “We’re here.”

He watches as Sam expertly lands the Quinjet on the square in front of the palace, and then he and Natasha are the first to exit. He walks up to T’Challa, “Seems like I’m always thanking you for something.”

T’Challa simply shakes his hand and tells them to follow him, where he tells them, “You have my kingsguard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje and,” 

“A semi-stable one-hundred year old man,” someone says from somewhere in front of him. 

He smiles, because he would recognize that voice anywhere, some of his worries a little less now that his best friend will fight alongside him. He can’t wait to tell Bucky about his wife and son. 

=X=X=

He’s lost all sense of time, not quite believing Natasha when she tells him the battle only lasted a couple of hours. Too much has happened. He’s lost Bucky. Again. Half the population’s gone. Thanos is God knows where doing God knows what with the Infinity Stones. It’s just too much and so he pushes all that to the back of his mind, determined to get back to that little cabin in Canada as soon as he can. He’ll deal with the aftermath once he’s home. 

Natasha wants him to get looked at first, maybe get some rest, but he just tells her she can either come with him or stay here in Wakanda, but that he is going. Now. She stays, tells him someone needs to keep what’s left of the team together and before all this he would have taken this as personal jab, but now he just tells her to be safe and to stay in touch.

He finds the Quinjet where Sam parked it just this morning and pushes the button necessary for it to start up the systems. Natasha catches up with him just as he’s about to prepare for take off, and she’s a little out of breath and he thinks he sees the hint of tears in her eyes, but this is Natasha, so it must be a trick of the light. 

“I think you need to hear the rest of what Strange wrote.”

“The poem?” He shakes his head, “I don’t think now’s the time,”

“It’s not so much a poem,” she admits. “It’s more a prophecy.”

“Natasha-”

She clears her throat, and he’s not sure if every other noise suddenly disappears or if that’s just his imagination, but he can hear her loud and clear when she recites,

“Demons run when a good man goes to war
Night will fall and drown the sun
When a good man goes to war

Friendship dies and true love lies
Night will fall and the dark will rise
When a good man goes to war

Demons run, but count the cost
The battle is won, but the child is lost”

=X=X=

He flies the Quinjet back to the Red Lake Airport, pushing the aircraft to its absolute limits, trying to get there faster. The airport is empty, no one except the janitor who does what he always seems to do, quietly mopping the floors, but looking slightly more bewildered this time. He hurries past the man, who looks up expectantly like he’ll explain what has happened, but he doesn’t want to. Not now. Not ever.

His bike is waiting for him exactly where he left it, but then again he’s only been gone a little over two days. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the images that keep flooding his mind, not wanting to think about everything that has happened since he left her and Wyatt, although the image of Bucky turning to dust is still fresh on his mind. He’ll have to deal with later. Or not at all. 

There’s something tugging on his heart all the way from the airport to the cabin and he’s sure he exceeds the speed limit enough to lose his licence, but he really doesn’t care. Not that there’s anyone else on the road, which, to be honest, isn’t that unusual here, but still, it feels different this time. He really wants to get home as quickly as possible, hold them, make sure they are alright, even though he knows something has happened. He feels it somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. 

She’s not there on the porch like she promised she would be, and so he’s off of the bike and inside the cabin in a matter of seconds but she’s not there either. He checks upstairs, half expecting to find Wyatt alone in his crib, and not sure if he’s relieved when he doesn’t. He starts praying then, to a God he long stopped believing in, for them to be alright. He fishes out the piece of paper Natasha handed him, a quick drawing to show him where the bunker is located, and then he’s running. 

When he gets there he notices the door is slightly ajar and he hears something that he can only describe as grief coming from inside. He takes a moment to just breathe, in and out, trying to get himself under control, knowing he will have to be the strong one for a while. He pushes the door open slowly and his heart shatters into a tiny million pieces when he sees her sitting there on the bottom of the stairs, her head buried in her hands as she cries. And cries. And cries. 

He takes a tentative step towards her, reaching out to her, and her head snaps up and she looks absolutely lost. He rushes to her side and sits down beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Her cries become wails then, her whole body shaking, and she doesn’t have to say anything, because he knows. His prayers turn to promises then, because someone will pay for this. 

He promises right there and then that he will do whatever it takes to avenge his son. 

=X=X=

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Demons run-” he mutters through gritted teeth, tightening the arm straps of his shield before he looks up, facing Thanos.

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here.

Well, he thinks then, that’s not completely true. He was there when Scott Lang suddenly showed up on the Compound’s security cam footage and told them he had a way to fix this. 

He was there only because of his monthly trip into the city, the one where he goes to his support group meeting first before he drops by the Compound to see how Natasha’s holding up after. Natasha, who somehow thinks she’s paying her dues by keeping in touch with the remaining team members and safeguarding the Compound. Who doesn’t want to hear it when he tells her it’s ok if she wants to move on. Who went to Vormir together with Clint and sacrificed herself so they could get the soul stone, because well, she’s always been a martyr.

Like her. 

His wife, who doesn’t want to leave the cabin, because like Natasha, thinks it’s her way of paying penance. Who still blames herself for what happened to their son, even though he’s told her over and over again it wasn’t her fault. He explained to her how Thanos had wiped out half the population with a snap of his fingers after getting the Infinity stones, but she still thinks she should have protected Wyatt. His wife, who told him several times that he should just leave her, that she would understand if he did. Who, after a while, finally believed him when he told her he made a promise to her in that City Hall in Littlefork and that he would stick to that promise. 

They work through their traumas one day at a time, mostly alone or in his case with the help of a support group, but sometimes they find each other in their grief and are able to heal together. It’s not like it was before and he doubts it ever will be, but that’s ok. She’s all he needs.

And so he called her when Lang’s plans started to take shape, even though he doesn’t tell her much, only that maybe, just maybe there’s a way to make things better.

“Will you be careful,” he remembers her voice trembling. “Please? Don’t do anything reckless.”

“I won’t.”

“Steve,” she pleaded, “promise me. I can’t lose you too.”

He hung his head when he heard she was crying, his voice barely above a whisper when he said, “I promise.” 

And yet here he is, the only one still standing, ready to face Thanos, reciting a prophecy Stephen Strange wrote a long time ago. He finishes the last part of the sentence a little louder, “-when a good man goes to war.” 

There’s another voice coming through then, one he hasn’t heard for a very long time, and he almost can’t believe it when he hears, “Cap, it’s Sam. Can you hear me?” 

=X=X=

First Natasha and now Tony. 

His heart feels heavier than ever, burdened with the loss of two of his closest friends after a battle he honestly didn’t think they would win. But there’s also something else, a sliver of hope that he has felt fluttering in his chest ever since those portals opened. And so he finds himself, once again, flying the Quinjet back to Red Lake Airport, like he did five years ago.

Of course he runs into that same damn janitor, who looks as bewildered as he did the last time, but at least there’s a smile on his face now. He doesn’t stop, certain that someone else will explain the poor man what has happened. His trusted bike is there where he left it, because once again he’s been gone for only a couple of days. He opens the throttle wide enough for the trees lining the road to become blur, pushing his bike to its limits, making it back home in a record breaking twenty two minutes. 

She steps out onto the porch as soon as he cuts the engine, a worried look on her face, and he can tell from the way her eyes scan his body that’s she’s checking for injuries. He shakes his head to let her know he’s fine as he gets off the bike, taking the few steps needed to get to her and wrap his arms around her.

“What happened?” she mumbles against his chest.

He’s tired and so he doesn’t immediately connect the dots, but when he does he heart sinks, “What do you- We undid the snap, doll. Everyone’s back.” 

He feels her whole body tense up, and then she pulls back and looks up at him, tears in her eyes, “No.” Her breathing picks up and he can tell she’s panicking, “No, Steve, no, no, no, he’s not here!” She punches his chest, fistst closed, and he lets her because he doesn’t have any energy left to fight back. “He’s not here,” she sobs then, letting her hands drop to her sides and it feels like she’s given up.

“Ok,” he runs a hand over his face and tries to focus, “Ok. We need to go look for him. Where was the last time-”

“Oh god,” she clasps her hands in front of her mouth and looks up at him, her eyes wide in shock. “The bunker.”

He sets off immediately and picks up his speed once he hits the treeline, his body protesting with every step of the way. Still, he makes it there in under two minutes, but then he sees the entrance’s completely overgrown, because neither of them could summon the courage to return here, and he has to steady himself against a tree trunk to keep from getting sick. 

She catches up with him a few seconds later and despite everything he has time to wonder how she could have run that fast, but files that as something he’ll ask her about later. Maybe he has just been leaning against this tree, trying to put off the inevitable longer than he thought. He hears her curse quietly as she sets to work, her hands tearing away the vines and branches that block them from getting inside and it snaps him out of his musings and he's quick to join her, reaching what she can’t with ease and within a few minutes the door is visible again.

They both stop then and he’s sure they even stop breathing for just a second, as if to prepare themselves for the worst. He admires her courage when she takes a tentative step forwards, her hand slowly folding itself around the doorknob, and he knows it’s the scariest thing she’ll ever have to do. He doesn’t want her to feel like she has to do this alone and so he gentle puts his hand on hers and together they open the door, letting go once it swings open with an ease neither of them were expecting.

She gasps when she sees what’s inside and reaches behind her for his hand. His eyes take a second longer to adjust but when they do, he squeezes her hand to let her know he’s there. 

“Hello, little man,” she says as she crouches down, one knee dropping to the floor. She lets go of his hand and holds it out in front of her, to the five-year old boy that looks at her curiously, “Hi, Wyatt.”