Notes: So, I saw someone on Facebook link to an article about a woman who has breast cancer. This is what my mind does to me. Be happy you're not me. :D

In my "Shape of Us" universe, which started with "Unexpected." Steve and Maria have a daughter named, Hope.

Title from the Randy Travis song.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

She remembered the first time her hair came out in her husband's hand.

He'd meant the touch as a comfort. She'd suffered a severe bout with nausea, her anti-nausea meds still not adjusted to the right level for her latest round of chemo. He'd held both the bowl and her while her body was wracked with convulsions. Then he'd wiped her face with a cool, damp cloth and helped hold a cup of water to her lips so she could rinse her mouth. She laid down on her pillow, exhausted from the recent surgery and treatments, and listened as he washed out the basin and brought it back to her bedside for when she'd need it again, probably sooner than later. He'd turned off the lights in the room and shut the door, then returned to her bedside and sat in the chair.

She felt him place his hand on her head and she involuntarily relaxed. It was engrained now, after 25 years. His touch was always a comfort. But this time she heard a quiet gasp and felt him still. She knew what had happened without opening her eyes. She wasn't sure she wanted to see the look on his face.

He pulled away. He'd never done that before. Her emotions squeezed her lungs. She heard him walk away and she clenched her eyes tight in a way she hadn't done since childhood, fear threatening to consume her. Was this finally too much for him? After everything they'd been through together, was this the thing he couldn't manage?

She felt a jostling of the bed and heard the side rail being lowered. Then she felt the mattress shift as he sat and adjusted himself behind her. Here, in this public place, he spooned up against her back and slid his arm gently around the front of her body, careful to avoid the sensitive skin on her chest where... She couldn't even think it, couldn't admit how, of all the scars she had, these were the ones that terrified her the most.

She had once run from him because of her other scars, he'd shown her those didn't matter, they were proof to him of her strength and resilience. These, though, these were different. She felt him stroke his thumb just below where her breasts used to be, felt him convulse as he tried to hold back his tears, as he tried to be strong for her. Steve pressed his face gently against the side of her head and whispered in her ear. "I love you, so much."

Maria smiled for the first time since this ordeal began.

He blamed himself. It didn't surprise her but she thought it was a foolish burden to carry. He thought he hadn't been paying enough attention to her, told her that he should have felt the lump earlier. If he had, he was certain it wouldn't have become so bad. It didn't matter to him that the doctor told him that the cancer was fast, one of the fastest he'd ever seen. It didn't matter that he'd noticed the lump early enough that, though it was too late to save her breasts, they most likely could save her life. He had failed her, and now he might lose her, and in his mind it wasn't the first time he'd done so.

His frustration and anger with himself didn't come out against her. It came out in the gym at Tony's, where he visited only if their daughter or a friend came to relieve him at her bedside. No one would tell her how many punching bags he'd gone through. It came out against the woman who lived in the same apartment building as their daughter, and wouldn't take no for an answer. Bucky told Maria the story only after she promised not to shoot Steve unless he had his shield at the ready. Maria had almost laughed at that. It came out against a man whose wife was being treated by the same oncologist. He'd suggested Steve join him at a strip club and maybe they could hook up with someone there since their wives were currently incapable of meeting their needs. That had been the angriest anyone had seen Steve in years.

With her he was tender, attentive to a fault. If they hadn't been married for 25 years, and Maria hadn't known her husband probably better than she'd ever known anyone, it would have annoyed her. It had in the past, when he'd coddled her during recovery from surgeries or trials. After she'd been burned shortly before their original wedding date, he'd hovered like a mother hen and she'd had to put a stop to it. She'd thought he'd learned from that, but over the years there were other times of trial that she found herself having to stand up to him to get him to let her go. The worst had been 15 years earlier and had taken years for him to finally not live in fear of her somehow disappearing when she went out of his line of sight. To be fair to him, he had thought she was dead for half a year beforehand.

But this time she did nothing to stop it. She let him do what he needed to get through it. Maybe because part of her feared she really wouldn't live, and maybe because part of her needed him more. She needed to be sure he still felt the same for her because now things would be different. Before, she still had confidence; now, she was shaken. She'd never really considered how she'd react to something like breast cancer before her diagnosis. She knew women often went through an enormous struggle with their self-image afterwards. In public, she didn't have a problem, but secretly she worried that Steve would find her less attractive. For the first time since they were married, Maria was the one worried, truly worried, about the outcome.

The door of their bedroom shut as Steve pulled it behind him. Maria could barely hear his soft steps as he went down the stairs. Even now, a hundred years after the serum, Steve was still light on his feet. He was still handsome, and strong, and young. Maria swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd been doing OK, until two days ago when the clerk at the store had told her it must be so nice to have a son to take care of her through all this.

She heard the car start and drive away. He'd be gone for some time, in to the city to see Hope for lunch. Maria had insisted he go. She needed rest and all he'd do was watch her sleep, or clean something, again.

She rose from the bed and walked into their bathroom. The mirror at one end was floor to ceiling. Maria stood before it and slipped off the knitted cap she wore to keep her head warm. There were tufts of white hair that had refused to fall out, fighting against the medication. Fighting, like her, Steve had said.

To Maria, she just looked like a dog with mange. She looked old. What the years hadn't taken from her, the cancer and the chemo had. Her cheeks were sunk and her skin was wrinkled in a way that was uncommon even for a sixty year old.

She began to unbutton her pajama top slowly. Each button came undone with a shake of her hands. She hadn't looked yet. It had been months and she couldn't look. She was too ashamed, she couldn't stand to see these scars added to the others. Finally, she had the last one undone and looked full into the mirror. She tried to square her shoulders and stare herself down. She could not let this defeat her. She had made it this far, faced much worse, she told herself. She finally opened her shirt and let it fall to the floor.

It was as bad as she'd imagined, and her mind suddenly made it worse. She flashed back to nearly 30 years earlier when she'd run from Steve, ended things with him because she was certain someone as perfect as he couldn't continue to love her if he knew everything about her, if he saw her scars. Out of nowhere, she heard a voice that had been silenced in a cabin in Maine over 25 years ago when Steve had shattered every doubt she'd ever had about herself with his touch.

"Ugly. Worthless. How could you think you could ever be enough for him? Look at him. He deserves someone young, someone who can give him what a man needs. You can't give him anything. You're an aging invalid."

She sank to the floor and covered her ears as if that would make it stop. Her blood was rushing as the emotions overtook her. She tried to counteract the voice with everything she knew of her husband. These words were lies. She knew he still wanted her, still loved her. He would never leave her. Still, the voice went on, louder than before. How had it found her again? Even in her worst times, a year in captivity, under torture, it had never been present.

She was startled by a touch on her arm and she looked around wildly as strong hands gripped her and pulled her into an embrace. Finally she heard Steve's voice whispering words of comfort. The touch of his hands on her bare back, the puffs of his breath against her ear, brought her back to the present.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "I thought you were going to rest."

"Why are you here?" she didn't want to answer his question.

"I forgot my wallet," he said.

"Answer me, please," he asked again. "What are you doing?"

Maria looked at him, years of trust making her unable to hide her feelings from him.

"I just," she started, but stopped.

Her back was to the mirror so she couldn't see herself now. Instead she looked down and truly looked at her skin.

When she looked back at him she was thankful she saw no pity, only concern, in his eyes.

"I'm," she bit down on the side of her tongue to help reign in her emotions and tried to will herself to continue.

He kissed her forehead then shifted their bodies until he cradled her in his lap. If she looked to the side she would be able to see the two of them in the mirror.

"You're alive," he said. "And fighting. And..."

Steve stopped and Maria felt his chest heave then he let out a slow breath.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known," he said.

He's said it often over the past year. He always had, but she noticed it more once she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer. She started the treatments right away, but it was too late. She had a double mastectomy shortly before their 25th anniversary. Steve had told her then she was still the most beautiful woman. She had tried to believe him. She knew he was terrible at lying.

They sat on the floor for a long while. Steve stroked her back and her arm intermittently and rocked her gently. Finally she felt him take a long, slow breath. She expected him to say something, or to pick her up and put her back in bed. Instead he rested the tips of his fingers gently atop her head, then slowly slid them down along the curve of her scalp, to her neck, then along her spine, in a way that made her shiver like she hadn't in far too long.

She looked up at him, a question on her face. What she saw surprised her. His eyes were dark with desire. He leaned in to her, his lips hovering just above hers, as if he was asking her permission. It had been years since he'd done that. He had learned her tells and memorized her ques. He always knew when she wanted him. Now he was asking her, wanting permission. It had been so long, she wasn't sure she'd even be able to follow through, if she had the strength.

"Maria."

His voice was a whisper across her lips.

"Please, I need..."

She thought he'd say he needed this, that it had been too long for him, that he craved her.

"I need to show you how I feel," he said. "I need to touch you so you can see that I still feel the same way about you, that I still find you beautiful. That you still do to me things no other woman has ever done."

Maria swallowed another lump that had developed in her throat then leaned in and pressed her lips gently to his. It was slow, it was gentle, it was so much like their first time. Steve took his time on every part of her. Yes, he knew her body now, but they hadn't done much more than kiss since her first round of treatment. And now there were more scars. But just as he had done on their wedding night, Steve turned the scarred and puckered skin into areas of pleasure. By the time his lips reached the waistband of her pajama pants, Maria was panting and nearly consumed with need. He pulled the pants down around her hips and off her legs. Then he rested on his laurels and took in her whole body. Maria wanted to cover herself and it took all the mental strength she had to keep her arms at her sides.

His eyes hadn't changed since she'd seen them minutes earlier, if anything they were darker. It had always been a marvel to her how he looked at her, as if she was the only woman who had ever held any interest for him.

She suddenly realized that he was looking into her eyes again, and he had changed. There was look of slight desperation on his face.

"Please, believe me," he said.

She gave him a shaky smile and nodded her head.

"I believe you," she told him. "It's just, I can't."

She already knew she didn't have the strength to take him today. She wanted to, she wanted to please him, wanted to make love to him, but she knew herself well enough to know she wouldn't be able to.

He shook his head.

"You don't have to do anything," he said.

Then a slightly feral grin danced on his lips.

"Just lay back and enjoy."

He placed one hand on each knee and slowly pulled them apart, placing a kiss on the inside of her right thigh as he did so. Maria felt her breath hitch in her throat and her blood start racing again.

"Watch," he whispered as he kissed her other leg then slowly made his way closer to his intended destination. "Please, just watch."

Maria realized he had laid her out on the floor so she could do just that. It wasn't the first time. They had been married for a quarter of a century, and each had a voracious appetite for the other. Maria slowly turned her head to look at them in the mirror. She looked at Steve first, he was intent on his work as he spread her legs further apart and slipped his fingers between her folds. It felt different. She'd never been one to completely shave down there, hadn't seen the need to more than clip. He'd never complained. The skin was sensitive, and not just because it had been a long time, though that certainly had a lot to do with it.

He slowly worked her until she was right at the edge, then he pulled his fingers away and kissed the sensitive skin.

"You. Look at you, please," he said, not taking his eyes off his task. "You are so beautiful." He breathed against her skin.

Maria shuddered and finally did what he asked. It wasn't easy. She wanted to close her eyes as his tongue tasted her. She was angry at herself as a tear slipped down the side of her face when he slowly pushed one finger inside her. But after only a few minutes, his ministrations began to take hold of her mind and she could hardly register anything but the pleasure of his touch.

Her hands were in his hair and she cried out his name softly at first, then he became more vigorous, and her cries followed suit. For several mind blowing minutes, during which Steve expertly took her up and down and back up again until she thought she might never be able to recover and what would the doctor think about that, she forgot everything. The pain, the nausea, the fear, the stares, the comments, the pity. There was only Steve and everything he had ever felt for her. And then she was gone, her voice keening loudly, a wail she hadn't had the pleasure of hearing herself give for far too long.

Maria gasped for air as she slowly drifted back down, every nerve ending suddenly alive and awake. She felt Steve kiss his way back up her body, spending time at all the old scars, and taking longer on the new. He settled himself beside her and kissed her gently on her lips.

She touched his face and apologized.

"I don't think I have the energy to do anything for you," she said.

He furrowed his brows and grimaced at her.

"This had nothing to do with me," he said, then his face relaxed into a now unusual blush. "And, yet, oddly it did."

He smiled and the blush deepened.

"Pleasuring you, shoot, the thought of pleasuring you, has always done more for me than I care to admit," he said.

Then he chuckled and whispered, "I think I'm getting old. I'm gonna have to change my pants."

For some reason Maria found that terribly funny and began to laugh. She couldn't stop for nearly a minute, but when she finally calmed he touched her face.

"I haven't heard you really laugh in so long," he said.

"Sorry it had to be at your expense," she smiled at him.

"I'm not," he told her. "Besides, I enjoyed every second of this, um, problem."

He gathered her up and put her back into bed, arguing that she couldn't spend a late winter day on the tile floor. Then he took his clothes off and texted Hope to apologize but something had come up with Maria and he wouldn't be able to meet for lunch later. He slid under the covers with her then pulled her body to his.

"I love you so much," he said. "I wish I was more of a poet sometimes, it just seems that my ordinary words, and my usual actions will never come close enough to conveying everything you mean to me."

"Well, you were just fine today," she assured him. "I think I understand pretty well now."

He pulled back to look at her, a serious look in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I don't want you to ever doubt that I still love you and, to be perfectly honest, it doesn't matter what part of you they take away, that will never change. I have loved you, now it seems, looking back, from the first time I saw you."

Maria smiled. Then she tucked her head under his chin.

"I will never doubt," she said. "I'm sorry I did."

"It's OK," he said. "Just, if you do, tell me, so I can remove your doubts."

She felt his body shake slightly as he chuckled.

"Thank you," she said.

"Any time," he replied.

"I mean for everything," she told him.

"Everything?" he asked and shifted so he could see her.

Maria nodded.

"This was going to happen," she said. "Even if we never…"

She stopped as her emotions choked off her words.

Steve waited as she composed herself.

"Before I met you, I thought I could do everything alone, that I didn't, and never would, need anyone," she said. "But this, the cancer, this is something I don't know if I could have made it through without you."

Steve smiled softly at her. Maria knew he understood what she was saying.

He kissed her gently and pulled her back into his embrace.

"I'm glad you aren't alone in this," he said. "And as long as I breathe, you will never be alone."

Notes: Yes, as a matter of fact, I did make myself cry.