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Steve had never had much reason to put stock in Valentine’s Day; it was always just another day. He was more inclined to ignore its existence the best he could given the gaudy amount of red and pink advertisements that flooded everywhere and everything for at least a month ahead of time. It really was ridiculous just how monetized a single day had grown to be.
When he couldn’t ignore it (thanks, mostly, to those gaudy red and pink advertisements everywhere), it was that much harder to pretend he didn’t really care. Or, at least, the extent to which he really didn’t care.
To be fair, most holidays drew similar reactions, despite his best efforts to suppress them. He could admit, though never aloud where anyone who truly mattered might actually hear, that holidays in general tended to be a very lonely time. They always had been and he was sure that he really ought to be used to it. Not that he blamed her in the least, but his mother worked through them just as often as he did now, before she’d passed.
Most of the time, his name was at the top of the list, gladly volunteering to take on shifts so others could spend those days with their families. That served dually as a solid excuse to turn down the well-intended invitations from friends, who he loved dearly, but certainly deserved time with their own families without him as a tag along.
He knew they didn’t see it that way. He knew he was due a stern, well-intended lecture if ever they learned that the thoughts even passed consideration. But that didn’t change how he felt.
If he didn’t think about it, if he pretended they were simply another day, then he felt less of an imposition on his friends. He felt less as though he were missing pieces that really should still be there.
But that was before.
Before the Avengers crashed into the Emergency Room doors on his midnight shift, each of them in varying degrees of bleeding and bruised. Barking orders that, in a less urgent situation, would have undoubtedly sent Steve’s hackles up.
Granted, it still had, but it proved far easier to set that aside given the situation at hand. He was well-aware that he could be considered something of a terror when one of his own were ill or injured and in need of help, it wasn’t a stretch to believe that a team as close-knit as the Avengers would be much the same.
Before he’d spent the entirety of his shift helping with stitching and patching because the hospital was far, far closer than Stark’s tower, the owner of which had required stitches for a head wound and observation for concussion.
While Steve certainly wasn’t complaining, he was surprised that they came through at all. None of them were so critical that they wouldn’t have made it back to New York by whatever expedient measures the Avengers traveled. He didn’t, and wouldn’t, ask. Not only would that be incredibly tactless but people like that, people who were under that pressure, that expected to be untouchably strong and unbreakable didn’t often tend to reach out for help.
Which is also why he was quick and firm to help enforce the NDA’s that Stark belatedly remembered to have his AI–who Steve would never not be equally disturbed and delighted to interact with–forward for Steve and the rest of the hospital staff on duty. If one of them, any one of them, opened their mouths or took and shared a picture that they shouldn’t (that they very well knew they shouldn’t), Steve had little doubt that asking for help outside of themselves would likely never happen again.
In a different situation, that caution could tip any one of the Avengers from critical to fatal.
It could still happen. Another event, another hospital. Another chance at cautious trust. It was the risk they took. The very least Steve could do is ensure that the breach of confidence wasn’t due to him or the staff around him.
Sign and stay to help or sign and leave (and keep it to themselves) quickly became the motto of the night. Steve was relieved (and proud, admittedly) that none of the staff that night chose the option to leave.
The Widow firmly declined the painkillers but begrudgingly accepted the splint to immobilize her dislocated knee, the worst of her injuries by far, swollen and bruised enough that Steve couldn’t quite help the sympathetic grimace even as he reset the bones as gently as he could. She had bruising on her face–though nothing was broken, they’d made sure to check–and rubble in her hair, standing out in sharp contrast against the red. She accepted the general check-over with a smirk that seemed more exasperated than truly accepting but nothing more than her knee truly needed treatment.
Cap was cheery enough, all things considered, friendly and conversational once word passed that the others weren’t in danger. They’d ordered x-rays to confirm what Steve suspected: rib fractures and muscle strains. Cap only nodded as though he’d already known, or at least suspected that diagnosis. Given the placement of the harness for his wings, Steve suspected he did.
Not that Steve spent any particular amount of time considering the Avengers or their equipment. Nope. Not at all.
He didn’t live at the hospital and sometimes he got bored. So sue him.
Hawkeye was, by a longshot, the worst of the sorry bunch as far as injuries went though, from the sounds of it, not nearly as extensive as they likely could have been. Broken nose, brow, cheek, and collar bone were undoubtedly as painful as it looked and would take some time to heal, but not life-threatening.
Falling off of buildings, in Steve’s experience, tended to leave a lot more damage.
Steve hoped all of them had time off booked; they all needed the recovery time. Not that he truly believed that any one of them would stay put if push came to shove. Or boredom struck, whichever happened to come first.
Boredom.
Boredom nearly always struck first when patients ought to be healing.
Regardless, that was besides the point. All of that, the working through holidays, the distaste for the obnoxious amount of decorations, all of it. That was before Steve Rogers, somehow, caught the attention of an actual god. He and Doctor Banner being the only ones not needing care on that particular night. It was quite peculiar, speaking with the pair and watching the bruising on Thor’s face change color and vanish as they spoke.
Thor, who then proceeded to pop into the hospital well after his teammates had been released.
All of them had, at one point or another. Well, except for Stark though Steve caught word of donations along with Stark’s name so he assumed it was Tony Stark’s version of the same.
Cap– Sam had accompanied Thor twice. The first to apparently just say thanks and to chat for a while. The second time, he hadn’t said a whole lot, not in comparison, but he looked more amused than anything.
Natasha–Steve would never admit how strange it was to be on first-name basis with any of them, let alone the Widow–had assured him that Clint was still benched and very displeased about it. Her knee was fine, thanks for asking and that he’d better not make her lose the bet.
She was very, very evidently amused by his lack of understanding on the final point but offered to buy him lunch. It took her asking twice more before Steve resigned himself to accepting.
But Thor just kept coming. Not for lunch as Natasha had. Not just to say thanks or to chat the way Sam had. But to loudly, very loudly, express apparent interest. There was no other logical reason why Thor of all people would even pretend interest, let alone so loudly . The clear persistence, along with Natasha’s jab about some bet that he knew nothing about, only seemed to confirm his suspicions.
It was a joke at his expense.
It had to be.
It wasn’t the first time, and frankly, Steve had no patience for it.
There was no other explanation.
Steve didn’t trust it, not at first, soundly rejecting the loud, boisterous requests to take him out.
To court him. Because, really? How gullible and naive did they really think he was?
When he finally accepted, it wasn’t because he changed his mind or because he really thought there was anything truly genuine about it. Honestly, he just wanted the joke to end. He liked them, mostly. Sam was great and, honestly, someone Steve would love to have as a genuine friend. Natasha was sharp and charming. Clint, once he’d finally healed enough to make his own way back, was friendly and funny in his awkwardness, not too different from Steve was, actually.
What better way to solve all the problems than to call the bluff?
Suffice to say his gamble didn’t pay off quite the way he anticipated.
Thor’s reaction was nothing short of delight. Steve still didn’t know the hows or the whys. Frankly, weeks later, he was entirely too afraid to question it, just in case he jinxed it.
Steve nudged his glasses back up his nose with his wrist and took a sweeping glance around his kitchen. It was familiar in that it was the same kitchen he’d always known. Yet it was entirely unrecognizable simply due to…well, he might’ve gone just a little bit overboard.
But in his defense, Steve never had reason to put any effort into Valentine’s Day. Not until Thor nudged his way into his life. So enthusiastically curious about everything, it was hardly a surprise when questions started overflowing when certain gaudy pink and red decorations exploded over everything.
Decorations that currently coated his kitchen.
And his living room.
Nevermind the desserts staged just so on the counter beside the dinner Steve had just spent the last hour and change putting together.
He very carefully did not think about the other decorations in the back bedroom.
Okay, yeah, he went overboard.
He rubbed his hands against his thighs, hoping the material would successfully remove the anxious dampness coating his palms. The house was as clean as it was going to get, dinner (and dessert) was ready, he’d already cleaned up the mess he’d made while cooking and changed clothes (three times).
There was nothing left to do but wait.
He hated waiting. The anticipation was always worse than whatever it was he was waiting for.
Thankfully, some amount of luck seemed to be on his side and he wasn’t left waiting for long. Steve nudged the serving dish, thick plastic decorated with painted red hearts, bought specifically for the occasion, only to nudge it back to its original position just in time to hear the front door open and then close once again.
He didn’t much bother with locks and keys and social niceties that a being from a literal other world might not actually understand to begin with. Thor never knocked. Steve had never asked him to. He didn’t intend to start.
“Steven?”
Steve had barely a half a second to debate it, whether to call Thor into the kitchen or to quickly go to greet him, before his feet were moving on their own accord. “Thor, hi, you came,” he said at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room by way of greeting, inwardly wincing at the evident surprise in his tone.
He was surprised. He was always surprised. Every single time. He didn’t understand it, not even a little bit. But that didn’t mean he meant to make it seem as though he somehow doubted Thor. The recent weeks and months had taught him that those particular suspicions were unfounded. He just…still didn’t quite understand why or how this was actually his reality.
“I have,” Thor confirmed with a grin far quieter than his usual outward enthusiasm. “I said that I would, did I not?”
“You did, of course you did,” Steve agreed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–I’m…nervous, I guess. Sorry.”
“I was told this was…custom for your holiday?” Thor said, lifting the bouquet that Steve hadn’t even realized he was holding. Thor tilted his head and frowned down at the flowers as though only just considering that his source might not be entirely reliable and might not have told him correctly.
“No,” Steve blurted. “No, I mean, yes, they’re…custom. I think. Oh. Oh wow. You brought me flowers.”
He didn’t think he even owned a vase for them.
Thor was still holding them out. Holding them out in offering and looking more and more uncertain as the moments passed.
Steve was just standing there. What was wrong with him?
Nerves. Definitely nerves.
“You brought me flowers?” Steve repeated, not quite meaning to phrase it as a question but, at the same time, not entirely sure he was capable of trusting what his mind and eyes were telling him.
He had no issues whatsoever with instructing Natasha to keep her knee immobilized. That yes, dislocation meant that further, and worsened dislocation was possible, so take it easy for a bit, okay?
Not even the least bit of hesitance in reminding Sam, Captain America, to take it easy until they knew that his ribs wouldn’t worsen and puncture a lung. Sorry Cap but you’re grounded for at least a month.
No problems at all with standing toe to toe with Tony Stark that, yes, he was concussed and, yes, he needed stitches and no his AI, however well-developed he was, could not do the stitching. Thankfully, JARVIS seemed to agree with him. I’m sorry, sir, my protocol does not allow me to override when you seek direct medical intervention. Not the best way to word it, futuristically (it was Tony Stark) but Steve took it for what it was.
Steve wasn’t quite so sure he knew how to handle Thor bringing him flowers. On Valentine’s Day.
“I did,” Thor confirmed. The hand holding the flowers lifted a tad higher and Thor’s words came more quickly. “The young lady that assisted me was very knowledgeable. Did you know your people have developed an entire language of flowers? It seems quite fascinating though I don’t know what these are intended to say. They remind me of you in their cheerful brightness.”
Steve was more than a little stunned. And…confused. Cheerful brightness? Him? That was new. He kinda thought a cactus might be a better fit. Or maybe nettle. Did they make bouquets of nettle? But still. Aside from the ones sent for his mother’s funeral, he’d never gotten flowers before. He didn’t think funeral flowers counted, not really. Did they? Maybe they did and he just didn’t realize it.
Taking those few steps needed to close the distance between them seemed to require way more focus and effort than it should. Meaning, Steve tripped over either the floor or his own feet in his attempts. Maybe both.
He didn’t faceplant onto the wood floors though, which was actually exactly his kind of luck, so there was that. Granted, he only avoided that eventuality thanks to the firm hand encircling his arm, holding gently long enough for Steve to regain his footing. Even then, Thor didn’t release him entirely, only loosened the hold on his arm to drift down to hold onto his hand instead.
Thor hummed thoughtfully, “It appears that I was also right.”
“Right?” Steve repeated. “About what?”
Thor freed his hand to point at a particular flower nestled in the mix, “This one. It matches your lovely flush almost perfectly.”
Well it certainly didn’t now .
Steve was acutely aware of the burning sting in his face and ears that suggested that whatever pink might have matched the flower was solidly, glowingly red now. Thor clearly didn’t miss the change either, instead he snickered smugly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple and the bouquet into Steve’s hands.
“Come dearest,” Thor murmured against the side of his head. “Whatever you’ve made for this occasion smells truly wonderful.”
“Oh, food, right,” Steve managed, nodding jerkily. Thor steered them into the kitchen and Steve let him, attention still fully locked on the bouquet in his hands. They really were lovely. Reds and oranges, and yes, pinks. Very bright, cheery, and colorful. None of which were descriptors that Steve would generally have used to describe himself.
But apparently that was how Thor saw him?
Steve didn’t know what to make of that, actually.
A quick dig through the various cabinets confirmed that he definitely did not have a vase. He had a pitcher though, made of thick, sturdy plastic that he’d kept after his mother passed. Maybe it wasn’t the best option but it was the best one he had. He quickly filled it with water from the sink. He took a moment to study the small packet attached to the stems before dumping the mixture into the water, followed immediately by the flowers themselves.
Steve fiddled with the flowers, he was no expert but he had enough of an eye to know they didn’t settle quite as prettily in the pitcher as they did in the bundle. Granted, at least half of his preoccupation was due to the acute awareness of the silence that had fallen around them and the very likely chance that Thor was watching him.
A brief glance over his shoulder confirmed it and Steve cleared his throat, reluctantly pulling his hands and attention away from the flowers to turn and face Thor’s curious stare fully. “Thank you,” he said, rubbing his palms against his thighs again. “They’re lovely.”
“They made you uncomfortable,” Thor noted perceptively from where he stood by the table, food staged and waiting and probably growing colder by the minute.
“No,” Steve denied immediately and then grimaced. He sighed and then shrugged before forcing himself to part with at least some of the truth. “I’m just nervous, like I said. And…surprised. I’ve never…No one’s gotten me flowers before. I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
“Ah,” Thor frowned, head tilting to the side. “It’s not customary, then.”
“I think it is?” Steve countered, eyes automatically drifting around the room to the onslaught of pink and red decorations. Definitely overboard. The flowers though, he didn’t think those could be counted as anywhere near. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not the ideal person to be giving any sort of lessons about this particular day.”
The admission, fumbling and awkward as it was, drew another one of those surprised yet delighted smiles from Thor, not dissimilar to the one he received when he finally gave in to accepting a date. Though, honestly, Steve couldn’t begin to imagine why.
Thor didn’t appear to have any desire to enlighten him either. Instead, he looked at the spread on the table with evident curiosity. “You’ve made tiny birds,” he noted.
Steve bit back the urge to laugh at the odd phrasing. He wasn’t exactly wrong after all. “Cornish hens,” he nodded, drawing closer to the table and Thor. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
They were just chickens. Steve had roasted whole chickens before, for gatherings with friends. It hadn’t been as difficult as he’d feared to roast these. And, for some strange, bizarre reason that even he couldn’t explain, the smaller birds somehow felt…fancier. He just hoped the fancy birds, and the handful of sides, were enough to be considered an actual meal for an actual god.
Steve had the sudden, sinking feeling that he’d missed the mark on that as well.
He was jolted from his nerves by the familiar sound of the chair being dragged across the floor. When he looked, he found Thor standing, hands braced against the back of the chair closest to Steve, watching him expectantly.
Oh. He’d pulled out Steve’s chair for him? Flowers and now this? Wasn’t Steve supposed to somehow be the one doing all the romantic shit for him?
He took the offered seat, feeling his face heat as Thor nudged it back toward the table before taking his own. They worked in silence, dishing out the food on their plates and tucked in.
“This is,” Thor spoke and then paused, the familiar frown on his face suggesting that he was considering unfamiliar words and phrases. Something Steve found unaccountably endearing each time he saw it. “This is new for you as well.”
Steve froze for a moment before carefully setting his utensils on his plate. He briefly considered lying, no matter how abysmal he was at it, before dismissing the idea outright. “Yes,” he admitted.
Thor’s brows furrowed as he studied Steve intently. “You are uncomfortable with it, with all of this,” he noted.
“Maybe a little bit,” Steve shrugged. He sighed and gave into the fact that he would need to explain a bit further than that rather than let Thor believe that he was the source of the discomfort. “I guess it’s more that I’m very aware of just how much I don’t know,” he mused. “I’m not all that fond of failure and you deserve to have things done…right.”
“Would it help you to know that I quite enjoy that it is something that we can learn and explore together?” Thor asked.
“Really?” Steve asked disbelievingly. He found it pretty difficult to wrap his head around the idea. His fair few experiences where dating was concerned had told him enough to know that days like this were important to get just. exactly. right.
“Of course,” Thor responded promptly but earnestly. “Is that not the purpose of courting rituals, regardless of their origins? It is to find common ground, to find those things that are appreciated and enjoyable, together and as individuals. I’m…pleased to know there are things unknown that we might explore together.”
“Oh,” Steve said, lame and inarticulate as always. He forced aside the recrimination, only to shake his head with a frown, the self-consciousness that had lingered since the very first time Thor had appeared at the hospital, flared hot, bright and unignorably. “But,” he shook his head again. “You’re, you know, you.”
“And you are you,” Thor shrugged easily.
“I’m not the one that’s an actual god and superhero,” Steve protested.
“And I am not a doctor,” Thor countered, firm but gently. “I know nothing of healing practices and little of the workings of the body, nor do I fully understand the extent of training required to get as far as you are though I am aware enough to know it to be quite extensive. Yes, I have knowledge of the universes and of battles that you’ll never know. But you also have that which I do not have in both knowledge and experiences.”
Steve hadn’t thought of it like that.
“Sorry,” he murmured. Thor had been genuine from the beginning, even if Steve hadn’t initially trusted it as such. He hadn’t understood but he’d known that. It made little sense to challenge that now.
“Unnecessary,” Thor replied with a small smile and a shake of his head. “Your efforts are appreciated, very much. But you don’t need to try so hard to prove that you’re worthy.” When Steve could think of nothing to say, no reasonable response, Thor’s smile widened and he nodded indicatively at Steve’s plate. “Eat your little bird, Steve. You did well, there’s no sense wasting it.”
Steve did as instructed, head ducked over his plate in hopes of hiding both his smile and the heat in his face. Thor was perceptive enough that Steve knew he didn’t succeed much, if any. But that failure didn’t seem to burn nearly as badly.
His mind trailed to the decorations littering his room. He might have gone overboard. No, he definitely went overboard but…perhaps that wasn’t always a bad thing. Thor already admitted he appreciated the efforts, no sense letting good intentions go to waste.
After dinner though.