Chapter Text
Manhattan, NY— April, 2016
CONTRARY TO WHAT MOST MAY BELIEVE, Steve Rogers was not a morning person, nor was he an early riser. When given the opportunity, he preferred to sleep in, to let the day start slowly before hitting the ground running. The world always seemed ready to sprint, but Steve liked the quiet, unhurried moments of dawn—when the streets were still, when the sun crept through blinds instead of blazing overhead, when he could lie in bed and let his thoughts wander before putting his boots on. Evelyn, on the other hand, was the opposite. Not that she had much of a choice, of course. Her job required her to wake early— sometimes painfully so— but even on the days when her shift began later, she still rose before him. Not only that, but she had about ten or fifteen alarms set each morning, with exactly two minutes between each. Steve had tried— oh, how he had tried— to get her to cut back, to reduce the number of shrill tones that jolted them both awake each morning, but there was no such luck. She would laugh sleepily, hit snooze again, and murmur something about “backups.” Eventually, Steve gave up. It was just another thing that made Evelyn herself— and he loved her, quirks and all.
It was funny, sometimes, the way life worked out. Steve had met Evelyn, ironically enough, one morning at a coffee shop when he had been up all night wrestling with dreams he couldn’t quite shut off. It had been only a few months after the Triskelion fell, and his nights were crowded with fragments of memory— the sharp bite of metal, the roar of the helicarriers tearing through each other in the sky, the flash of the Potomac swallowing it all, the ghost of Bucky’s face when he had pulled him out of the river. Even after the world grew quiet again, Steve’s mind hadn’t. He had turned to routine, to some scrap of normalcy, and figured a cup of coffee might trick his body into functioning. Caffeine didn’t do much for him, courtesy of the serum, but the ritual— the sound of beans grinding, the hum of conversation, the warmth of a paper cup in his hands— helped. It made the sleepless nights feel like they weren’t a total waste.
And, he supposed, it was worth it. Because he had met Evelyn.
Their first meeting wasn’t picturesque or out of some storybook. She had been standing in front of him, her long highlighted hair brushed straight but frizzing faintly at the ends, her scrubs wrinkled from sitting and bending down, her phone in her hand. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Maybe that was what had made it so striking in retrospect. There was nothing rehearsed about her, nothing polished. Just real. She had glanced down at her phone, distracted, and let him move ahead of her in line. It was small, barely worth noting, but it had caught his attention.
He didn’t speak to her that day. He hadn’t been ready yet. But three days later, he saw her again— black scrubs again, this time with a light pink long-sleeved undershirt and sneakers that looked fresh out of the box. She’d smiled at him then. He’d smiled back. A week after that, he found himself at the counter at the same time as her, waiting for her order, and it had been Evelyn who asked for his number. He gave it without hesitation.
And now, nearly two years later, he was lying in bed listening to the faint rush of water from their bathroom, the hiss and patter of the shower cutting through the silence of the apartment. The faintest tendrils of steam slipped out from the open crack in the door. He stretched, the sheets cool against his skin, and let his eyes linger on the ceiling for a minute longer before finally pushing himself upright. His body was never truly tired, not the way most people’s were, but his mind carried its weight, and mornings had always felt like the hardest time to shake it off.
The hardwood was cool beneath his feet as he padded across the room. Evelyn stood in front of the fogged bathroom mirror, already dressed in her black scrub joggers. Her hair, still damp from the shower, clung to her shoulders as she tugged a scrub top over her sports bra. Steve leaned in without a word, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she adjusted the hem.
“Morning,” Evelyn murmured, her voice still thick with fatigue.
Steve leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, watching her pull the fabric down and smooth it over her hips. “What time are you getting off work?”
She tugged her blonde hair free from beneath the collar of her top, letting it fall in damp waves against the dark fabric. “Five. I close up the clinic today.” Her tone was routine, almost automatic.
He shifted closer, leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest as she sat on the edge of the tub to pull on socks. “I’ll be home around seven, maybe eight,” he said. “Do you want me to bring home dinner?”
She slipped on her sneakers, pausing with her heel pressed against the floor as she hummed in thought. “Maybe Thai? I want some noods.”
Steve raised his brows at her, fighting the twitch of a smile. “No suggestive photos on my phone, Evelyn.”
Her eyes widened, and she let out a scandalized laugh, swatting the air as though batting away the thought. “Steve! You know what I mean!”
He let the smile come then, just a small quirk at the edge of his mouth. “Just making sure.”
She rolled her eyes at that, tugging the laces of her sneakers tight. Steve took the opportunity to lean down, brushing a kiss across her cheek before she could stand upright.
Evelyn stood then, adjusting the hem of her scrub top one final time before tilting her head up toward him. She rose onto her tiptoes, steadying herself with the lightest touch to his chest before pressing her mouth softly against his.
“Love you,” she murmured against his lips, her voice quieter now.
Steve’s hand found the small of her back almost instinctively as he looked down at her, taking in the faint crinkle at the corner of her eyes, the damp strands of blonde hair escaping at her temples. “I love you too,” he said simply.
She lingered for a breath longer before stepping back, her fingers sliding away from his chest. She crossed the room, moving toward the dresser by the bedroom door where her purse sat waiting. The soft scrape of leather against wood echoed faintly as she looped the strap over her shoulder, checking briefly for her keys before glancing once more in his direction. She gave him another smile before turning toward the door.
Steve stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, watching her retreat. The sound of her footsteps carried through the apartment, muffled by the rug in the narrow hallway. Then came the sharp metallic turn of the lock, the soft click of the latch, and finally the muted thud of the door closing behind her. Silence settled quickly in her absence, pressing in around him until the only sound left was the low hum of the refrigerator.
It had been two years of this— of the routine, of the mundane moments, of the ordinariness that he wasn’t entirely sure he would ever get. In years past— or rather, decades— he had once imagined it with Peggy. Not anything extravagant or plotted out or solid, really. Just fragments. Glimpses of what a life might look like if it wasn’t spent in uniform or under orders. A dinner table with two chairs filled. A record playing faintly in the background, a hand reaching for his, a slow dance. Nothing more than flickers of thought, too fragile to hold onto.
Steve had been a soldier. A super soldier, yes, but a soldier all the same. That was who he was, who he had always been. And soldiers did not plan their futures— they prepared themselves for endings. He had accepted his end when he crashed the plane into the ice, his voice steady over the radio as he told Peggy he wouldn’t be making it home. There hadn’t been room for hope in that moment. No expectation of survival, no anticipation of a tomorrow. He had thought that was the last act of his story.
But here he was. A lifetime removed from the one he had left behind, walking through the wreckage of history with memories that didn’t belong in the world around him. He didn’t know that there would be anything after the crash, let alone an entire era to navigate, a second chance at a life he’d thought was finished. And so he tried— every day— to not dwell on what could have been. On the life that had frozen with him in the ice. Because he had this one now. This apartment. These mornings. He had Evelyn. And Evelyn was a good woman— better than he had expected, kinder than he had thought possible.
Pushing away from the bathroom counter, Steve made his way into the main room. The hardwood creaked faintly beneath his bare feet, the blinds pulled halfway open to let in slats of pale morning light. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes flicking toward the oven where the green glow of the digital clock read 7:15. Later than he’d meant to sleep. He exhaled through his nose, a quiet sigh that filled the stillness before he turned away.
His path carried him past the sink, the small stack of dishes from last night’s dinner still waiting, and toward the laundry room tucked at the back of the apartment. He pushed the door open, the hinges groaning faintly in protest, and leaned a shoulder against the frame, scanning the neat stacks of folded clothes and the quiet hum of the machine mid-cycle. Evelyn’s hands were in everything here. Her order, her touch, her routine. It grounded the space in a way Steve hadn’t realized he needed until it was already there.
And that was what made it so much harder— to leave her behind for days, weeks, sometimes even the rare month or two. Duty always outweighed desire. What he wanted never outweighed what needed to be done. It had been that way since Brooklyn, since before the serum. He’d joined the fight not because it promised him safety but because it was necessary. That instinct hadn’t dulled with time; it had only sharpened. The uniform would always call to him, no matter how warm the apartment felt, no matter how much he wanted to stay.
But maybe one day— maybe someday— he would get to have what he wanted.
For now, though, he folded himself into the morning, into the small tasks that made him feel like a man instead of just a soldier. Folding laundry, washing dishes, locking the door behind him. Evelyn would be at the clinic, and he would be out there, answering to a world that refused to let go of its battles. But when the day was over— when his hands were still, when the uniform was hung back in the closet— he would come home. He always came home. And for now, that had to be enough.
Queens, NY
Evelyn loved her job. Really, she did. She loved the work. She loved her clients— the four-year-old whose primary reinforcer was this one specific Pixar intro video, the seven-year-old who couldn’t say his consonants, and the nonverbal six-year-old who loved to play with his AAC device and request a “larger double bacon burger with small fry small fry small fry” at nine in the morning. She loved their quirks, their triumphs, their determination. Watching them grow, watching a syllable form where before there had been silence, or watching a shy child light up when they were understood— she couldn’t find that anywhere else. But there were some days when she wanted more. She didn’t know what “more” meant, exactly. Maybe it was something bigger, something that stretched her limits the way grad school once had. Maybe she wanted a change in career— but what else could she do with a degree in speech and communication disorders? Nothing. Not really.
She had originally wanted to be a teacher. A special education teacher, more specifically. She’d pictured herself in a classroom, but teaching didn’t exactly pay well. Not in Manhattan, and certainly not in most other states. She couldn’t imagine how she’d pay rent on a teacher’s salary, much less build a life of her own. So she had pivoted, taken a path that promised stability and doubled the salary.
Maybe that was for the best. She told herself that often enough. And yet, sometimes she felt like she’d traded one dream for another that fit neatly inside four walls, with file folders and progress notes, a job that kept her afloat but never really kept her on her toes. There was no challenge anymore, not the way there had been when she was first starting out. No sleepless nights panicking over lesson plans, no new, uncharted territory. Just a rhythm. Predictable, steady, reassuring, but rewarding. Always rewarding. And certainly never boring.
This morning had been much like any other. She had her four-year-old at nine o’clock, the one obsessed with that Pixar video. He bounced in his chair as Evelyn cued up the opening sequence with the hopping lamp. Each time the lamp squashed the “I,” his hands shot up in triumph. She used the video as leverage, pausing it mid-frame until he attempted the target sound. It worked. Most days.
The six-year-old came after, his AAC device balanced precariously on the table as he tapped at the screen with sticky fingers.
“Burger. Burger. Double bacon burger. Large fry. No. Small fry. Small fry. Small fry,” the voice on the screen announced in monotone repetition. Evelyn would have to hold back laughter as she redirected him toward the only available snack choices they had in her office. He gave her a side-eye but eventually tapped “Goldfish crackers” instead. Small victories.
Between sessions, she scribbled progress notes in quick shorthand while flipping through her color-coded binders. The office buzzed faintly with the sounds of therapists weaving between rooms, the faint sound of occupational therapy sessions echoing down the hall— beanbags thumping onto the floor, laughter, some screams, the squeak of a scooter board against tile. There was a comfort to it all, but still, Evelyn felt that pull inside her chest, the one that whispered late at night when she and Steve lay in bed, the one that tugged even in the middle of rewarding sessions.
Was this it? Was this all she was meant to do? It was safe. It was good. It mattered. But it wasn’t more.
She shook off the thought as her eleven o’clock walked in, his mother offering a tired smile as she settled him into the chair. Evelyn matched the mother’s expression with one of her own. This was where she belonged. This was where she made a difference.
Manhattan, NY
One of the many things that Steve had to learn early on in their relationship was that serious conversations— more specifically those that may start a fight— were not to be had over text message. Or phone call. Evelyn had been very clear about that early on, after one poorly phrased message about rescheduling dinner had spiraled into an argument neither of them had meant to start. He’d learned quickly that words needed weight, and weight came from being said aloud, in the same room, where tone and expression could soften the edges.
Not that he and Evelyn fought often. They didn’t. But when they did, it could go south fast. Evelyn knew what she wanted, what she wasn’t willing to tolerate, and when it was time to walk away— three relationships before Steve had taught her as much. She was quick to voice her boundaries, sharp when she needed to be, and it had taken Steve a while to realize that wasn’t a weakness but a strength. Steve, on the other hand, had only ever been in one other relationship prior to Evelyn, and that had been nearly seventy years ago, in another decade altogether. Different times. Different expectations. Different everything. With Peggy, there had been promises and stolen moments, something that never had the chance to become real. With Evelyn, it was real— daily life, takeout, a shared bed, the ordinary routines he had never expected to have.
And for once in his life, he knew how to make someone happy. He prided himself on that. So he hated—truly hated—the feeling of knowing when he was going to let her down.
The team would be leaving for Lagos in three days. A mission that could stretch to a week, maybe longer, depending on how cleanly things went. They rarely went cleanly. Evelyn hated when he left. He hated it too. But if there was one thing he had learned in the year they’d been together, it was that Thai food was her favorite after a long day. So when she trudged through the apartment door, dropping her purse onto the counter with a weary sigh, Steve already had the takeout bags waiting. At least he could soften the blow.
Now, hours later, they were curled up together on the couch, cartons spread across the coffee table, the smell of ginger, basil, and chili peppers filling the small living room. Steve glanced at her from her spot beside him— hair pulled into a messy claw-clip bun, scrubs traded for one of his old shirts and biker shorts, lips slightly flushed from the spices in her noodles. It was the kind of moment he wanted to memorize, tuck away somewhere safe. Which made the words he needed to say weigh heavier on his tongue.
“I’ll be gone for about a week,” he said at last, his voice steady, low.
Evelyn’s fork stilled mid-air. She turned her head toward him slowly, her brows knitting as her eyes searched his. “What?”
His mouth pressed into a thin line before he answered. “Mission came through.”
Her expression caught between disbelief and frustration. “Where?”
Steve sighed, resting his forearms on his knees. “Lagos.” He didn’t dress it up or try to soften it. He had never believed in lying to her, not about things like this.
She said nothing at first, her lips pulling tightly together, the kind of silence that spoke louder than words. Her shoulders shifted as if she were swallowing the initial surge of irritation, pushing it down into something calmer, more measured. She looked away, her noodles cooling in their container as she stabbed lightly at them with her fork.
Steve watched her, reading the expression she tried to keep neutral. He could see it, even in the silence that stretched between them. The effort to school her features, the way her gaze flicked briefly down at her noodles as though she might find some anchor there. He knew that look— annoyance frayed with worry.
He drew in a breath. “I’ll call. Text. Whenever I can.” The reassurance was quiet, honest.
Evelyn nodded once, her jaw tightening before she forced a small exhale through her nose. “I know you will,” she said softly. “I’m just—” She stopped herself, shaking her head before she twirled a noodle around her fork without bringing it to her mouth.
“I know,” Steve said gently. He leaned forward, brushing a kiss against her forehead. It was brief, but steady, the kind of gesture meant to anchor more than to soothe.
Without waiting for her reply, he picked up his empty carton and hers when she handed it over, rising from the couch. His footsteps were steady across the hardwood as he carried the trash into the kitchen, the muted sound of the cabinet door creaking open followed by the thud of the garbage lid. Evelyn watched him silently, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.
“Have you thought any more about looking at a bigger place?” she asked suddenly, her voice carrying across the room with a note of casualness that didn’t quite disguise the hope beneath it.
Steve paused by the counter, glancing over his shoulder at her. He didn’t answer right away, the question hanging there between them, weighted in the air. “Do we need more space?” he asked finally, his tone even, almost cautious.
Evelyn gave a small shrug, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly. “I mean, I don’t really want to pay more in rent or mortgage a month, but it would be nice.” She hesitated, tapping her thumb against the couch cushion before continuing. “They’re opening up a new clinic in November, and they’ll be hiring for clinical director. If I get the job, I get a pay raise, so…” She trailed off, offering him a small, tentative smile. “We could afford it.”
Steve lingered a moment, leaning his hands against the counter, his back still half-turned to her. Then he straightened, nodding once. “Sounds nice.” He shrugged lightly, the motion deliberate, as though he was trying not to let the thought settle too deep just yet. “We can look when I get back from Lagos.”
Her smile widened at that, a quiet warmth lighting her face. “And then…?” she prompted, leaning forward with a spark of mischief in her eyes.
Steve gave her a wary look, returning to the couch. “Then?”
“You know…” Evelyn’s grin grew, playful and teasing, her voice dipping conspiratorially. “A ring?” She tilted her head, the grin stretching wider. “A baby?”
Steve stared at her, his lips parting just slightly as though he wasn’t sure if she was serious. His expression shifted somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement, his jaw tightening as he shook his head faintly. “Evelyn,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “slow down. One thing at a time.”
Her laughter bubbled out, light and unrestrained. She leaned into his shoulder, grinning up at him as though his restraint only made her teasing more fun. He rolled his eyes faintly, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“When do you picture us doing those things?” she asked after a long beat, her voice careful, her tone pitched somewhere between genuine curiosity and nervousness. She hesitated then, biting her lip before adding quickly, “I’m not trying to rush things, I promise. I just… want to know where you’re at.”
Steve stared at her, his jaw tightening slightly as he searched for the right words. His silence stretched a moment too long, enough for the weight of it to press in. Finally, he said, low and honest, “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
Evelyn blinked, her brows pulling together, her lips curling faintly in a mixture of surprise and disapproval. “Huh?”
Steve’s throat worked, and he shifted slightly on the couch, as though unsure if he’d just said the wrong thing. His instincts told him he had. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his voice steady but tinged with something defensive. He lifted a hand, almost as though he meant to gesture, to explain, but Evelyn cut him off before he could gather the words.
“Dude, you’re almost a hundred. You should be thinking about the future. Retirement is creeping up on you.”
That earned her a look. His brows raised just slightly, his mouth pressed into a line, his eyes steady in a way that said he wasn’t sure if she was teasing him or pushing him. Maybe both.
Evelyn raised her hands faintly in surrender, a little smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth before she sobered. “I’m just saying—” She broke off, shaking her head, brushing a lock of blonde hair back over her shoulder. Her voice softened as she tried again. “I’m not asking for specific dates, Steve. I just want to know if you even want that with me. I don’t want to waste my time if that isn’t something you see with me.”
Steve didn’t let her finish. The words tumbled out of him faster than he expected, urgent and certain. “I do.” He leaned in a little, his voice firmer now, steady in a way that left no space for doubt. “I do want that with you. What I was trying to say is… I haven’t thought about it because I didn’t expect to have anything like this. With anyone.” His eyes held hers, unwavering, the honesty in them bare and raw.
Evelyn stilled, the teasing edge gone, her fork forgotten entirely now as she stared at him in silence. She didn’t smile right away, didn’t rush to fill the space. She just looked at him, her expression softening, measuring his words, weighing them.
Steve cleared his throat softly, his voice dropping lower. “But I can start thinking about that stuff now. Because with you… I feel safe enough to think about the future.”
Her lips curved then, slow but genuine, her eyes lighting with a warmth that dissolved the faint tension lingering between them. “Aw. You’re so sweet.” She reached out, her fingertips brushing against his chin, tilting it slightly as though she wanted to study his expression from another angle. Her smile grew wider, teasing but affectionate. “Good save.”
Steve huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head faintly.
Truthfully, Steve could be happy with Evelyn. A future with her would be more than enough for him. She was steady, in the way that mattered— not without flaws, not without quirks, but steady in her heart. Evelyn had the same values he did, the same goals, the same wants and desires. Above all else, she was kind. Honest, outgoing, and fun. Coming from a time period where life was serious, where everything was airtight and centered around war, it was a breath of fresh air to be with someone who could make him laugh, who could pull him out of himself without even realizing she was doing it.
So, now, lying back against the headboard of the modest bed they shared in their apartment, he figured it was time to start thinking about what came next. Proposing would be the first step. The thought should have felt daunting, but it didn’t—not the way other unknowns did.
The bathroom door was open, and from where he lay, he could see her moving about inside. Evelyn had braided her long highlighted blonde hair back for the night, the plait falling over her shoulder as she leaned toward the mirror. Steve watched in quiet admiration as she smoothed moisturizer into her skin— a dab across the cheeks, a light touch along the bridge of her nose, gentle circles into her temples. She followed it with the careful sweep of lash serum, blinking at herself in the mirror before setting the applicator down on the counter.
The sight was ordinary. Mundane, even. But for Steve, it was everything.
The dreams of taking Peggy’s hand, of walking through a park or dancing in a kitchen, had faded into something gentler. Those old visions no longer stung. They had transformed. Where once he had imagined dark brown eyes looking up at him, now there were blue eyes flecked with gold and green. Where sharp cheekbones and clipped vowels had occupied his memory, he now saw Evelyn’s rounded face, her wide smile, her easy laugh. The pain of loss had dulled into something like relief. This— watching Evelyn hum softly to herself as she twisted the cap back on her serum— this was what closure felt like.
The light snapped off, leaving the apartment bathed in the glow of the bedside lamp. Evelyn padded barefoot into the bedroom, tugging her robe tighter around her frame as she crossed the floor. Steve’s gaze followed her without shame, steady and quiet, the way a man might look at something he didn’t realize he’d been missing until it was right there.
She climbed into bed beside him, the covers rustling as she tucked herself against her pillow. He shifted slightly, adjusting to make room for her, though the bed wasn’t particularly large to begin with. It was only a full. She gave a soft exhale, already letting her body relax.
“’Night, baby,” she murmured, her voice drowsy and content.
Steve turned his head, studying her profile for a moment. Then he moved, slow but deliberate, shifting closer until the space between them disappeared. She blinked her eyes open just as he leaned over, bracing one arm against the mattress to keep his weight steady as he hovered above her.
Evelyn’s lips curved faintly, a question in her gaze, but she didn’t resist when he kissed her. Instead, she tilted her chin up, meeting him halfway, her hands sliding instinctively up his bare chest to anchor herself against him.
The kiss started soft, testing, but deepened quickly. Steve pressed closer, the heat of his body radiating against hers, the mattress dipping beneath their weight. She shifted fully onto her back, opening herself up to him as her legs parted without hesitation, letting him settle between them.
His hips rolled down, the hard line of him pressing through the thin barrier of fabric, and a muffled sound caught in her throat at the friction. He kissed her harder in response, a hand finding the side of her jaw, steadying her as though she might slip away if he wasn’t careful.
Evelyn tugged lightly at the back of his neck, encouraging him closer, her mouth opening against his, letting him take the lead but making clear she wanted him there, wanted this. The rhythm of his movements grew more insistent, each shift of his hips dragging against her in a way that drew heat between them even through layers of clothing.
It wasn’t frantic, wasn’t rushed— Steve never was— but it was heated, intent, as though the earlier conversation about futures and rings and babies had stirred something in him. His lips traced along her mouth, then down to her jaw, the faint rasp of stubble brushing her skin as he pressed a kiss there before returning to her lips.
His tongue brushed against the seam of her mouth, she opened to him without hesitation, and he slipped inside— warm, insistent, coaxing her deeper into the kiss. She clutched at his shoulders, nails dragging lightly across the muscle, and Steve let out a muffled groan into her mouth, one hand tangling in her hair as though he couldn’t bring her close enough.
Evelyn’s hips shifted beneath him, arching to meet his, and his control slipped further when her hand slid down between them, tentative at first, then bolder as she pressed against the hardness straining against his pants. He broke the kiss with a low, startled grunt, his forehead dropping against hers, eyes squeezed shut.
“Evelyn,” he muttered, voice hoarse, warning and want all tangled together. But he didn’t stop her.
Her fingers worked over him through the fabric, and his breath stuttered, his lips parting on a sharp inhale. He caught her wrist, not to pull her away, but to guide her lower, beneath the waistband. His voice was rough when he spoke, barely more than a whisper. “Here—”
Her hand slipped inside, and the heat of him filled her palm. Steve groaned quietly, the sound torn from deep in his chest, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as she wrapped her fingers around him. He dropped his head against her shoulder, his lips brushing her collarbone with uneven breaths.
“God…” The word was exhaled more than spoken, as if her touch stripped away the composure he usually carried like armor. His hand tightened around hers briefly, urging her along his length, before he let go and let her work him at her own pace. His stomach flexed beneath her touch, every nerve in his body tightening under her hand.
Evelyn kissed his jaw, his neck, listening to the sounds she was pulling from him. He wasn’t loud, but every groan, every ragged breath felt like something he tried and failed to suppress.
She felt his hand slip down her side, tugging at the waistband of her sleep pants. He broke from her mouth only long enough to push them down, dragging her underwear along with them in one motion, before finding her lips again. The kiss was messier this time, harder, his tongue moving against hers with growing urgency.
His hand skimmed down her thigh as he worked the fabric out of the way, his thumb brushing her hip as though he needed to touch every inch of her skin. His lips stayed pressed to hers as he mumbled, almost as though he couldn’t risk pulling back to look at her.
“You—” his breath caught when her hand stroked him a little tighter, a groan slipping out before he managed to finish. “You take your pill?”
Her answer was muffled against his mouth, impatient, teasing. “Obviously.”
Steve exhaled, shaky, a sigh of pure relief that mingled with her breath. “Good,” he whispered, almost like a prayer. His mouth lingered against hers, kissing her again, softer now but still hungry. When her thumb brushed over the tip, slick and wet, Steve swore against her mouth, his hips bucking into her touch before he caught her wrist gently, pulling her hand from him only to pin it against the mattress above her head, his fingers lacing with hers. His other hand slipped between their bodies, sliding down over her stomach until his fingertips brushed her heat, slipping between her legs and teasing along her folds.
Evelyn gasped softly against his mouth, arching into his touch. Steve pulled back just enough to watch her face, his eyes dark, intent, his thumb moving slow circles against her. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice husky but tender. “God, you’re so ready for me.”
She tugged at his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck when a whimper escaped her throat. “Steve—”
He kissed her again, muffling the sound, before slipping one finger inside her. Evelyn gasped sharply against his mouth, and Steve groaned low, the sound vibrating into her lips. He moved slowly at first, his forehead pressed to hers, murmuring between kisses.
“There you go, nice and easy…” His voice was low, reverent, as though every breath of hers was sacred. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
She nodded quickly, clutching at him harder. “Yes… oh, God, yes…”
Steve’s control cracked a little at the sound of her voice, at the desperation lacing her tone. He kissed her harder, adding a second finger, curling them just right until Evelyn let out a broken moan that had him groaning in response. His free hand cupped her jaw, holding her still as her hips rolled against his hand, chasing the rhythm he set, needier with every thrust of his fingers. She was gasping his name into his mouth, her voice catching, her body trembling beneath his weight.
Steve kissed her jaw, her throat, pressing his lips into her skin as he rubbed his thumb against her clit and moved his fingers faster. “C’mon, baby… come for me… let me hear you…”
Evelyn cried out, her back arching, nails clawing down his arms as she shattered against his hand. Steve kissed her through it, swallowing her cries, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back while he felt her convulse around his fingers. He slowed gradually, easing her down from the high, pressing soft kisses against her damp cheek, murmuring tenderly, “That’s it… perfect… absolutely perfect.”
When she finally stilled, still catching her breath, Steve pulled back just enough to look at her face. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, hair fanned out on the pillow. He thought she’d never looked more beautiful. His throat worked, the words slipping out before he could stop them, quiet but firm.
“I love you.”
Her eyes flickered open, glassy with the remnants of release, but her lips curled faintly as she whispered back, “Love you too.”
Steve kissed her again, deeper, almost shaking with restraint as he shifted his weight, pulling his hand from her and tugging his own sleep pants down. Evelyn’s arms circled his neck, holding him close as he positioned himself carefully. His forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling, his jaw flexing as he tried to steady himself before pushing his solid cock inside of her slowly, filling her cunt inch by inch. Evelyn gasped, clutching at his shoulders, her body stretching around him. He groaned low in his chest, his eyes squeezing shut as he buried himself to the hilt, his hips pressed flush to hers.
He held himself still for a long moment, letting her adjust, his thumb brushing soothing circles on her hip. When she shifted beneath him, urging him on, he began to move. Slow at first, deliberate, each thrust deep and steady. His body trembled with the effort to hold back, to pace himself, but his face told a different story— eyes dark, mouth parted, every breath a struggle.
Evelyn clung to him, her voice quiet but unrestrained, soft moans breaking the silence between their mouths meeting again and again. Steve’s hand slid beneath her back, pulling her closer, as though he could press her into himself. She nipped lightly at his neck, leaving a faint mark just above his collarbone, and he groaned louder, his hips jerking instinctively.
His rhythm grew more urgent, intensity threading into the slow control, each thrust drawing louder sounds from her throat. He swallowed her moans in his kisses, his lips feverish against hers, his hands gripping her tighter as he drove into her with building desperation.
“Steve—” she gasped, and his pace faltered, his head dropping against her shoulder.
“I know,” he murmured, voice breaking, hips moving harder now, his control fraying with every sound she made. “Come again for me, baby.”
Her nails dug into his back as the pressure built again, her breath catching on each thrust until she came undone beneath him, crying out softly against his neck. Her body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and Steve groaned, the sound raw and guttural as his pace faltered.
He buried himself one last time, his release tearing through him, his body shuddering against hers. He stayed inside, forehead pressed hard to hers.
Evelyn shifted, just enough to tilt her head up, her braid brushing against his chest as she murmured, “You’re heavy, you know.”
Steve huffed a quiet laugh, the sound muffled into her hair. “Sorry.” But he didn’t roll away just yet; instead, he kissed her temple before finally easing to her side, bringing her with him so she was still tucked against him, her head resting over his heart.
Evelyn sighed contentedly, her arm draped across his chest, her fingers idly drawing little shapes against his skin. “G’night, baby,” she whispered again, softer this time, the drowsy cadence of someone already halfway to sleep.
Steve pressed his lips to the crown of her head, his voice low but steady. “Goodnight.”
Atlantic Ocean— May, 2016
The flight was nineteen hours— without stops. A long stretch of silence broken up by the hum of the engines, the soft shuffle of boots on metal flooring, the occasional mutter of one Avenger to another. Steve had grown accustomed to the monotony of these hauls; he’d lived on troop transports back in the ’40s, and the smell of fuel and steel always had a way of blurring one trip into the next. Still, this time, his mind wasn’t on the mission. Not entirely.
His phone rested in his palm, the dim glow of the screen lighting the shadows of his face. He’d pulled up the text thread with Evelyn again— something he caught himself doing more often than he realized. Her latest two messages sat at the bottom of the screen, bright little pieces of her voice folded into words that made the sterile cabin feel warmer.
7:03 AM: good morning baby!!! miss you so much. please be careful if you’re out on the field already. i don’t know time zones. love love love you.
12:49 PM: already thinking of you. love you so much, my sweet steven.
The corners of his mouth softened as he read them over again. She never spared the exclamation points, always overstuffing her texts with emphasis and warmth. He could almost hear her saying it, fast, in a rush, her voice carrying that brightness that drew people to her so naturally.
Steve hovered his thumbs over the screen, trying to decide whether to write something simple— “I’m safe. I love you too.”— or something longer, something that would put her mind at ease until he could call. Before he could type, a voice at his side cut in.
“That your missus?” Sam’s tone carried that easy teasing edge, leaning back against the seat with his arms crossed.
Steve glanced over, caught mid-thought. He cracked a small smile, shaking his head faintly as he angled the phone closer to his chest. “It is,” he admitted, his voice carrying that quiet pride he didn’t bother disguising. “She worries if she doesn’t hear from me. I’ll give her a call when we land. Let her know we got here in one piece.”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted, his mouth curving in a grin. “Mm-hm. How long’s it been now? You and Evelyn?”
Steve’s gaze flicked back to the phone for a moment before he pocketed it. “It’ll be two years in October.” His tone was steady, matter-of-fact, but there was a subtle weight to the words. Two years. Longer than he’d expected anything to last, longer than he’d let himself think possible.
Sam gave him a look, one brow arched, that grin spreading. “Two years, huh? You thinking about the next step?”
Steve exhaled through his nose, a quiet laugh caught between amusement and disbelief. “Funny you ask,” he said, his mouth quirking. His hands folded loosely in his lap, thumb brushing against the edge of his glove as though restless. “We actually talked about it the other night. I’m… thinking about looking at rings.”
That earned him a low whistle. Sam’s grin widened into something genuine, not just teasing now but approving. “Well, damn. About time, man.” He leaned forward, giving Steve a firm clap on the back that had just enough weight to rattle through his shoulders. “She’s a good one. You’d be stupid to let her slip.”
Steve’s smile lingered, small but steady. He didn’t respond right away, but the thought settled into him, warm and grounding. Rings. Futures. A life he had never expected to plan.
Queens, NY
Steve had left four days ago. The flight was early— the helicarrier lifting off from Avengers Tower at four in the morning— and Steve had slipped out while she was still asleep. He hadn’t wanted to wake her; he told her once that the cost outweighed the benefit, that letting her sleep spared her from the heaviness of those half-awake goodbyes. Evelyn, though, had wished she could have said something, anything, before he disappeared into the shadows of duty again. It never got easier to wake up with his side of the bed empty and cold.
He followed through on his promise, like he always did. A “good morning” text for her to see when she woke, one before they took off, one when they landed. Even short check-ins when he had a window of time. He was good like that— he always kept his word.
Now, in the small office tucked away in the back of the pediatric clinic, Evelyn sat hunched over her laptop, the cursor blinking against a half-finished progress report for one of her more complicated cases. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the quiet, mingling with the muffled sound of laughter from the waiting room down the hall. She was typing quickly, her braid falling forward over her shoulder, glasses slipping down her nose as she frowned at the screen, determined to get through the paperwork pile before her next client.
The door creaked open without a knock. “Evelyn?”
She blinked, looked up, fingers pausing mid-sentence. Her coworker Nicole stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other holding her phone out.
“Yeah?” Evelyn pushed her glasses up, straightening in her chair.
Nicole stepped forward and angled the phone toward her.
“It's been several hours since an incident in Lagos, Nigeria. Information is sparse and the full extent of the damage is still unknown. Newsfront correspondent Jackson Norris arrived in Lagos moments ago, and he joins us now. Jackson?”
“Christine, a few yards away from where the conflict took place, it's still chaotic. Several witnesses are confirming that members of the Avengers and unknown combatants were here at the time.”
Evelyn forgot to breathe. Her progress report on the laptop screen blurred, her hands numb over the keyboard.
“Now, Jackson, which Avengers were there exactly?”
She reached for the trackpad with trembling fingers, clicking out of her report, pulling up a browser window. Her typing was clumsy, urgent— “Lagos Avengers news.” Within seconds, a dozen articles appeared, each headline worse than the last. Casualties. Diplomatic tension. Collateral damage.
“Captain America—”
All Evelyn could see was Steve’s face in the grainy footage, the slight tilt of his chin as he looked to the side, the same face she had kissed goodnight less than a week ago.
Everyone in the clinic knew Evelyn Eagan was dating Steve Rogers— Captain America. It wasn’t a secret. Not something she flaunted, but she hadn’t hidden it either. It made for a good “two truths and a lie” anecdote during team-building nights, an amusing little fact that made her coworkers laugh. It had always been harmless, almost silly.
Only now, it wasn’t.
Now her boyfriend— though even the word felt suddenly childish, fragile, almost laughably insufficient for a man who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders— was plastered across every news outlet on the planet. And not for saving the day. For the destruction of a city.
“Evelyn?”
She startled. Amber had appeared behind Nicole, her expression softer, concerned. “Do you need to leave early? You don’t look so good.”
Evelyn realized then that she was still staring at the laptop screen, wide-eyed, her breathing shallow. She tried to swallow, her throat dry, her voice cracking as she forced herself to answer. “I—no. No, it’s fine. I’ll—”
The words snagged in her chest. She broke off, clamped her mouth shut, then forced a tight nod. She shut her laptop with a snap, the sound startlingly loud in the small office. She stood, grabbing her purse from the back of the chair, her movements quick, jerky.
“I’m making a Starbucks run,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder without looking at either of them. “If anyone wants anything.”
Nicole and Amber exchanged a glance, but neither pushed. Evelyn slipped past them, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Manhattan, NY
Being in a relationship with Captain America was not as fun as most would fantasize it being. To the outside world, it probably looked charmed: hand-in-hand strolls through Central Park, polite smiles when people whispered and pointed their way, the occasional candid photo splashed across an online article.
People imagined a fairy tale, the handsome hero and his civilian girlfriend, as though she lived in some storybook where danger never came close enough to cut.
The truth was quieter, lonelier, and heavier.
Steve treated her well— so well, in fact, that Evelyn sometimes wondered if he was real. He was the kind of old-fashioned gentleman plucked out of another era who never let her touch a door or her wallet. He would cross the street so she walked on the safer side of the sidewalk. He’d pull out chairs for her, hold her hand, kiss the back of it after helping her out of a car. He offered his arm, like she was someone worth escorting. He made her laugh, too, with that dry humor he saved for the quiet moments, when he wasn’t Captain America— just Steve.
But then there were times like these. The nights when her apartment felt like a waiting room, when the clock ticked too loud, and the news reports filled her head no matter how many times she muted them. These were the moments that gutted her, the ones that reminded her just how dangerous it was to be who he was. That she might one day wake up and he’d be gone, not just for a mission, but gone for good. He was an Avenger to most, but to her, he was just Steve. Her Steve.
She had hoped— naïve as it sounded— that maybe the soldier in him had died back in 1945, when the plane went down and he vanished into the ice. But that wasn’t the truth, was it? The soldier was why he was here at all, why the serum kept him alive, why the world gave him back his shield and his uniform. Without Captain America, there would be no Steve Rogers. Without the soldier, there would be no man she had fallen in love with.
Evelyn sat curled up on the couch, her long legs pulled close against her chest, the television throwing dull flickers of color across her face. She wasn’t really watching Desperate Housewives. The show was background noise, a way to stop the silence from swallowing her whole.
The sound of the lock turning jolted her faintly, though she didn’t move. Her body remained still, her eyes on the screen. The door opened, then clicked shut. Boots on hardwood. A pause in the entryway.
Steve.
He set his keys in the little ceramic bowl by the counter. He hesitated in the kitchen doorway, watching her. She didn’t look up, didn’t turn. She sat stiff, her hair in loose waves that had fallen messy over her shoulders, blonde strands catching the glow of the television. Her silence gnawed at him.
Was she mad at him?
He couldn’t blame her if she was.
Slowly, he crossed the living room and lowered himself onto the edge of the couch beside her. Her gaze never left the screen.
Steve reached out, his roughened fingers brushing a lock of hair gently out of her face. The softness of it, the warmth of her skin beneath, almost undid him. His voice was quiet, careful, the way he spoke to people when the weight of the world hung in his chest. “Hey.”
Her lips parted, and for the first time since he walked in, she spoke. “Hi.” Her tone was flat, quiet, still glued to the television.
Steve studied her, scanning the lines of her face— the tension around her mouth, the faint shadows under her eyes. She didn’t look at him, but he could see everything written there. His throat tightened.
“I missed you,” he said softly. And he meant it in every way— missed the sound of her laughter, the feel of her hand in his, the way her presence made the world feel a little less broken.
She nodded once, small and tight. “Missed you too.”
The space between them ached. He wanted to reach for her, but something in her stillness held him back.
“Evelyn,” he murmured after a moment, leaning a little closer, “look at me.”
For a few long seconds, she didn’t move. The housewives on the screen carried on in the background, their voices too bright for the heaviness in the room. Finally, Evelyn turned her head, her eyes lifting to meet his.
Blue against blue.
Steve’s chest ached. He sighed quietly, then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a breath longer than usual. “I’m sorry.”
Her lips pressed together. She didn’t answer at first. Then, finally, she whispered, “I’m tired of you leaving.” The words weren’t angry, just raw, tired, like she was confessing something she hadn’t wanted to admit aloud.
Steve’s hand lingered at her temple, his thumb brushing through her hair. He stared down at her, silent for a long beat, before he answered in the only way he could.
“I have to.”
And the truth of it hung heavier than either of them wanted it to be.
Since they were kids, Steve and Bucky had sworn to be with one another until the end of the line. The words had been simple then, a promise sealed between two scrappy Brooklyn boys with nothing but bruised knuckles and stubborn hearts. But to Steve, it had never been a child’s oath, never something to grow out of. It was a thread woven into him as surely as his own name. Even when Bucky’s mind hadn’t been his own, even when the Winter Soldier had stared at him with eyes that didn’t recognize him, Steve had known. Somewhere beneath the years of brainwashing and cruelty, his best friend was still there. Still himself.
Steve had to believe that as he held the HYDRA file in his hands. The cover was stamped in block Cyrillic letters— James Barnes: Military Record of Service, Deployment and Experiments. Natasha had translated for him, writing notes on separate slips of paper to accompany the pages. Her handwriting was neat, but there were places where even she had hesitated, the ink darker where the pen had pressed harder into the paper. It wasn’t an easy read, no matter the language. At certain points, Steve had to close the file, set it aside, breathe through the tightness in his chest before coming back to it. Sometimes he wished he had left it closed altogether. Curiosity had its costs, and ignorance— though dangerous— had its own kind of mercy.
His fingers turned another page, careful not to tear the fragile paper. A photograph stared back at him. The cold, sterile image of Bucky inside a cryogenic chamber, face lit by the icy glow of blue-tinted glass. His friend’s features slack, frozen in suspended time, more artifact than man. Steve’s jaw tightened, his thumb brushing absently over the margin of the page.
A soft rustle pulled him from his thoughts.
Beside him, Evelyn shifted beneath the sheets. She had been curled up on her side, facing away from him, her breathing deepening toward sleep. But now she rolled slightly, moving closer, the mattress dipping with the weight of her body as she burrowed against his thigh. Her cheek pressed lightly to his lap, her hair a spill of pale blonde waves across his legs.
Her voice, muffled and thick with drowsiness, rose quietly. “Why are you looking at a corpse’s headshot?”
Steve blinked, caught off guard. His chest ached at the bluntness of her words. His voice was low when he answered. “That’s Bucky.”
There was a pause. A beat where she processed what he’d said. Then a soft, almost guilty “Oh.” She shifted closer, tucking herself more comfortably against him. Her eyes blinked open, catching the harsh glow of the photograph. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen any pictures of him, actually. Just… heard you talk about him.”
Steve let out a quiet breath, his hand lifting to comb gently through her messy hair, his fingers moving with a tenderness that came so instinctively. “He looked different back when we were growing up. In the army, too. Not like this.”
Evelyn’s eyes drifted to the picture again. She stayed quiet, her lashes lowering slightly, before murmuring, “Maybe I saw a few pictures in history class, back in middle or high school. The Howling Commandos were popular with me and my girlfriends.”
That pulled a faint, weary smile from Steve. His mouth quirked. “Who was your favorite?” His tone carried a thread of humor, a thin attempt at levity.
Evelyn’s lips curved, the smallest puff of a laugh slipping out through her nostrils. “Take a guess.”
Steve chuckled softly, brushing another lock of hair from her forehead. He didn’t press.
Her gaze flicked back to the pages spread across his lap, to the crisp English words inked in Natasha’s precise hand. A frown tugged faintly at her brow. “I thought that he died back in ’45,” she said, her voice quieter now. Her fingers touched the edge of the paper. “Why are these dates so recent?”
Steve’s throat worked. For a long moment he said nothing, eyes fixed on the photograph. Then he asked, softly, “Do you remember the bridge fight? In D.C., two years ago.”
Evelyn’s brows knit, her head tilting slightly against him. She shook her head. “No. I was at Haleigh’s bachelorette.” She gave a tiny shimmy of her shoulders, the movement playful even through the seriousness. “In the Bahamas.”
Steve exhaled, lips pressing thin. He glanced down at her, the corners of his mouth tugging faintly in wry acknowledgment. He looked back at the photograph before answering, “That was Bucky on the bridge. They call him the Winter Soldier.”
Evelyn stilled. The breath she released was sharp, almost a whisper. “… Jesus.” She shifted upright, pushing herself until her back leaned against his side, one hand resting against his thigh as she steadied herself. Her eyes, wide and searching, turned to him. “So… why are you reading all this, exactly?”
Steve looked down at the file again, his fingers tightening on the pages. “HYDRA’s been keeping him all these years. Decades.” His voice roughened. “They brainwashed him. Experimented on him. I just… I need to know what they did. I need to know what he’s been through.”
Evelyn’s gaze followed his, drawn reluctantly to the translation sheet that lay beside the photograph.
Memory Suppression Protocol. Application of electroconvulsive shocks to the brain. Repeated treatments. Permanent damage to limbic system expected.
A chill traced her skin.
Without another word, she reached for the folder, sliding it out from his hands with surprising firmness. Steve looked over at her, startled, but didn’t resist. Evelyn closed the file shut with a quiet but decisive snap.
“Well. I think that’s enough for tonight.”
The lamp hummed faintly before she flicked the switch.