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Things were yet again about to boil over, you could tell, everyone could tell. Your answers becoming shorter, mood becoming more withdrawn as your mind started to swirl, to swallow you whole. You were forcing your smiles and your laughs were half hearted. You hated feeling like this, like every day was a meltdown waiting to happen.
It'd been a few weeks since Bob had sat with you on the couch, the day you'd all gone out together, leaving you feeling drained and exhausted, past your social limit. It was hard being a “superhero” who was so easily drained by being in public. Some nights you really missed the quiet of being a ‘bad guy’, someone who just worked in the shadows. Although, that would mean giving up your new family, and you didn't want that.
Really, you should've known what was wrong this time, what was making you feel this down right shitty, more so than usual, but it still snuck up on you every time, that ache beginning to form before any real sign of blood. Yet it did come, slowly but surely, a bit of spotting here and there and then the blood. It made everything worse. You spiraled more, everything was extra bright and extra loud, and bad smells became rancid in the back of your throat, like your whole body was attacking you or you'd been infected with some super senses.
Currently you were in your room, curled in bed, clinging to one of your pillows like your life depended on it as you doomscrolled your way through instagram reels, because deleting TikTok only did so much to curb your crippling phone addiction. You hadn't been out of your room at all the whole day, clock slowly creeping up on one pm when there was a soft, hesitant knock on your door. You knew who it was, because who else was going to knock so softly?
You hesitated and then sighed, pushing yourself up and out of bed to go and open your door. Sure enough, Bob stood there, staring at his hands as he seemed to pick at the skin around his nails, his attention only pulled from them when you leaned against your door frame, face pressed against the coolness of the still fresh paint, yet to be chipped away. “What's up?” You croak out, voice dry from lack of use.
He studied you for a moment, your hair tangled and knotted, sticking out in all sorts of directions from your habit of near non-stop rotating when you lay in bed, never able to be still for long, even in your sleep. A frown tugged at his lips, and his brows furrowed, your own raising as he still hadn't said anything.
“Yelena said you were fine, but-” He began.
“I am, mostly.” You interrupted with a nod. She must've picked up on whatever ‘that time’ vibes you'd been giving off. The fact the two of you shared a bathroom probably helped.
His frown only deeped. “You don't look fine, you look like- you look rough, have you even eaten today?” His concern was warming, it made you soften a little as you stood up straighter from where you were still pressed to the door frame.
“Have you?” Your arms crossed over your chest, trying to avoid the question that was clearly answered by said avoidance. The way his eyes darted back down to his hands answered yours. You weren't really feeling up to eating, but if it meant getting someone else to eat, it'd be worth it.
You knew the both of you struggled with stuff like this, eating, cleaning, the dishes, just simple taking-care-of-yourself tasks. So you sighed, ran a hand over your face as you studied Bob, and gave in. “Let me get…” You pause, glancing down at your disheveled appearance. “cleaned up. And then we can make something… okay?”
He seemed to perk up, rocking back on his feet as his eyes trailed back up to your face before darting away again, one of his small awkward smiles tugging at his lips. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.” He gave you two thumbs up, hesitating yet again before backing away from your door, eventually turning and heading down the hall as you shut your door.
It took you about fifteen or so minutes to get put together. You made your first stop in the bathroom to brush your hair and teeth, having to stare at your tooth brush for a good 30 seconds before you could convince yourself, yes, this is necessary, and then once that was a success, you decided, fuck it, take a quick shower too and wash the important bits. The important bits included using a 2-in-1 shampoo conditioner as just a quick scrub through your hair, it smelled of rosemary and tea tree and you only used it in between “big” showers. Once sufficiently clean (enough), you toweled off and gave your hair one last quick comb so that it wouldn't dry awkwardly.
It felt nice to pull on some clean clothes, baggy pajama pants, sports bra, your favorite sweater and socks. Usually you'd wear a binder but one, you were tired and not in the mood for it, and two, you found yourself thinking ‘well, it's just Bob.’ Everyone else was most likely busy doing their own things, either training or off in their rooms, doing errands, whatever it was that they got up to on their days off. Wearing a binder when you were already feeling overstimulated was just a bad idea. Besides, everyone already knew about your situation anyway. It wasn't like you came out of the womb genderless.
After giving yourself one last look in the mirror and, oh shit, right, deodorant, you give yourself a little nod and a thumbs up, finally heading out of your room to go track Bob down. Said task was easily accomplished, he was already in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards with various ingredients and utensils strewn about, some of which not really seeming to correlate, half baked ideas he hadn't yet settled on.
He must've not heard you enter the kitchen because he's still looking for something, staring blankly into the open cabinet doors with his hands on his hips. You don't really say anything as you approach him, looking up and into the mess of various food items yourself. “Whatcha thinkin’?” You speak up after a moment of standing next to him and he nearly jumps out of his skin, lights flickering as he yelps and takes a bounce back away from you while whirling to face you, arms up in a pathetic display of self defence. This, of course, makes you startle as well, letting out your own yelp as you raise your own hands.
“Jesus fuck!” His voice high pitched and shaky. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“I'm sorry!” Your own voice trembles with the beginning of a chuckle, your body relaxing as your hands drop to rest on your hips. “I swear I didn't mean to! I figured you heard me come in..”
He lets out his own shaky laugh, leaning against the counter top. “Yeah, well, fuck. I did not.” He seems still a bit on edge, not fully relaxed yet, which was his usual state of being anyways, like he hadn't fully settled into the Tower yet. “You uh- what did you ask me?” He shakes his head, shaking out the last of his nerves from being startled and tilts his head as he looks down at you, then his brows furrow and he looks at your still wet hair. “That was a quick shower, I think even I take longer than that.”
You shrug and glance around the kitchen, not really a fan of prolonged eye contact, and something about the way his eyes were, always, so intense as he looked at you made it even harder to look at him. “It was mostly just a rinse, did you think of anything to eat?” Your eyes met with his momentarily and then quickly back away as you turned your body, leaving against the counter before deciding to just push yourself up to sit on it. They always did that in shows and movies, sitting on the counters. You'd never lived anywhere with enough counter space to even consider it. But hey, here was your chance. It felt a little silly, a little taller. Mostly silly. But you had committed to it now.
Bob sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he looked at the mess he had created on the kitchen island, lips thinning in thought. “Well… I considered pancakes, we have a mix, so I started to uh, look for the oil?” he paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can't find any. And then I remembered I don't know how to cook pancakes. It should be easy right? I just want something sweet.” He says, sounding a little defeated as he did.
“I know how to make pancakes, I can show you.” You shrug and take this as your opportunity to slip off the counter. “I'm pretty sure Alexei keeps the vegetable oil above the fridge.” You start to gather the things you need while Bob goes to look on top of the fridge with a small, ‘oh’ ,whispered mostly to himself. You grab a mixing bowl, the box of mix, and the measuring devices you need.
Bob brings you the oil, setting it down tenderly before looking at you for the next step, you open the box and take out the bagged mix before glancing at the back. “I need the milk and… two eggs, oh and-” You move to the spice cabinet and pull out a tiny brown bottle. “My mom would always put vanilla extract in it, makes it so much better.”
Once everything else is put together and the pan is ready, you pour the first bit of mixture on, butter sizzling softly at the contact. “Basically it's a lot of watching and waiting.” You inform him, eyes concentrated on the pancakes, too nervous to check if he's watching the pan or you. It feels like his eyes are on you and that makes your face feel even hotter than just the pan on the stove alone. Why are you so flustered anyways? It's just Bob.
You let him take over after showing him when to flip them, just as the edges start to look dry and it begins to bubble, and now it's your turn to watch him. At least you would, if that didn't also make you nervous and your cramps weren't starting to get bad again from standing in the kitchen. You clear off the island and put away the miscellaneous little things Bob had pulled out before taking a seat at it, the stools facing inward across from the stove so you're able to watch Bob from where you are. There if he needs you.
It's quiet as he finishes up the rest of the pancakes, having gotten the hang of it rather quickly, only burning one or two, which everyone did. You'd crossed your arms on the island top, your head resting on them and your eyes drifting shut. The smell of pancakes and vanilla filled the air, it felt calm, domestic, safe. It was a feeling you'd been having a lot lately. Safety. It still felt foreign most days when it would pop up, deep inside you. Safe here, in the kitchen with Bob making breakfast. Safe there, on the couch, your head in Yelena's lap as she made tiny braids in your hair that would stick out awkwardly. Safety in a team, in a family, in these people just as fucked up as you, if not more.
Your stomach growls and suddenly, you're absolutely starving, and Bob must've heard it in the quiet of the kitchen, over the soft sizzle of butter in the pan because he breathes out quickly through his nose in a small laugh. You'd feel embarrassed if it wasn't for the way that Bob's stomach followed yours, also declaring its hunger to the world. A smile tugs at your lips and you push yourself to be sitting back up, watching the back of Bob as he plates the last pancake and turns with the stack, setting it on the island. “I guess we're both pretty hungry after all.” You break the silence and Bob lets out a small laugh with a nod.
“Guess so.” He meets your eyes before turning away once again to turn the stove off. He grabs two smaller plates, adding them to the island, then makes his way to the fridge to pull out some syrup as well.
He sits across from you on the island, pulling pancakes onto his plate and loading them up with an obscene amount of syrup, you watch in a mix of awe and horror. You didn't mean to make him feel bad, yet he looked so sheepish as he caught you gawking at him, eyes wide, unable to pull away from the pond he'd created.
“I uh-” He started to speak up, face growing red as he sat the syrup bottle down and pushed it towards you, bringing you out of your sugary trance. “I get pretty bad sugar cravings since I'm completely sober now, or well.. trying really hard to be sober.” He sounds so ashamed as he admits it, it breaks your heart and you straighten up in your seat, glancing down at your own, mostly dry, pancakes before back at him.
“I've heard of that happening, makes sense, really.” You're trying to sound reassuring, not wanting to make him feel worse than you already had. The coffees and milkshakes you always saw him with were really starting to make sense now.
“Do you think that'd help me quit smoking?” You blurt out, eyes darting around the kitchen before landing back on him, your eyebrows slightly pinched together. Maybe if you turned the attention to yourself, your own bad habits, like tobacco, it'd get his mind off his own.
A small smile tugs at his lips and he lets out a breathy chuckle, poking at his breakfast with his fork. “I mean, I never smoked cigarettes so I can't say. But if you want to quit, maybe? I don't think I even realized you smoked…”
You hesitate, watching your own fork as you begin to cut a piece off. “Yeah I- uh, I try to hide it. Always go for a long walk or sit on the rooftop. Been tapering off but if I get stressed enough it's just so much easier to light one up and let it melt everything away. I'm sure weed would be a lot more effective.” You say and then cringe. “Sorry that was probably a shit thing to say-”
He shakes his head, finishing up a bite he'd taken. “Nah, you're fine… you're probably right.”
The conversation dies off and you eat the rest of your food in not quite comfortable but not quite uncomfortable silence.
Once everything is cleaned up and the two of you have made your way into the living room to sit on the couch, Bob gives you a slight nudge but doesn't look at you, eyes trailing around the room. “Wanna talk about it?” His voice is so soft and gentle, like the night he'd found you ready to crumble in your room. You don't feel as dire as you did then but you're sure he can't really tell the difference.
“It's uh. It's nothing serious. I promise. Just…” you hesitate, trying to find a way to word it that didn't make you cringe. “The Blood has come upon me.” You decide on, and it still makes you cringe a little, especially as Bob turns to look at you with the most confused, bewildered expression you think you've ever seen on him.
“The, What?” His voice cracks as he asks, eyes wide. It makes you bite your lip trying not to break out laughing, as he is probably taking this way more seriously than he needs to be.
“It's just- that time of the moon cycle!” You try to keep it as a riddle, makes you feel a little better about it, even as your face burns at Bob's slow realization of what you're referring to.
“Oh!” Is all he says as he quickly looks away, his own face starting to burn. And then, “Oh.” Again, like it's still catching up to him. “I didn't realize you- yeah. Okay. I forgot that was a thing.”
“You forgot it was a thing? Even with Yelena and Ava? Really?” You're grinning now, unable to help yourself as you give in to teasing him, especially with how red he's getting.
“Well! Yeah! I don't just go around thinking about it! It's not like I ever got mine- between stress, and my dad, and then all the drugs-” He stops suddenly, looking like a deer in headlights, looking like he wants to run, but then he looks at you, how you've softened despite the growing confusion on your face. He'd just felt so comfortable with you in that moment it was like he forgot that men wouldn't ‘normally’ have to worry about that.
“What do you mean…?” You ask softly, carefully, not wanting to spook this deer you've stumbled upon in the woods. He still looks so scared, so frightened, but it's you. Years of instinct and fear thrum in a low hum in his ears as your eyes search his face, instinctually running over his body, all six foot even and muscles, then you shut your eyes and shake your head slightly, before sitting with your back pressed to the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, giving him the out he so desperately looks like he needs.
He mirrors your movements, heart pounding in his chest, on his ears, in his throat, as he presses his back to the couch. “No. Not particularly.”
“Okay.” You give a shrug, glancing at him, then at the TV, currently off. “Wanna watch some YouTube? I think Yelena got all the Smart TV features set up for us.”
He gives a small nod, reaching for the remote and handing it to you, not seeming fully relaxed yet, still stuck in his fight, flight, freeze. You understood that feeling, so you took over, turning on the TV and pressing all the necessary buttons and settling on a gaming video by one of your favorite youtubers.
You pull your legs to sit crisscross, letting your knee rest against Bob as just a soft, gentle reminder that you were there, that you weren't leaving, that finding out he was like you wasn't going to make you hate him, because that would be just plain hypocritical.
Bob eventually relaxes, leaning back into the couch, the comfort of you not leaving helping. You yourself have begun to squirm in your spot, more so than usual, even more unable to get comfortable than usual. You know it must be annoying him because he keeps glancing at you every time you move. You eventually tug your knees to your chest, trying to curl up into yourself with a small huff and a smaller, muttered ‘sorry’ to Bob for all your shifting.
“Why don't you lay down?” He asks softly and you look over at him, brows slightly pinched in question. “You can use me as a pillow.” He adds and it makes your chest clench, stomach doing summersaults as you just stare at him for a few moments before giving a small shrug. Slowly you shift so that you're laying down on your side, curled up with your head in his lap, face flushing. He's warm against your cheek, and slowly his hand comes down to gently toy with your hair, a distraction from everything else you're feeling. “Is this okay?” His voice is a whisper and you give a tiny nod, not sure if you trust your own voice.
“Ye-yeah.” You croak out anyways, wanting to give verbal confirmation that this was okay, that this was great actually, and you didn't want him to stop. You closed your eyes, just taking in the sensation of his hand combing carefully through your hair, being wary not to tug too hard on any knots, instead, carefully unweaving them, straightening out any tangles his long fingers came across. It's almost too much, too tender, too warm, your chest aches and feels full all at once. It makes you feel like he's seen the way you wince when you run your own hands through your hair, so incredibly tender headed that even slight tugs make your scalp scream and burn. It didn't help that your hair was so quick to tangle.
“I’m not hurting you am I?” His voice breaks through your thoughts and your eyes flutter open, you must've been making some sort of face to cause him to ask that, too lost in thought to even realize it.
“No, no you're good, just pain everywhere else.” You let out a soft, defeated laugh, even as your cramping had subsided, it was still uncomfortable, and an easy enough excuse for the likely pained expression on your face. The sound of the TV once again fills the lull in conversation between the two of you, eventually Bob's fingers stop their toying in your hair to rest comfortably on your shoulder instead, his thumb rubbing gentle shapes in the fabric on your sweater.
You're not sure when, but at some point you'd fallen back to sleep. Your dreams were a jumbled mess, part stressful, part weird, part horny. You're flushed and overheating when you wake up, eyes rapidly blinking as if startled out of your sleep. You hear footsteps behind you and groggily sit up, Bob is rubbing his face and straightening out his position as if he'd also fallen back asleep. Walker was in the kitchen, you could see from the couch, towel over his shoulder, drenched in sweat like he'd just gotten done with an intense work out.
Bob groans a little, blinking his own eyes open finally and staring up at the ceiling. The TV is still softly playing a video, auto-play left on so you're not really sure how long it's been. “What time is it?” Bob asks, and you give a small shrug, still sleepily watching John in the kitchen, who looks over at the sound of Bob's voice and raises his brows.
“How long have you two been there?” He calls and you glance around for a clock, eyes squinting to read it.
“Uh- an hour?” You guess, voice husky with sleep. John smirks a little, a small, playful thing and shakes his head.
“Have a nice nap?” He teases, the obvious grogginess on both you and Bob making him chuckle to himself. You offer a thumbs up and slouch back into the couch, head finding a resting place on Bob's shoulder.
“Oh, hi-” He breathes out quietly and you glance up at him from under your lashes. It all felt so domestic, so comfortable.
“Hi.” You say back, face still flushed from your dreams and from now being so close to Bob yet again. You still feel sweat, sticky against your sweater along your spine. Bob's lips twitch into a soft frown and he brings a hand up to press to your cheek and forehead, you don't feel hotter than normal.
“You're not getting sick are you, your face is all red.” Him calling attention to it does not help, and you have to pull yourself away from him to stop your heart from beating out of your chest. You move to stand up, giving your body a good stretch with a small groan.
“I'm fine, just hot, you're like a radiator.” It's not a full lie, you were hot, and he was like a radiator, but it wasn't the full truth either. You can feel his eyes watching you as you shake out the last of your ache from sleeping on the couch before making your way to the kitchen where John is making a post work out snack. You grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with filtered water from the fridge, pressing the glass first, to your flushed face, before taking a sip.
John raises his brows at you as you do this, pausing in his preparation and about to make a comment when you shoot him a ‘don't you dare’ glare. He smirks and raises his hands in mock surrender before going back to his prep. “Where are the others?” You ask, figuring he'd know best.
“Bucky is still training, I think Alexie took the girls out to get supplies for dinner.” He pops a freshly cut vegetable into his mouth and absent mindedly offers you one, you assume it's an orange pepper, too shiny to be a carrot, and take it from him, sniffing it before taking a small bite.
“Family dinner night?” You ask between nibbles, and he gives a small nod, starting to clean up, setting the knife he'd been using beside the sink. “What time, do you know? Not military time, normal time.” You finish off the piece of pepper and look at his array of vegetables, picking up a piece of carrot. John rolls his eyes, Bob has come up behind the both of you and reaches between you to grab something himself. John raises his brows as he watches Bob examine it.
“You probably won't like that.” John says to Bob before his gaze returns to you. “And, first of all, military time is real, normal time. I think they're aiming for 6, but knowing them? Probably closer to 7.” Bob is trying very hard to not make a face at whatever he has put in his mouth and you can't help but notice, looking up at him with a mix of pity and amusement. “I told you.” John adds, shaking his head as he grabs his plate and lifts it away. “Now stop stealing my food for fucks sake, bunch of children, I swear.” Johns shaking his head, trying to look agitated but the smile tugging at his lips betrays his fondness. You're pretty sure everyone has a soft spot for Bob, and Bob's pretty sure everyone has a soft spot for you, neither of you would believe the other if it was said out loud.
You loved your new family, because that's what they were, family, a term that had felt so foreign for so long but here you were, finally understanding it.
You and Bob had drifted off to do your own things the rest of that night, him retreating to his reading corner and you trying to add some personality to your room, cutting up magazines for posters and scrolling on your phone for inspiration. Family Dinner Time had indeed ended up being a little after 7, the preparation and cooking always taking longer than anyone ever planned for. All in all it was a good rest of your day, and you went to bed feeling better than you had when you'd woken up.
That night your mind drifted to Bob, the thought of his leg pressed against your cheek, the vague dreams you'd had about him as you napped. Something was stirring in you, something you weren't really ready to address.