(A/N: And so the fluff continues! This one's pretty introspective, but then again, Steve has always seemed like the nostalgic type. (Just a note: the first scene in italics is a dream/flashback.)
As always, I love prompts, so let me know if there's something you'd like to see!
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Enjoy!
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Steve had never seen his friends so solemn.
His black coat scratched against his neck. The soft lapping of the waves on the dock was the only sound he heard . . .
His eyes fell on the little figure next to Pepper.
Morgan Stark.
Steve didn't know her. He had met her exactly twice. She shared Tony's looks—his sharp, intelligent eyes, his unkempt black hair, his set, stubborn jaw. What a legacy she had to live up to.
His eyes refused to remain dry. Another tear splashed onto his hand . . . and he watched it turn orange . . . watched it start to glow . . .
The grass beneath his feet turned into wood.
"She's not coming back."
Steve lifted his head and stared out into the lake. Another tear splashed onto his hand.
Again, he watched it turn orange.
"See you in a minute." Her eyes sparkled and her mouth pulled into a sly grin.
He would always remember her like that. Carefree, yet he knew it was a façade. She was more scared than any of them.
Another tear splashed onto his hand. The blue sky and green forest spiraled, twisted, and vanished, pulling him with it.
He stood at the edge of a rocky cliff, staring out into a hopeless scene. Thousands upon thousands of creatures—horrible, mindless creatures—stared back at him. Only him. Alone.
The Titan leading their ranks looked like he'd already conquered the world.
"I'm sorry, Nat," he whispered. The wind blew vehemently. His shield felt weak and frail on his arm. "We failed."
We failed . . .
I'm sorry . . .
Please forgive me . . .
And behind him, the world burned.
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"Da—? Da-da? Pa-pa?"
A tiny hand rested on his cheek.
Steve's eyes snapped open, and he caught a glimpse of bright red hair. For a moment, reality escaped him. Her grinning face flashed in his mind. See you in a minute. "Nat?!"
The little girl laughed. "Da-da!"
Breathing a long sigh, Steve pushed himself up from where he lay and pulled his daughter into his lap. "Hey there," he whispered, trying to regain his footing on reality.
Little Natalie took hold of Steve's finger. He wiggled it back and forth, causing a bright giggle to escape her mouth. "Where's your sister?" he asked. "Did she run away somewhere without you?"
Nat stuck her tongue out at him, then tried to wriggle out of his arms. He smirked, swung her around, and placed her gently into the crook of his elbow. "Not so fast, young lady." He tapped her nose twice. "Don't be such an escape artist."
Natalie grinned. "No-o."
He stood carefully and glared at the disaster around him. Toys were scattered everywhere, papers were strewn across the coffee table, and a large, wet patch of dirt stained the rug. Steve sighed. He loved having kids, and he wouldn't trade this life for anything in the world, but after thirty-something years of living either on his own or with other responsible adults, being in a constant state of childhood messiness took a bit of getting used to.
"What did you kids do to the floor?" he asked his daughter. She just smiled and attempted to shove her entire fist into her mouth, then when that didn't work, into Steve's.
He grabbed her little hand, unable to stay annoyed, then took her by the middle and tossed her into the air. She let out a squeal of delight while her arms waved and her legs kicked vigorously. "Uh-oh Da-de-e-e-"
"Uh-oh, Natalie-e-e," Steve replied, catching her and repeating the motion. He could listen to her laugh for hours. It was the most beautiful, captivating sound he'd ever heard.
He watched her little mouth make an "O" shape, watched her tiny hands ball into fists, and wondered how someone could be so beautiful.
"Steven Grant Rogers!"
Steve caught Nat, froze, blinked, then turned to see his wife in the doorway, eyes blazing. Though he caught sight of a tiny smirk on her lips.
"What in the world do you think you're doing?" Peggy demanded.
Natalie let out a string of baby babble, waving her arms, trying to explain the situation to her mother.
"Exactly," Steve agreed.
Ginny suddenly hurled herself around the corner, crawling like there was no tomorrow. "Da- Ma- Na—" she exclaimed.
"See?" Steve gestured to the younger twin. "She thinks so, too."
Peggy rolled her eyes, unable to keep the grin hidden any longer. "Just don't you dare let James see you doing that. He might try it."
"No I won't!" came a muffled cry. Peggy whirled to see her son poke his head out from under the table. "I promise, Mama!"
Steve snorted, and Natalie and Ginny giggled at the sound he made. He hoisted Ginny up with his free arm and leaned around Peggy's shoulders to kiss her cheek.
"I'm being out-witted by a house full of Rogers'," Peggy said, close to breaking out in laughter. "What have you done, Steve?"
"Just made your life a little more interesting." The twins each took firm hold of Steve's shirt collar, pinching some skin along with it. He winced.
Peggy's smile widened. "'Interesting' doesn't quite cut it, darling."
"How 'bout fun?" James asked.
While Steve attempted to extract his daughters' hands from his hair, Peggy scooped up her little boy. "Yes," she agreed, "'fun' just about sums it up."
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"I sort of want to use the name Anthony."
Peggy tilted her head. "I rather like it. Any reason?"
"Yeah," Steve admitted. "He was an old friend . . . who saved the world."
"Care to elaborate?"
He shifted slightly, pulling Peggy closer to his side. "It's a long story."
Smiling, she kicked her feet up onto the coffee table, next to Steve's. "We have plenty of time, darling."
So he started at the beginning. How his name was Tony, and he was a genius . . . His inventions saved the lives of all their friends, his selfless stupidity saved New York from being bombed, and they were the world's best team, able to face any threat and eliminate it . . . but eventually their complete opposite views of the world tore them apart. And even so . . . Somehow, when they needed each other most, their bond was stronger than ever. He carefully, emotionally recounted the day when Steve and Tony—Captain America and Iron Man—fought side by side as brothers for the last time.
Peggy lifted a gentle hand to cradle Steve's cheek as a few tears fell. "He meant a lot to you, didn't he?"
"I wish he knew how much," Steve admitted.
"Well," she decided, "If it's a boy, Anthony."
Steve rested his cheek on Peggy's head and kissed her hair.
"And if it's a girl," she continued, "what about Sarah?"
"Thank you, Peg."
His wife, with her tough, military-formed exterior, had the biggest, kindest, most empathetic heart he had ever known. "Steve," she said, "I should be thanking you."
"For what?" He searched her eyes, finding only the same emotion he felt: pure, undying love.
"For giving yourself a chance to start over."
That phrase meant more to him than she could ever know.
He smiled. "Well, I couldn't leave my best girl . . . Not when she owed me a dance."
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"Rogers, you sure are one hell of a guy, you know that?" Chester Phillips stared at the table and shuffled a stack of papers.
"Sir?"
Phillips glanced up. "But in the interest of your family and the rest of America, I can't let you do this."
Steve clenched his jaw, hands stiffening at his sides. "If I could, I'd like to know why."
"You're asking me—" the Colonel leaned his hands against his desk to stare Steve in the eyes, "—if you can go, with only five other men, into the Siberian wilderness, right after we won a world war, to find a hidden HYDRA base the size of a barn, which may or may not be fully reinforced and guarded, to somehow rescue your very dangerous, brainwashed friend from the second most powerful military force in the world . . . With SHIELD's blessing."
"That's exactly what I'm asking." Steve hooked his thumbs on the front of his belt. "And with all due respect, sir, don't you trust me to—"
"I trust your skills, Captain," Phillips interjected. "But we just got you back from the damn future, SHIELD just released your story to the world, and I don't believe we can risk losing our national symbol again."
"You think I haven't handled worse, Colonel?"
Phillips fixed him with a shocked glare, but Steve continued, trying not to let anger cloud his reason.
"Bucky Barnes saved my life over and over in the war, and I finally know where he is. He's alive, sir, and in the hands of left-over HYDRA soldiers who will brainwash him to be the deadliest assassin in history. He killed Howard Stark as well as a future President of the United States, so if I have even the smallest chance of bringing him back alive and wiping out the rest of HYDRA, then I'll do anything to take it."
Phillips was close to looking defeated. "If you go without the order of a commanding officer, Rogers, that's a court martial."
"Understood, sir."
"However," the Colonel sighed, "you are also an agent of SHIELD."
Steve took a deep breath.
"I have a responsibility, Rogers," Phillips walked around the desk and crossed his arms, "to my country and my fellow SHIELD agents. Your responsibilities are the same, and as a co-Director of SHIELD, I have to consider your new family as a potential risk and liability to the security of yourself and your wife." He paused, letting the words sink in. "That said," he continued, "I know how much Barnes means to you, and how much of an asset he could be to our agency, as well as the rest of the world. You have my permission."
Steve shook Phillips' hand, his grip firm and his fingers almost shaking. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."
"I damn well hope not. Captain, if you die—and mark my words—I will kill you."
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"Daddy, what are stars?" Little James' eyes were wide, his hand gripping his father's thumb, and his toes wiggled back and forth under the covers.
Steve smiled and drew his son closer to warm him up in the chilly April breeze. The pair gazed into the night sky, two hopeless dreamers and artists cuddled together under heaps of blankets. "Do you want the real answer or the fun answer?"
"Fun answer!" James grinned.
"Well," Steve took a breath and cleared his throat. "You see, a long, long time ago, there was a mighty warrior named Thor who ruled a city in the sky, called Asgard. He was a good king, and the people loved him.
"One day, an archer named Hawkeye came to Thor's throne room and said—" Steve lowered his voice comically "—'My king, there is a lady standing outside the gate. Her name is Natasha, and she begs for entrance.'
"So he and Thor went to the front gate. There, like Hawkeye said, was a beautiful woman with red hair and hands that glowed. She said—" Steve raised his voice, "—'Thor! I have been waiting for you! I have a message: Earth needs your help and the help of Asgard's armies.' But Thor didn't know who she was and he didn't trust her, so he said, 'You have no place in Asgard, mortal. Go back to your Earth.'
"The woman didn't like that very much, so she waved a hand and suddenly, all of Hawkeye's arrows started to glow. The woman turned and ran down the rainbow bridge as fast as she could, then jumped back to Earth. Hawkeye fired an arrow after her, but he missed, and she was gone too fast. The arrow exploded—" Steve flicked his hand and waved his arm, "—and left little pieces of magical dust all across the universe.
"After that, every time Hawkeye shot his bow and arrow, he never missed, and those magical arrows made more and more stars for us to see."
James' grin stretched from ear to ear. "Wow," he whispered, then yawned.
Chuckling, Steve kissed the top of the boy's head. "I think it's bedtime."
"No, Daddy," he protested. "Few minutes?"
Steve sighed. How could he think about denying such an innocent request? "Okay, but only a few."
Satisfied, James thumped his hand against his father's arm.
Eventually, his eyes fluttered closed, and Steve watched his little puffs of breath in the moonlight. He was asleep.
Steve carefully picked him up, carried him to bed, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "I love you, James."
"Luh you, Da—" came the groggy reply.
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