Megan kept dropping ice cubes as she pulled them from the bin in the freezer where the ice maker deposited them. It seemed like only half of them ended up in the reusable ice bag she was filling. "Watch your step," she warned Steve when he came into the kitchen. "I keep dropping ice cubes and I've noticed this floor is wickedly slippery when wet."
"Okay."
"I have the cocoa ready to heat, but I didn't turn the burner on yet."
Steve moved silently to the stove and fumbled a bit to turn it on, but soon was slowly stirring the mixture while Megan chased scattered ice cubes across the kitchen floor.
"Why do you always make everything your fault?" Megan finally asked when she was done cleaning up. She took over stirring the cocoa while Steve sat slumped down at the bar.
"I could have killed you in my sleep."
"In theory. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm asking why you seem to assume responsibly for everything that goes on around you, no matter whether nor not you have control over it."
"You could have died tonight."
Megan couldn't help but look at the ceiling and praying for strength. "Apparently, you are not going to be able to talk about anything else until we address that." She sighed in frustration. " Yes, I could have died. We could have been hit by a nuclear bomb. A neighbor could have shot me through the wall in a botched suicide attempt. I could have slipped on the wet floor and hit my head at on the counter at just the wrong angle. You could have strangled me in your sleep thinking I was one of the Chitauri trying to kill you in New York. None of those things happened."
"This isn't a joke."
"It's also not as bad as your guilt complex makes it out to be in your head. What are the two things you most consistently have nightmares about?"
"You already know the answer to that."
"Do you? Or do you mostly just wake up feeling awful and trying to forget?"
"My dreams are vivid. And when I wake up…"
"It's like losing Bucky all over again." Megan finished softly. "Which hand were you using to reach out to him when he fell from the train, Steve?"
"My left."
"Mmm hmm." She just watched, waiting for him to understand, as she continued to stir the cocoa over low heat. "Do you punch and kick like you're in battle when you're dreaming about putting the plane into the water?"
"I don't know."
"Fair enough. It's never happened that I've seen. You curl up a bit, like you're bracing yourself. Sometimes you thrash around like when you were in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. But Natasha was more worried you'd injure yourself than cause harm to others when she tried to wake you up."
"That doesn't mean anything. You don't realize how strong I really am. I never let myself go full-out except in battle, and usually not even then." She saw from the tension in his shoulders how much that admission cost him. He still viewed his body as some sort of weapon that he'd put on one day. Even though he couldn't remove it, he hadn't completely accepted it as his own or learned to inhabit it fully. Rather, it was a tool to be controlled. "How much furniture have you destroyed as a result of nightmares in the last two years?"
"A few bedside lamps."
"Would you agree that those cheap lamps are more breakable than I am?"
"That doesn't change—"
"I'm either more breakable than a lamp or less so. Which is it?"
"The lamp will break more easily. Even so, I can still do serious damage to you, Megan."
"I know you can. I'm asking if you have."
"Not until tonight."
"That's still open for debate. But haven't you figured out yet why you ended up hitting me? You were reaching out for Bucky. That sort of motion is never going to deliver lethal force to anyone lying beside you. The vector forces are all wrong. It might be different if you were directing the forces downward, trying to disable someone sneaking up from behind. But you tend to forge ahead in battle and that puts the danger in front of you. Reaching for Bucky puts the majority of the force in a forward direction. Even if you were lying on your left side facing me, you'd be lying on that arm and reaching out more than striking out. The former might hurt a bit, but it won't kill me. At most, I'll get shoved to the floor."
Megan let him sit and think about that for a while as she continued to gently heat the cocoa. It was almost ready. She kept pressing the ice pack to her face in hopes it would stop throbbing and settle down to a dull ache. At least her wounds would heal. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that Steve had a lot of psychic wounds that continued to fester and bleed behind the stoic facade he had carefully constructed. No one was trying to heal them since he never let anyone see them.
They were both silent while Megan turned off the stove and poured the cocoa into two large mugs. She rinsed the pan and left it in the sink beside the squirt gun that she still needed to drain. It could wait until morning. She placed a mug in front of Steve where he sat at the bar, but took her own with her to the couch. If there weren't a rule against sitting on a wood barstool at one in the morning, there should be.
Steve finally broke the silence. "How bad is your eye?" he asked as he sat slumped over his mug, sipping the cocoa and looking like he was ready to completely break down.
"See for yourself." Megan answered softly. "I'm going to point out that I probably could have kept you from knowing about it if I tried. Same as yesterday when you grabbed my wrist. I'm being honest with you even though I know it's hurting you."
"I appreciate that."
"Prove it and stop twisting everything around into a weapon you use against yourself."
"I'm not trying to," he told her as he slowly made his way over to her and sat down on the couch beside her.
"I know. But you still do it." She set her mug on the coffee table and took Steve's to place beside it before guiding his hand to her face. "You've had worse ones, I'm sure."
He swore softly when he felt how swollen her face was. "I know how badly it hurts, too."
"Don't forget that pain medicines work on me. I got ice on it right away, which will help a lot, too. You usually go a longer time before you get any treatment."
"How can you be okay with this?"
"It was an accident. Believe me, it would be very different if you were hurting me on purpose."
"I would never do that," his voice caught.
"I know. I trust you, probably more than you realize." She leaned against him and put his mug back in his hand before taking another sip of her own cocoa. "I am going to make a suggestion and I want you to promise me to give it serious consideration."
"Okay."
"I mean it. You have to really think about this and not just react with an automatic 'no' like you're going to want to. In fact, I don't even want you to share your reaction or decision. Just promise you'll think about it."
"I promise."
"I think you need to consider individual or group veteran's counseling." Megan put her fingers on his lips when he started to react. "Not a word."
"I'm listening."
"You're dealing with a lot of stuff. Some of it's unique, but a lot of it really isn't when you get down to it. Any veteran of combat is going to have seen and done things they'd rather not remember. No one can fix the damage those experiences can do to a person, but there are ways of coping that make it a bit easier to deal with. I can't help you with that because I haven't gone through it. I don't think S.H.I.E.L.D. is the place to go for it, either. I don't trust the agency as a whole to look out for your best interests. Maybe a support group isn't realistic because you've got the Captain America baggage to drag around, too, and you need people who see Steve. But I'm sure Natasha and Tony have enough connections between them that they could find someone whom you can really trust in time," Megan said as she watched Steve's body language become more and more defensive. She shook her head slightly, having expected exactly this response.
"I know your immediate reaction is to say you don't need it and that you're fine. I also know that you're a product of your time and when you grew up, mental health was handled a lot differently than it is now. It's still not perfect. All I'm insisting you do right now is consider the possibility of finding someone to talk to. You already promised that you would so the subject is now closed." Megan leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder as they sat there in the dark.
"I don't like it."
"I know. But you should know by now that I tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear."
"In your opinion."
"And I'm always right. Get used to it." Megan yawned. "Do you think you can sleep yet or are you still too wound up?"
"I don't know."
"Then will you at least come snuggle with me while I go to sleep?."
"I can do that."
"Good. Finish your cocoa and come back to bed," Megan said, yawning as she got up and stretched. She put her mug in the dishwasher and turned out the lights in the kitchen before heading to the bedroom. Steve joined her soon after and she lay with her head on his shoulder, the ice pack pressed against her face and half-lying on a folded towel so Steve didn't have it against his own skin.
He was tense at first, but after a few minutes, she felt him relax and heard his breathing slow. Satisfied that they'd weathered another storm, she let herself fall asleep.
As soon as Megan had her oatmeal cooking in the microwave, she used her tablet to take a photo of herself and sent it to Natasha along with a message. "It's not fair to you, and I wouldn't ask if Steve were in better shape, but are you willing to take credit for this during an early sparring match today?" she wrote.
Natasha wrote back almost immediately. "Of course. What happened?"
"Nightmare. He's not up to dealing with any jokes at his expense just yet. I owe you one."
"Don't worry about it. Text me when you get in."
Megan shut down her tablet with a sigh of relief and sat down to breakfast. Steve was avoiding her this morning, hiding out on the elliptical machine, and she was too tired to fight him about it. Maybe letting him stew in his juices was what he needed.
There was no point taking a shower when she'd be soaked in sweat when Natasha was done with her, so as soon as she was done eating, she poked her head into the room where Steve was sulking and told him she was heading to work.
"Have a good day," he said curtly and she resisted the urge to give him the bird when he couldn't even see the gesture.
Once at work, Megan was able to slip into the empty locker room without encountering anyone other than Natasha.
"Here, you'll want this," the redhead said, handing Megan an instant ice pack.
"Won't it look suspicious that I have it before I make a rookie mistake on the mats?
"Nope," Natasha said as she swept Megan's feet out from under her. Megan fell as Natasha had taught her to do. "So sorry you hit your face on the bench on your way down," she said lightly as she nodded her approval at Megan's first fall on concrete. She held out her hand to help Megan up. "The gym is too busy to slip you in without anyone seeing you. Now we don't have to."
"Thanks. I'm really sorry about this," Megan apologized again as she activated the pack and held it to her face.
"Why?" Natasha seemed genuinely puzzled.
"You have feelings, too. I'm taking advantage of your reputation for my own ends and I don't like it even though I think it's necessary."
"You don't need to protect me from what I am."
"All of my friends need protection. I tend to bring chaos with me." Megan pretended not to see the surprise she saw flicker in Natasha's eyes before the assassin hid her emotions once more. "Let's get this over with," she said as she shoved the door open and stalked over to the open mat area where she and Natasha generally trained.
Natasha followed, speaking sharply. "I've told you before to never, ever let your guard down. Do you think your attackers will always wait until you're ready like they do in the movies?"
"I'm just saying it would have been nice if you had waited until I wasn't so close to the benches! There's plenty of open space by the sinks for you to have made your point without the risk of me hitting my head on the way down."
"So now you have a lasting reminder to do better. Stretch out so we can get started. I don't have all day. Once you're warmed up, you're going to have to set that ice pack aside. You're not good enough for one-handed throws yet. In a real fight, ice packs aren't available, either."
Megan bit back a smile, glad she was facing away from her audience. No matter her reputation, Natasha was a good person. It was a shame that more people didn't realize it.
"Steve? I brought takeout," Megan called as she opened the apartment door and set the bags down on the table. Today had been exhausting, filled with paperwork and reading grant proposals so she could catch up on all of the life science projects currently underway. Stopping for hot sandwiches on the way home had been a whim, but if Steve had cooked again, they were easy enough to store.
Looking around, she noticed the Scrabble tiles were scattered all over the dining and living room floors. Someone had apparently indulged in a bit of a temper tantrum. "Steve?" she said again, moving down the hall to the bedrooms, only to find them empty. Returning to the living room, she checked the balcony and found him sitting there, the door closed to keep the sultry weather outside.
"I brought takeout. I got you two meatball subs that are still hot."
"I'm not hungry," he said, not even turning towards her.
"When did you last eat?"
"I said I'm not hungry," he snapped.
"I'll put them in the fridge," Megan said softly and slid the door closed. Clearly, his mood was unchanged from this morning. She considered for a moment before reaching for her phone. It was time for a new approach.
Help arrived a short time later. "Stuff that in the fridge, I'm taking you out," Clint said as he followed Natasha inside and saw Megan's half-eaten dinner on the dining room table. He shook his head at her when he saw her look out at the balcony where Steve was still pouting. "Trust me."
Reluctantly, she nodded and wrapped the papers back around her sandwich. Natasha saw the Scrabble tiles and raised her eyebrow, followed by a slight smile flitting across her lips. Megan could only wonder what she was thinking, though she guessed that Natasha planned on making Steve clean up his own mess. She certainly wasn't going to do it and couldn't imagine that Natasha would, either.
After she grabbed her purse, Clint put his arm around her shoulders and ushered her out the door. "What's your favorite dessert?" he asked when they were in the elevator.
"Anything chocolate."
"Natasha will handle him. Don't worry."
"I don't know how to help him. I think he's letting me in, letting me closer, and then he shuts me out completely."
"You scare him." Clint said as he crossed his arms and leaned into the corner, the sole of one foot pressed flat against the wall.
"Sarge will scold you for getting his elevator dirty."
Clint put his foot back on the floor. "Don't change the subject. How does a hot chocolate chip cookie sound? I know a bistro in the district that serves them fresh from the oven."
Megan nodded as the elevator doors opened and let them out in the garage. She handed Clint the keys to Steve's car, in no mood to be responsible for driving safely.
"Why don't you tell me what happened last night and we'll go from there?" He chuckled at her look of alarm. "The edited version is fine. What base are you on? Or have you slid into home?"
Megan blushed and sank into the passenger side seat, fastening her seatbelt. "After begin stuck on first forever, I finally hit a double and got him to third. Then he had the stupid nightmare, gave me a black eye, and I'm cooling my heels in the dugout. I do not believe we are having this conversation. Speaking of awkward discussions, that reminds me to tell you that I kept my promise and told Nick we should change your codename to Cupid."
"Seriously?"
"Scout's honor."
"What did he say?"
"Congress has no idea what's heading their way."
"Ain't the truth, sister." Clint reached over and patted her knee once they were on the road. "We still need a code name for you."
"Just promise me that Natasha gets veto power over both you and Stark."
Clint's phone beeped and he looked at it at the next red light. "Nat's taking Steve to the gym."
"I assumed S.H.I.E.L.D. would lock him out of the exercise center until he's cleared by medical."
Clint stashed his phone and shook his head. "Sorry, I should clarify. They're not going to S.H.I.E.L.D.; Nat and I have another place we sometimes go to. It's not as fancy, but we like it better." He glanced over at her. "Third base, huh? How'd you manage that with Mr. Old-Fashioned and Uptight?"
"I asked." Megan covered her face. "Why are we back to this?"
"As protective of you are of Steve, who else are you going to talk to? Your parents?"
"Lord, no! But how is this my life?"
"I've been asking myself that on a daily basis for the last two years." Clint winked at her. "So you made it to third and then he got scared because he hurt you."
"I made him promise to think about talking to someone."
Clint snorted. "I'm sure that went over well."
"He needs help dealing with his issues. It would take time to find the right person, but I think it would help him in the long run if he saw a professional. He just stuffs it all in and keeps trying to be a good soldier. He can't do that forever. Pick any single big event from his life and you've got a recipe for issues. Combined, I'm amazed he's functioning at all. He's been so busy surviving there hasn't been much energy for living. This injury is starting to turn hairline cracks into fissures. I'm really worried about him."
"Me, too. But I don't know that you'll get him into formal therapy. Let me talk to Sarge."
"He's a treasure. He already gave Steve a kick in the backside yesterday."
"Good. I'm sure he'll land a few more before Steve goes back to his place. He's a good guy."
Megan nodded, then finally gave voice to her fears. "Do you really think Steve is going to fully recover?"
"Honestly? I really do. He survived begin frozen solid for decades. Not much beats that."
Megan lay in bed and forced herself to stay put when she heard Natasha and Steve return. Looking at the clock she saw it was nearly midnight. She'd tried to sleep but had been too worried to really relax. Even so, she stayed silent when Steve came into the bedroom and shut the door. He was quiet as he stripped off his clothes and slipped under the covers before rolling onto his side to face her. She desperately missed being able to look into his eyes and tell what he was thinking.
"Megan? You awake?" he asked in a voice so soft she had to strain to hear him.
"I'm here." Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
"I forgive you. Was Natasha able to help?"
"If you mean did she get my head out of my arse, yeah, she did. And then she wiped the floor with me."
"She's a good friend. Clint, too." Megan ran her hand over Steve's chest. "If I push you too hard, you'll tell me, won't you?"
"Always. Why are you worried about that now?" He pulled her closer so she was lying with her head on his shoulder.
"Something Clint said." She traced his sternum with a forefinger and added, "I just had to check."
"Bucky would tell you…" his voice caught. "I miss him so much. It's getting worse, not better."
"That's because you're finally letting yourself grieve for him. It will get easier to bear in time. It won't ever stop hurting, but the edges won't be so sharp."
"I don't know how my mother carried on all those years by herself."
"She loved you. Taking care of you was a way of honoring your father's memory. There's no doubt it was hard, but she loved you both enough to muster the strength. I'm sure she had friends and a support system you weren't aware of given your age."
"I guess she must have."
"Are you going to be able to sleep?"
"I think so." He pressed his lips to her temple. "We good?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
Steve's tone was amused. "It's your apartment."
Megan smiled, her cheek still pressed against his chest. "True. But I didn't kick you to the couch. Stop brooding and go to sleep. We have to be up early in the morning."
I'm not surprised at the mixed responses to the last chapter. I understand many people want to read more details than I wrote. But I can't write that stuff, so you'll just have to fill in the blanks. :-)
KnowInsight, I'm sorry to hear that it feels too rushed to you. I certainly appreciate your honest feedback. According to my timeline, they've known each other for about 3 months, though they have only dated for a small portion of that time. That said, I have dear friends who were married 6 weeks after they met and were together for over 35 years before her death following a long illness. I've seen how intense experience can bring people together quickly. In my head canon, this pace isn't too fast, though I'm frustrated that I didn't make that convincing enough for you in the story. Megan does push, but begin assertive is part of who she is. She trusts Steve to push back and speak his mind. If he caves to please her, they won't last long. She needs someone who stands his ground when it matters to him.
Qweb, yes, learning Braille is a good thing. If learning it doesn't keep him occupied, finding all those scattered tiles certainly will! I'm sure Megan has the birth control issue covered. She's a planner.
See you next week, sooner if the muse and real life cooperate.
