Day 13

Steve slept on the couch again, even though I had insisted that he at least sleep in his own bed. I had even implied that I would be fine with sharing the bed, but he respectfully declined. The sexual tension between us was becoming palpable … or at least that's how I felt.

At breakfast, Steve happily announced that his employers were giving him a day off. "I guess they decided I needed a rest," he explained.

"Good," I said. It was difficult to imagine just what kind of work they had him doing. "I get you all to myself today," I added with a coy smile.

Steve laughed with a hint of embarrassment. In true Steve fashion, he countered with a self-deprecating joke. "All the good, the bad, and the ugly."

The metro ride to the Smithsonian was much less crowded than the day before. The thought of leaving the next day lingered in the back of my mind, turning the ride bittersweet. I smiled bravely at Steve when he gave my hand a random squeeze. As we walked from the metro station to the museums, I decided to bring it up.

"So, it's your last night," Steve said, as if reading my mind.

I let out a breathy laugh. "I was literally about to say that," I sighed, giving him a long glance. A small patch of blonde bangs stuck out from underneath his baseball cap, and his eyes were as blue as ever in the late morning sunlight.

"You seemed a little off on the train," he noted, wearing a small smile.

"You're right," I breathed. "I'm not ready to go home."

Steve laughed lightly. "Don't you miss New York? Your job?"

"Nope," I said, popping the "p." I laughed outright at the thought of missing my boring life and stressful job. "It's nice to get away."

As he stared at the sidewalk ahead, Steve's eyes seemed pensive. "Well," he said, "my door is always open."

The statement gave me pause. "You don't think you'll be in D.C. that much, do you?"

He shrugged, shooting me a hapless glance. "You never know. The folks I work for can be … demanding."

Thinking back to the bruises I had seen on his body, I couldn't help but agree. I considered asking him about his work, but it didn't seem like the right time. "Well, that gives me an excuse to get away from NYC," I said with a smile.

"My thoughts exactly," Steve agreed.

We decided to go to the Museum of American History and the National Gallery since we didn't want to stay out all day. Or rather, I didn't want to stay out all day. Steve seemed excited to spend time around old things. Since I had never been to the Smithsonian or to many museums in general, I was certainly curious.

The American museum was cold and musty, which reminded me of an antique book shop I visited as a child. I was grateful that I had brought a sweater. After buying our admission tickets, Steve offered me an arm and we started to meander through the museum.

When we got to the pop culture section, I was ecstatic. The Golden Age of Hollywood surrounded us with music and antiques everywhere we looked. It was like stepping into a time machine. Once we got to the 70's and 80's, the magic died down for me. Steve laughed and pointed out the change in my demeanor. Every so often, he would jot down names of people or movies that caught his attention.

After pop culture, we reached the war section of the museum. Steve became noticeably more quiet as we walked through the Revolutionary War and the Civil War exhibits. We stopped at plaques occasionally to read about this battle or that general. Then came World War I. And then World War II. By then, Steve was totally silent.

Around one particular corner, a big band song drifted through the musty air. As we got closer, I recognized a familiar silhouette and shield painted on the wall. It read, "Captain America: The Living Legend and Symbol of Courage."

My feet came to a surprised halt. I stared at the wall until I realized that we were blocking the flow of people behind us. "Sorry," I muttered to a family as I trailed behind Steve into the exhibit. "Have you been here before?" I whispered to Steve, taking in the extensive view.

"I have," Steve said. I looked up to study his face. What I had assumed to be sadness actually seemed to be quiet amusement. He pulled the brim of his hat down a bit with a small smirk in place.

We first came to a display of pre-serum and post-serum Steve. I had seen pictures on the internet, but they did not do justice to the height difference. I wondered if I would have even given pre-serum Steve a second glance. Next, we reached a 1940's motorcycle. Steve laughed when he told me that the museum had actually refused to give it back to him. The same went for the vintage Captain America uniform on display with his old Army unit, the Howling Commandos.

A glass plaque with the words "A Fallen Comrade" drew my attention. I briefly read about James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. By the time I reached the end, I realized it was the same name that I had seen on Steve's mysterious corkboard in Brooklyn. The neighboring plaque was titled "A Faithful Colleague," which briefly summarized the role of Margaret "Peggy" Carter in the war. Of course, I recognized the name of Steve's first girlfriend.

"Bucky was my best friend," Steve said quietly from beside me. I glanced up to see his somber face. "Peggy was ..." Steve's expression grew distant as he gazed at the woman's face etched in glass. "Peggy was an extraordinary woman."

I felt a flash of jealousy. I wonder if he still loves her. Mentally putting myself in his place, my jealousy somewhat turned into sympathy. What if I was suddenly cut off from someone I loved? My mind wandered to my memories of 2012, but I quickly reeled it back.

Selfishly, I felt glad to have Steve here in the 21st century.

I pointed underneath Peggy Carter's name, where it said, "April 9, 1921—" There was no death date. "Looks like she still is," I said. A knowing smile ghosted Steve's face. "Have you seen her since you woke up?"

I could already tell by his expression that the answer was no. "I have her phone number and address in England … I just haven't used them yet."

A distinct sadness crept onto his face; I felt a pang in my chest. "You should," I encouraged him.

He smiled, but I could tell the conversation was over. I felt a bit relieved — discussing his past relationships was not something I enjoyed. Hell, I didn't even like discussing my own past relationships. After walking through an amusing pseudo-iceberg exhibit, we left the museum hand in hand.

The National Gallery experience was a lot less emotional — we attempted to interpret modern art and admired old classics. Somehow, that day, I felt more at ease with Steve than ever before. Whether it was the confirmation of our relationship the day before or just familiarity, I didn't know. After the gallery, we ate an early dinner at a sunny cafe on the National Mall strip. We chatted as we watched clouds roll in from the south, bringing a chilly wind along with them.

The only free seats on the metro were across from each other. I mostly watched the weather outside on the quiet ride home, occasionally stealing glances at Steve. On an impulse, I made a funny face at him when we caught eyes, and to my enjoyment, he made one back.

Feeling the familiar blanket of sexual tension settle over the apartment, I stretched out on the couch while Steve flipped on some lights. The dark sky seemed on the verge of rain, and I watched the low-hanging clouds with a lazy gaze. "Should we watch a movie?" I asked when Steve joined me on the couch.

After he sat down, he rolled his shoulders back while moving his neck from side to side. "Of course," he said, handing me the remote. "I learned my lesson last night, so I'll let you pick."

I held back laughter and said, "If you insist." As I arrowed through the movies on Netflix, I couldn't help but notice Steve massaging his shoulder. It occurred to me that I had never seen Steve appear uncomfortable or hurt in any way. "Are you okay?" I asked, shooting him a glance.

Letting out an embarrassed laugh, he immediately stopped rubbing his shoulder. "Yes, it's just some soreness. It'll heal soon."

I tried to focus on finding a show for us while I watched Steve out of the corner of my eye. I eventually settled on Definitely, Maybe—a rom-com with Ryan Reynolds.

"Must have been pretty bad," I said, pulling my legs up on the couch. "Don't you have super healing?"

Steve laughed, folding his arms as he watched the opening credits of the movie. "I wouldn't put it that way, but—yeah."

I studied Steve with a frown as I once again considered asking him about the bruises I had seen. The nurse inside of me wouldn't have it any other way. As if sensing my gaze, Steve glanced over to lock eyes with me. "What's up?" he said, his eyes momentarily drifting down to my lips.

"I'm sorry if this is weird," I started hesitantly, "but I wanted to ask you about those bruises."

Realization settled on his face. "You noticed," he sighed. "I figured you would." I remained silent to allow him to explain. Based on our conversation when I first arrived in D.C., I had a decent idea. Steve continued, "The equipment that I'm stress-testing at work ... Let's just say, it's pretty effective."

My eyes narrowed. "The weapons, you mean."

Steve lifted a finger as if to argue but then let it fall aside. "Right," he confirmed.

"So, this organization you work for—" I waved my hand in front of me as if to fill in the blank. "They're testing weapons on you designed to take you down." His expression was impassive. "And you're okay with that?"

"It's not that simple," Steve countered, becoming suddenly serious. "In war, great power requires great restraint. Even the watchers need to be watched."

I took a moment to process what he had said. "You don't trust yourself to keep yourself in check?"

"It's not just me that needs to be kept in check," Steve said. "Some of us Avengers have incredible power—god-like power. Lowercase 'g,'" he added.

I would have laughed if the topic weren't so grave. The faces of the other Avengers flashed through my mind. "Like Thor? And Ironman?"

"All of us," Steve said. "You never know what could happen. I've seen things in my life that you wouldn't even believe."

I nodded slowly, imagining what he could possibly mean. The 2012 attacks definitely qualify. Of course, Steve had fought in World War II. Unbelievable things happened even back then, on both sides. "I guess I understand," I admitted.

Steve nodded, seemingly content. "Good. I don't want you to think I'm … self-destructive."

"No, no," I said immediately, "I didn't think that. I was just worried about you." I shrugged. "It's a nurse thing."

Finally, Steve cracked a smile. "Thank you for your concern, Nurse Kate."

I smiled back, satisfied, and returned my attention to the movie. After a few minutes, I became hyper-aware of the proximity of our bodies. Recalling the awkward space between us the last time we watched a movie, I boldly leaned ever so slightly against Steve's arm. He responded by shifting his legs closer to mine, without touching, and I took this as a good sign.

Steve had a lot of questions throughout the movie, and I could tell he wasn't quite following the story. Although, I did enjoy the sound of his low, throaty chuckles at the jokes he found funny. About an hour through the movie, he started to rub his shoulder again.

"Need help with that?" I asked.

Once again, his hand fell away. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

Deciding to be risky, I reached over to replace his hand with mine anyway. I massaged his trapezius and found a tight spot right away, focusing my attention there. When he winced, I pulled my hand away, murmuring, "Sorry..."

"No—that felt good," Steve said in a hushed voice that sent tingles through my spine. "Really good."

"Okay," I said through a smile, picking up where I left off. Steve's shoulder loosened up after a couple of minutes, so I switched to the other one. I found another knotted muscle there. "You're so tense," I mused.

"It's not every day I get a shoulder massage," Steve reminded me, sitting up when I prompted him. With the extra space, I ran both my hands over his shoulders and upper back. I indulged in the closeness.

"You could change that. But remember, I charge by the hour." I felt the rumble of Steve's laugh through my fingertips. When I pressed down with both my thumbs to massage deeper, I heard a quiet groan. It sent a bolt of lightning straight through my abdomen.

"Sounds great," Steve said.

I continued until each tense muscle group was loosened, and then I kept going just for fun. I recalled that rubbing his back had been a fantasy of mine ever since I saw him in those tight running shirts of his. Like the rest of him, his back was so broad and toned and, well, amazing.

Steve's voice drew me out of my thoughts. "Where did you learn how to do this?"

"I had a roommate in college that would give me back rubs. I just copy her," I explained, letting my hands drift lower. I found more tense muscles in his middle back.

After a few more minutes, Steve turned halfway to look at me. He wore a grateful smile. "Your turn," he said, motioning me forward.

"You don't have to," I said. "I enjoy doing it."

Steve gently took me by the shoulders to position me on the edge of the couch, facing slightly away from the TV. I noticed raindrops pattering against the dining room window. "I will, too."

Feeling a rush of excitement, I pulled my hair over my shoulder and straightened my back. At first, Steve's touch was so light that it felt more like petting than massaging. He caught on before too long; his deep pinches and wide strokes made me hum in satisfaction. "Feels good," I breathed.

"Good," Steve said from behind. His broad hands traveled up and down my back, sometimes brushing the back of my neck. When my hair fell over my shoulder, he swept it back before I had the chance. Somehow, I enjoyed this more than kissing; there was less pressure, fewer consequences. My body was humming, and I basked in the feeling.

"What's your favorite massage?" Steve asked.

When I opened my eyes to answer, I realized I hadn't been paying attention to the movie. The end credits were scrolling up the screen. "I carry most my stress in my lower back, so probably that." Steve's hands moved to the small of my back, but the angle was awkward. "It's better lying down," I laughed.

A long pause followed, and then Steve said, "Would you like to go lie down?"

I tried to withhold the eagerness from my voice. "Sure."

Steve pulled the bedroom curtains mostly shut, leaving behind a dim glow in the room. Hoping not to ruin the moment, I avoided eye contact with him as I laid face down with my head on my arms. I felt him sit on the edge of the bed and I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound of the rain thrumming on the roof. His hands started on my upper back, working their way down to the hard muscles of my lower back.

"You are tense here," Steve murmured, digging in with his thumbs.

I let out a long sigh, melting at his touch. "Not anymore."

As he continued, I felt him tug the hem of my shirt down every so often to keep my skin covered. The massage was great, but the fabric separating us was annoying. My thoughts began to wander to us in bed, ripping each other's clothes off as fast as we could—

And then his hands slipped underneath my shirt.

"Is this okay?" he asked immediately, hands frozen.

"Yes," I said, feeling my pulse racing. Sensuality or "foreplay" wasn't something I usually enjoyed, but this was something else entirely. My entire body felt like it had been lit on fire. Maybe I just haven't been with a guy that does it right.

Steve's warm hands slipped up my bare back and all the way down, tracing my spine as they went. I felt like putty in his hands. Minutes slipped by while I floated there—totally oblivious to the world except for Steve's hands. They never left the confines of my back or even unsnapped my bra. But it was enough.

"Steve," I eventually murmured, "I'm about to fall asleep." A sleepy laugh escaped me.

I heard Steve's chuckle through the dark room, and then he guided me towards the top of the bed. He pulled the blankets back while I slipped underneath. As he pulled them up to cover me, I grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Stay with me," I whispered.

I could sense his hesitation. Although he pulled my hand away, I heard him say, "Okay." A minute later, I felt him get into bed from the other side, sliding under the sheets next to me. He found my hand between the sheets and placed it on his chest, our fingers intertwined. My heart thudded in my chest, swelling with warmth and affection.

I'm in bed with Steve, the back of my mind said.

I suddenly realized I was not sleepy at all.

To my readers, sorry for the delay and thank you for bearing with me. Since seeing Endgame, I have Kate's story outlined pretty far so I hope to stay inspired long enough to finish it. Don't forget to review! :) -Scarlet