"Happy Birthday, Steve," Natasha said softly as she kissed Steve on the cheek on her way out the door.

"Thanks. For everything." Steve held out his left hand for Clint,

"I didn't know today was your birthday," the archer said, covering their clasped hands with his right one.

Steve smiled slightly. "Yesterday was, actually."

Clint huffed a laugh. "Only you. Happy belated birthday, then." He turned to Megan. "Why no cake?"

Megan smiled softly. "I already managed to get the entire country celebrating with fireworks, cookouts, and parades, and you're griping about not having cake?" She leaned into Steve, who put his arm around her. "Sometimes, normalcy is the best gift of all."

"I tend to avoid fireworks as much as I can these days," Steve admitted.

"A lot of vets do. See you in the morning." Clint said, allowing Natasha to usher him out the door.

Megan locked it behind them and turned into the hug Steve was giving her.

"Thank you for tonight."

"It was Clint's idea to order the cards and it grew organically from there. I didn't even think about it being the day after your birthday until earlier this week."

"We celebrated at your parents' place, remember? This was perfect." Steve kissed her and ran his hand down her back as he did so.

"Hold that thought until I'm done cleaning up."

"Until we're done," he corrected. "Are the trays new?"

"Yeah. There's a stand in the front closet for them, too. Just move everything to the table and we'll sort it out once I put the leftovers away."

She watched him as she worked, marveling at how well he was coping with moving around the apartment with confidence. He'd adapted well, and was occasionally using his burned hand, too. They'd switched to using kitchen gloves to contain the blue goo now that he'd healed some, and that allowed him to flex and move his fingers all day long, as well as using his wrist more. The doctors hadn't been consulted, though they hadn't argued at Steve's checkup, either. Perhaps they had grown accustomed to Steve's habit of expecting forgiveness instead of asking for permission. Besides, Steve knew how his body worked better than anyone.

As Megan consolidated the few remaining slices of pizza into a single box, Steve collected the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. The Braille reference cards and playing cards didn't have a home yet, so Steve put them on Megan's sewing machine for the time being. "How about storing the wipes under the kitchen sink?" he suggested as he finished clearing the table while she sprayed it with cleaner and began to wipe it down.

"Works for me."

Steve stored the containers and then came up behind her, putting his hand on her waist and kissing her nape when she straightened up. "Can't that wait until tomorrow?"

"I suppose. But I'm almost done and I—" she broke off as he turned her around and kissed her thoroughly. "You're making a good argument for waiting until tomorrow," she added a bit breathlessly as he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.


Much later, she lay on her right side with Steve's warm, naked body pressed against her back. She tried to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. If his hands alone did this to her, how was she ever going to survive more? She sighed in contentment and snuggled closer to him just as he threw his left leg over her calves and wrapped his good arm around her, holding her own arms against her chest in a warm bear hug.

"I've got you right where I want you," he said softly as he planted a trail of kisses along her neck

Megan felt a chill of fear go down her spine and something in her snapped. Never again. She threw her head back and caught him in the nose. At the same time, she slammed her left elbow back and caught him in the ribs. He broke his grasp on her and she dove out of the bed, rolling smoothly to her feet. Free at last, she bolted from the room. She needed a weapon. Frantically, her eyes searched and she spotted the knives in the block on the kitchen counter. A paring knife would do nicely for backup, she decided, and put that in her left hand while grabbing a larger blade in her right. Let him try to force her now and he'd get more than a broken nose for the trouble. It was the middle of the night. She had to figure out how to get some clothes and then her purse so she could escape the apartment. First, though, she had to make sure he'd learned his lesson and would keep his distance.

"Megan?" he asked, coming into the kitchen with a wadded up shirt pressed to his face to catch the blood. He stopped just inside the doorway, well out of her reach. "Are you okay?"

"Steve?" Her voice faltered as she realized where she was. "Steve?" She was panicking now. A distant part of mind registered the sound of the knives clattering as they hit the floor. Her vision went funky and got dark around the edges. She couldn't breathe. Her chest ached. Even her hearing was fading.

"Megan? Are you hurt?"

She was dying. She could feel it. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she still couldn't breathe. She couldn't even talk. She sank to the floor, hoping he'd understand how sorry she was as she curled up and prepared to die.

"Megan, I'm going to sit down in front of you and I want you to take my hand. You're going to be okay." He walked towards her slowly, somehow knowing where she was despite his eyes being bandaged. Moving with careful grace, he sat down on the floor in front of her hand held out his hand and smiled when she shoved her shaking fingers into his palm. "Good," he said, pressing her hand against his chest. "I think you're having a panic attack. That's why you feel like you can't breathe. Try to breathe with me, nice and slow."

She was dying and he was sitting naked and cross-legged on the kitchen floor talking to her as if they had all the time in the world! How did this make sense? She tried to do what he asked, tried to make her lungs work in rhythm with the muscular chest that was warming her fingers.

"Good. Keep breathing with me. You can move closer to me if you want. I'll hold you. I know the floor's cold and hard."

Megan choked on a sob as she tried to move closer, even tried to sit up. Sensing her intent, he scooped her up and held her on his lap, tucking her head under his chin as he held her hand to his chest, still coaching her to breathe. "So… so… sorry," she managed to get out on the third try.

"Shh. It's okay. You're safe. It was just a panic attack. It will pass." He soothed her as he stroked her hair. "I'm going to pick you up now," he said when she was breathing less erratically. Effortlessly, he stood up, still holding her in his arms as he walked to the couch and sat down on it. He snagged the afghan she kept over the back and wrapped her up in it, still murmuring reassurances to her as she trembled and shook in his arms.

"Can't get warm," she finally murmured, burrowing closer to him. Not even the heat pouring from his body eased the chill in her bones.

"Now that you're breathing better, if you're okay with me getting up, I'll start some water for tea."

Megan nodded, knowing he'd feel the movement. She dreaded the time when he started asking questions. She felt physically ill at the thought of telling him what had happened and curled up a bit more in response.

"I'll be right back," he promised, gently lifting her as he stood before depositing her in the corner of the couch, braced between the arm and the back. Megan just closed her eyes and stayed there. She no longer felt like she was dying, she only wished she were. At least with his eyes bandaged, she wouldn't have to see the disappointment in his gaze when looked at her. Maybe by the time he was healed, she'd be able to pretend that nothing had changed.

She heard water running followed by the sound of the tea kettle being placed on the stove. After that, it was silent. Maybe he'd gone back to bed.

"Megan?" He called her name softly as he returned to her side, now dressed in a pair of boxers. "I brought you your nightgown, underwear, and a pair of sweatpants. It might help you to get warm if you have more layers on. I'll hold you again, if you want, but there's no pressure. I want to do whatever makes you feel safe."

She tried to answer and choked on the words. He looked so earnest, so patient. Megan turned away and fumbled with the garments, trying to ignore the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Steve just sat there, close enough for her to touch if she wanted to, but far enough away that he wasn't crowding her. "I'm proud of you," he finally said as he leaned back into the cushions, accepting her unspoken determination that he should keep his distance.

"For humiliating myself?" She hated how shaky her voice was.

"For defending yourself so well. You broke my nose and followed through immediately with your elbow. I probably could have held you down if I wanted to, and I imagine some other agents might have pinned you, but your typical thug wouldn't be eager to let you near them again, even before you armed yourself with knives. For the amount of time you've been training in self-defense, you put those lessons to work really effectively. You should be proud of yourself. Natasha's going to be thrilled to hear how well you fought."

Megan just gaped at him, hysteria clawing at her insides as she hugged her knees under the afghan. "I attacked you and you're pleased?"

Steve shrugged. "I figure something triggered you. It doesn't matter right now. You'll tell me when you're ready. I heal fast and I owed you for the black eye." The teakettle whistled and he got up to fix her a mug.

That surprised her. She had been braced for a stream of questions.

He sat back down beside her, mugs in hand, and gave her one. "I'd like to have Natasha and Clint make sure Randy didn't have something to do with the attack on you back in May. Is that okay?"

Megan put the mug down on the coffee table with trembling hands and hugged her knees to her chest. He knew. He knew everything: how weak she was, how vulnerable. She was sullied. Damaged. And now he would leave. Well, not right away. He'd protect her family, keep her safe for now. But the fairy tale? That was over. Only duty would keep him around. And when that duty was done…

"Megan? I'm going to hold you," he said softly, treating her like he would a skittish horse. He put his mug on the table and reached for her, carefully telegraphing every motion. He pulled her to his chest, wrapped her in his arms, and tucked her head under his chin as he had done in the kitchen. "I'm so proud of you."

She shook her head. That made no sense. But she was crying too hard to talk, to explain. She didn't want his pity.

"I mean it. You were in an abusive relationship and you got out despite the hold he had on you. That took a lot of courage and strength. I'm not saying that to make you feel better, either. I always knew you were strong. I just didn't realize how strong until tonight."

That just made Megan cry harder. Somehow, Steve seemed to understand all of the turmoil ripping through her and just held her gently, rubbing her back after checking once again the afghan was tucked around her feet. And when the sobbing subsided, he reminded her to drink her tea while he held her and rubbed her back, silently offering his support and comfort as she was forced to acknowledge wounds she'd tried to forget.


Megan woke feeling a bit disoriented. She was lying in bed, still wearing sweatpants but tucked in under the sheets and comforter. A glance at the clock told her it was just after three in the morning. She shuffled to the bathroom once she realized what had wakened her.

When she came back into the bedroom, she saw that Steve was sitting in the chair in the corner. His large frame made the furniture look tiny, especially given how his legs were sprawled on the ottoman and his head propped on his hand as he dozed.

"Steve?" she asked, her voice raspy after all of the crying.

He stirred almost immediately, going to full alert. "Megan? Is everything okay?"

"Come to bed," she said, going over to him to tug on his hand. "There's no reason for you to sleep in a chair."

"I want you to feel safe."

"Then come to bed so you're right beside me."

He hesitated, considering for a long moment before nodding his agreement. He even let her pull him to his feet and followed her to the bed.

She hated the hesitation. Hated the fact he was now cautious around her. She had kept her silence for a reason. Now it was just a matter of time before he got tired of dealing with her issues. She stripped off her sweatpants and crawled under the covers, hoping he'd hold her like he often did and not keep his distance. She wanted to be normal.

"I'm going to trust you to tell me if you change you mind about any of this, and if you do, it's okay," he said, as if reading her mind. "You know your limits, so just tell me if I need to back off. Otherwise, I'm treating you like I always did."

With that, he coaxed her into putting her head on his shoulder while he rubbed her back. "I love you, Megan. Don't forget that," he said before he kissed the crown of her head. "Go to sleep. I'm right here."

Desperately wanting to believe him, Megan allowed herself to pretend nothing had changed and fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat in her ear.


A/N: Megan did tell Clint she had more issues than National Geographic Magazine. Now you know about a few of them and where some of her self esteem issues come from.

Minchen0897, I'm glad you are enjoying it. I love Canasta, too, and grew up playing it at my grandmother's house.

Saramichellegellarfan1, welcome aboard. I hope you picked up on the fact the engagement is fake though they have fallen in love with each other after the fact. From your comments earlier on, I wasn't sure about that.

Qweb, yes, Steve appreciates his friends. Thanks for your continued support.

Guest- Megan's size is about a women's 14, but with disproportionally long legs. Trust me, having long legs makes shopping for pants an extended trip to hell. It's even worse if you have a couple of kids and move into the plus size range and need talls in a plus size. Overweight people cannot also be tall! If you have wide feet, high arches, and an aversion to foot pain, shoe shopping is torture, too. Poor Steve is used to the men's department where you shop for clothing by using your actual measurements. What will he have to say about all the different departments for women (junior, women, misses, petites) as well as sizes like zero?

You may not get another update until this weekend. It's been busy in real life and exhaustion keeps the muses away. :-(