It had been two days. Two days of stress and lawyers and protests that weren't going away. Two days of playing the hurt look on Steve's face over and over again in her mind while confined to the tower with most of the team off on a mission that happened almost directly after their disagreement. Delilah had taken to hiding out in her room or in the suite with her mother, but the claustrophobia and anxiety snaking its way through her life had become constricting.
That's how she ended up in the conservatory-with the help of Jarvis. Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor, and Natasha were off saving the world-called away not long after she and Cap parted company acrimoniously, Phil was somewhere in the building, and she'd left Clint in the living room playing Skyrim on the couch while her mother read in a nearby armchair. Delilah just needed to get out and let her fingers get some exercise for a change.
Two floors down and on the opposite side of the tower, she found the room with a locking door, some fantastic acoustics, a couple acoustic guitars on stands and a gleaming jet black Steinway grand piano, because Tony Stark that's why. It was a work of art and she had no idea how he managed to get it into this room but couldn't wait to have her hands all over it nonetheless.
Sitting at the keyboard, she peeled through some Chopin and a little Bach as a way to stretch and reacclimate her hands which hadn't touched keys in several days. It took a few of her standard classical romps to settle down enough to really do what she wanted, but when she did, she opened with one she rarely got to do on stage.
The opening strains of 'He's Funny That Way' brought a gentle curve to her lips as her eyes slipped closed, and then she was feeling her way through the song as she sang it. One day maybe she'd get a video of her work, but right now, it just felt so good, so right to have her bring the music out of her soul and let it breathe for a while.
Lyrics flowed up and through her and the tightness in her chest eased, all the stress over her situation, Steve, and everything else began to recede like the tide washing out to sea. Sure, her leg hurt when it hit the pedals, but even that wasn't as piquant. Right now, she was powerful, sexy, and back in control of her life, if only for a moment.
It was only after she burned through 'If I Ain't Got You', 'Goodbye Yellow Brick Road', and 'Life on Mars' did she pull her hands back and fold them in her lap. It was close but it wasn't quite just right. "Jarvis?" She asked while looking up at the ceiling. She knew she didn't have to keep looking up since he was essentially everywhere, but it was a habit she couldn't seem to break.
"Miss Ford," the AI answered dutifully. "How may I assist you?"
She smiled as she realized how silly her question was going to sound, but playing by herself wasn't quite getting the job done. "Could-could you accompany me? Please? Something in an E minor, maybe?"
"Number of instruments?" he asked promptly, like this was something that was requested of him all the time. It was kind of reassuring.
"Two or three? Percussion and a couple string? Jazz ensemble type? 176 bpm?" It felt so strange to have someone she couldn't see speak the language she'd known since early childhood. In many ways, it had been her first language, and hearing the computer effortlessly understand and communicate with her was a comfort she didn't even know she'd been missing.
"On your cue, ma'am."
Hands back on the keys, she started the Diana Krall tuning of 'Cry Me a River' from the beginning with Jarvis seamlessly filling in after her opening bars. Just her, the piano, a bass, guitar, and drum and suddenly she was whole again. When the song ended, she felt so giddy, it was that feeling, that elusive joy that only came from being onstage. "Next song, follow my lead, throw in a horn or two?"
"As you wish, ma'am." Damn if Jarvis didn't sound amused.
Delilah launched into the opening for the Louis Armstrong version of 'A Kiss to Build a Dream On' and when she sang, the AI followed her perfectly, as is a computer's wont. But for a moment, her whole life was normal again. The elation was short-lived, though, because when she would have looked over at her band, her friends, she was alone, the only occupant of the room, regardless of the music she made and just like that her good feelings came crashing to the ground around her. "Fuck," she muttered to no one in particular as she flexed her fingers and stared down at the keys which held no answers for her at all.
"Miss Ford?" Jarvis was ever solicitous.
"Nothing, Jarvis, apologies." Shaking her head, she pulled on each hand until her wrist popped satisfactorily, then very lightly began picking her way through 'Kissing a Fool'. "Drums please."
The lyrics felt like an accusation, honestly, but it felt so good to play this song, like a guilty pleasure. She never got to do it onstage, but damn if she didn't want to. The problem was, now every time she thought of being up there with the band, the very next thought was that Steve would be there to watch her. She missed that, wanted that more than air. The look on his face when she played, when she sang, like they were kindred artists, it was a benediction she wasn't worthy to receive and she damn well knew it. That was part of why she'd picked the fight with him, because she didn't want to disappoint him, like she would inevitably.
He was like Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, and she could barely get out bed without assistance. It wasn't fair-to either of them-for her to want him when he could happy with someone else, someone much less… broken. Delilah finished that song and sighed deeply before beginning 'Bell Bottom Blues'.
"Do you take requests? Because your penchant for sad bastard music is killing me."
Delilah snatched her hands back like the keyboard was suddenly on fire as she whirled around on the bench to face Clint, who was sitting on the floor in jeans and a faded green shirt with the cutoff sleeves, fingering one of the guitars he'd snagged from its stand. He'd kindly waited until she'd gotten through a chorus before scaring the life out of her, but still. "The fuck, man. How-" her eyes cut to the still-locked door and back to him quickly. "How did you get in here? What the hell?"
He shrugged but didn't look at her as he lightly worked through fingering the fretboard to the tune of 'Hey There Delilah'. "I got bored with the game."
"You mean you died at the Thalmore Embassy again," she snarked with a knowing grin. It happened to the best of folks.
His annoyed huff was enough of an answer. "Anyway," he emphasized, finally looking directly at her, "I saw it was time to check your stitches," his eyes cut to the bandage peeking out from under the leg of her jeans shorts, "so I went looking for you. A locked door hasn't stopped me since I was a toddler, by the way." At her narrowed, questioning gaze, he simply looked up to the ceiling overhead with the acoustic tiles meticulously in place. Like twenty feet up. "It's what I do," he answered before she could even think about phrasing the question.
She looked at him for a long time, contemplating the ceiling, his current spot on the floor with the guitar, and her own morose mood. "'Sad bastard music', huh?"
His fingers stilled as he nodded vehemently with a look of grave seriousness on his face. "I was afraid there was gonna be Tori Amos or Counting Crows and I was gonna have to stage an intervention. Nobody wants that." Her startled bark of laughter gave way to a torrent of giggles that left her unable to answer and slightly wheezing. Ever focused on the prize, he asked again, "So, requests. You take 'em or what?"
Equal parts curious about his ability and grateful for the human companionship, she nodded. "What'd you have in mind?"
Whatever she'd been thinking, him plucking his way through the intro to 'Blister in the Sun' had not been it. She giggled as she chased after him on the keyboard, singing along with him like they did it all the time. He wasn't bad at all, really, and somehow, managed to be exactly what she needed in that moment. By the time they were done three songs later that included the Stones and the Kinks, they were teasing and laughing at each other and she was in a much better headspace.
"One more?" she asked as he was setting the instrument down.
He nodded and held up a finger. "One, and then I gotta check your wound. You get an infection and Cap'll kill me."
"All right then." Delilah turned back to the keys and played the intro to 'There She Goes'.
"Oh hell yes," was the delighted response.
When they were finally finished, he sat on the floor next to the piano bench and took a good look at her stitches, which were mostly healed and really beginning to itch.
"Don't suppose I could talk you into pulling those out before they grow into my skin?" She gave him her most winning smile to go with her hopeful tone. The desire to pluck the stitches out herself was strong, and she figured someone in the building, somewhere, had the tools to make that happen.
Clint shook his head as he taped down her bandage. "I want Bruce to take a look at them before I do, okay?" He passed a gentle thumb over the now-covered wound and then over to the older scar at her knee and another furrowed gouge a bit further down on her calf.
"I'm kinda beat up," she murmured as she took her leg back and tucked it under her on the bench. It was the most polite way she could think of to tell him her scars and marks could be the missing map to the Oak Island treasure in terms of size and scope.
Clint snorted and wrapped his arms around his knees. "I don't know if you know what I do for a living…" He blinked at her meaningfully. "Hell, what we all do for a living. And most of us came here already pretty banged up." He cocked his head to the side and regarded her, seeing through her as much as seeing her looking down at him from the piano. "Scars and tattoos. They're both permanent, both run deep, and both mean as much or as little as you want."
She knew he wasn't talking solely about the physical scars, but she really didn't want to have this conversation with anyone. At all. Ever. "And both can change the way you see yourself and the way others see you." She turned back to the piano and rested her hand on the keys, fingers immediately ready to play more.
"Fair enough." Clint nodded and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I think it depends on how much you let other people see, too."
"When you're perfect, there's nothing to see," she bit out, fingers easily falling into the rhythm of the Beatles 'You Never Give Me Your Money'. "Most of us don't get that luxury." She hated how petulant she sounded, but sometimes airing out insecurities was like that. They were, by nature, not necessarily rational, and right now, she certainly qualified.
"Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there, and just because some things are on display doesn't mean they're the whole story," he replied kindly.
He was annoying as fuck when he was right. "Got any other wisdom you care to dispense, Mr. Fortune Cookie?" she snarked.
"Aw bite me." Clint's smirk told her he wasn't buying her sass in the slightest.
She played on, following the music in her mind rather than looking at her friend. "I think I'd rather be invisible. Life'd be a helluva lot easier."
"Liar." Clint's tone was gentle, understanding. He swiftly levered himself up from the floor and hopped up on the bench next to her just as she began to bang out the intro to 'Carry That Weight'. He let her play a verse or so before he leaned over and laid his head on her shoulder. "You shine too bright to be invisible. You'd be terrible at it." She snorted, but kept singing, wrinkling her nose at him. "I meant it as a compliment."
"I know."
The next day she showed up bright and early, first thing in the morning. Once Delilah had discovered the music room, that was the only place she wanted to be. Music had never betrayed her, music had never disappointed her, music had never failed her. As such, she really just wanted her music back.
As beautiful as it was, the music was a good way to inoculate herself against the stress of everything going on around her. It was safe, peaceful, home, and that was something she could definitely use in her life right about then.
Her whole body relaxed as she took a seat on the piano bench, like a breath she didn't know she'd been holding released. Every day since Steve had left for his mission, she'd come here as a means of meditation. Hands on the keyboard, she ripped through her warm up, a little Karl Phillipe Emmanuel Bach, because if it's not baroque, don't fix it. Her fingers roamed over the keys, testing the action, dancing over the ivory with the speed and skill from years of practice. It centered her and freed up her mind.
She dipped into some 10cc and Carole King, evening indulging in some Dan Fogelberg and Jackson Browne because she could. The 70's was a great decade for working out one's depression on a musical instrument. Or wallowing, as the case may be.
Letting her insecurities drive was a terrible thing, something she hated about herself, something that made her soft, vulnerable when she could least afford to be. Under other circumstances, she could rely on her routine, her tenacious grip on a normal existence to keep her from letting that side show. When all that was wrested away from her, her lizard brain, accompanied by her inner moony-eyed thirteen-year-old girl, had her acting and reacting in ways she'd thought she'd long since abandoned. It wasn't something that she was proud of, but at least she could recognize it and call it what it was.
Delilah let her sulking bleed out through her fingers, settling on Sara Bareilles 'She Used To Be Mine'. She didn't hit Jarvis up for an assist, content to be alone-alone. Maybe part of that was because she could almost hear Clint's howled accusations of 'sad bastard music'. He wasn't wrong and she wasn't in the mood to fight about it.
The lyrics that she knew by heart that she sang from memory felt a whole lot closer to her current mindset than she would have prefered. At least no one was around to hear her give voice to her shame.
She was infatuated with Steve. That's all this was. He was kind and sweet and so pretty. Brave and unafraid of her other form, what's not to like? Hell, he seemed more than happy to embrace both her forms, even her imperfect human one. Her own mother had even signed off on him. Sneaky bastard. To him, she wasn't just the sum of her praises or failure, she was just Delilah, and when he smiled at her, the sun shone on her face and her soul with a warmth she'd covet until the day she died. There was nothing like it at all.
And it was thoughts like that, that clearly demonstrated why she needed some emotional distance from the situation. Delilah had no business crushing on-much less lusting after-a superhero. None. No business at all. She was an egg, albeit a heavily armed one, dancing with a stone: ill-advised and ultimately catastrophic. Then why did she want to so badly?
Speaking of catastrophic… the Scylla to the Captain Charybdis was her mother. Having her mother with her at the tower was great, perfect even, but what happened when-and she wasn't under any delusions about her legal situation-she went away for everything Fury was accusing her of. Everything she did.
Her mother needed her, she had her sister but Aunt Lori wasn't around very much anymore and probably would move down to Florida to be closer to her kids, leaving Meredith alone. She didn't like the way her voice broke on the last few lines of the song, or the feel of hot tears breaching their primary containment to go rushing down her face and neck to pool in the collar of her shirt.
By the time she finished the song she felt wrung out, roughly mopping up the tracks of her tears with the heels of her hands. Even though, it felt good to have a little space in her head now, better out than in. It always felt better when she played, a feeling of release second only to being up onstage. Even so, she wasn't prepared for the sound of someone clapping behind her.
"I remember when I used to have to chase you down to get you to practice." Meredith chuckled as she came to lean against the open body of the piano. Last time Delilah had seen her mother, she'd been in bed asleep. With her voluminous curls rolled into a fashionable high bun and a sleeveless turquoise sheath dress, she seemed to be adapting to this whole protective custody thing really well.
She rolled a shoulder with a self-conscious smile and slight sniffle that the older woman clearly noticed; she hadn't played in front of her mother in a long time. Meredith Ford wasn't much for the club scene. "Clint send you?"
Meredith nodded slowly, hey eyes never leaving her only daughter. "He said I had to come down here and save you from some sad bastard."
Her look of confusion had Delilah snorting in amusement. "Did he now." Bratty ass. Someone ought to remind him that snitches end up in ditches.
"Seems like the only sad bastard I'm seeing down here is you. You need saving from yourself?"
The carefully worded question brought her up short, quickly. "No, ma'am." Her mom was pulling absolutely no punches, and she was surprised her nose wasn't bloody from the swing.
"I… huh." There were so many things she could say, but the verbal haymaker scattered her brains. Of all the things she'd been prepared to deal with, her mother's direct inquiry hadn't even made the short list.
Her mother watched her closely, a finger up as she assumed the pose that indicated an incoming lecture. "You've been feeling some kinda way for the last couple days, and I wasn't going to say anything because you're grown, but-"
Her derisive cackle drowned out the rest of her mother's words. "I'm sorry, Ma. I seem to have missed the part where that's ever happened previously."
Meredith's eyes narrowed a fraction, her voice dropping down to a dangerous whisper, "Keep on, see how that goes."
Delilah's tactical error became glaring obvious almost instantly. Her mother's threshold for tomfoolery was meager on a good day, and today was clearly not a good day. "Sorry, Mama," she muttered to her toes. Humor was never the way to go, but damn if she could keep from trying.
She inhaled slowly through her nose and blew out the breath that sounded like fiery rage barely contained. "Now," Delilah looked back up at her, immediately taking note of the soft voice and lecturing facial expression, "you were saying."
Delilah sighed deeply, morosely. "Everything's pressing in on me, Ma. The murder charges, the lawyers-"
Her mother shook her head and crossed her arms, the picture of unimpressed lack of concern. "I'm not worried about any of those."
"Ma, who takes care of you if I go to prison?" That specter, once it came out of her mouth seemed like it took up the whole room. Even with all of her brooding over Steve, a lot of that was a convenient way to avoid this one, very vital, issue. Her mother was literally the only family she had left in this world, and with everything going on, the idea of losing her or being separated from her… "You'll be alone and I can't let that happen."
"You're not going to lose me." The look Meredith gave her when she dropped her chin and stared was the same one she got when her mother caught her sneaking in her window after curfew. "I'm not worried about that. You know why?" A quick shake of Delilah's head garnered her a small, sad smile. "Because this isn't the darkest the night has ever been, and the sun still rose then too. Front-loading your worries is only going to eat through your stomach lining, but it's not going to accomplish anything helpful. You have to trust the people around you-oncologists, lawyers, billionaire playboys, whatever-and keep moving forward. Worry's indulgent, and we honestly don't have time for that."
The tears Delilah had fought back were now flowing unabated, collecting in the soft cloth of her mother's dress as she wrapped her arms around her waist and sobbed. It felt good to just let it go for a moment. But as good as it felt to finally cry about all of this, she knew she needed to pull it together and settle down.
Meredith left a hand on Delilah's head as she pulled back and wiped her face with the tail of her shirt. "I'm sorry you felt like you had to carry that alone."
"I'm grown, remember?" Her smirk was shaky and her sass was met with a gentle flick of her mother's fingers against the tip of her nose.
"So I hear." Her mom nodded, and when Delilah looked up, she looked as brave and tough as she'd ever seen her. She remembered being sick the first time, the drawn and harrowed look on her mom's face as she went through radiation and surgery. The face she wore then was the one she had now, resolute that they would prevail because she wouldn't allow for any other outcome. "We'll carry this together like everything else."
Her mom offered her a hand up from the piano bench and she took it, grabbing her cane and heading toward the door. Something her mother said tangled up in her mind as she cleaned up her face some more and waited for the elevator. "You really trust Tony?"
Meredith's tiny smile grew a little and caused her eyes to crinkle at the edges. "I do. He's… different," she allowed with a shrug, "but he's looked out for you when he clearly didn't have to. His heart is good. Your mystery-white-boy's is, too."
At the so-not-subtle mention of Steve, Delilah rolled her eyes. "Really, Ma?"
"Really. And not just because he's Captain America." Her mother wrinkled her nose as she strode confidently off the elevator into the common area where Clint was waiting at the kitchen table with a plate piled with tiny sandwiches. "I mean, you could do better, but he ain't bad."
"Ma!"
"Echinoderms can kiss my ass," Tony muttered on the flight home from the copilot's seat. He looked like he'd gone three rounds with a washing machine mangler and was quite the worse for wear. Bruises in varying colors and states of healing, a shiner with the swelling only just receded, and that was overlooking the occasional cuts and abrasions on his hands from where one of the hostile, apparently carnivorous sea stars had managed to damage/wrest away a gauntlet. "Giant. Sentient. Sapient. Starfish. Who does that?"
"The damn arms regenerate when you cut them off," Natasha groused, sounding wholly offended at the concept of truncated mayhem. "How the hell are you supposed to stop an enemy if you can't dismember it and make it stick?" It was clearly a rhetorical question.
"The university apologized and it appears they're pulling funding on the research if it makes you feel any better," Bruce noted, cleaning his glasses with the corner of the blanket wrapped around him. The Other Guy had really saved the day tearing through the genetically enhanced starfish faster than they could regenerate until all the pieces and parts could be corralled. Until then, though, it had been a free for all. Thor's hair may never recover, and he was in the back of the jet, likely in quiet mourning.
"It does not, actually," he sniped, rubbing a bandage on his wrist absently. A muscle in his jaw twitched every once in a while as he shifted in the seat in annoyance. "So, you gonna talk about it?"
Steve's head whipped around at the question, apropos of nothing, that Tony had tossed off absently. "Talk about what? The feel of a starfish trying to digest my shield? While I'm still holding it? I'd rather not." As it was, those damn creatures were going to feature spectacularly in his night terrors for at least a couple days.
"Hey, at least you got your shield back." He looked pointedly at his bandaged hand. "What I was talking about was whatever made you mad enough to charge into a constellation of starfish…" he paused as he thought it over. "Constellation? Galaxy? School?"
"Galaxy," Natasha confirmed, not looking up from whatever she was reading on her phone.
"Right, whatever made you charge into a galaxy of man-eating starfish, we should probably talk about that."
He could feel Tony's eyes boring into the side of his head, and since they had at least another hour before they would touch down on Avengers Tower, Steve knew that he wouldn't relent and let it go. "I don't suppose 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' would be an acceptable response."
"From anyone else, maybe," Tony allowed. "From a man with essentially a practical doctorate in field tactics, not even a little bit."
Steve hated when Tony used his credentials against him. Just once he'd like to be allowed to be just a fella who was distracted because he screwed up with his girl somehow. "First of all, I had no idea starfish were so aggressive."
"Anemones would definitely disagree," Bruce mumbled from his seat. The strain of being The Other Guy was taking its toll, leaving Dr. Banner slowly slumping his way to a nap in his seat. And yet another reason Steve didn't want to have this conversation now: too many interested ears.
"Noted." He wasn't really sure how to respond to that, but felt like Bruce needed to know he'd been heard, and Steve really didn't want to talk to Tony.
"Was there a second point?" Tony asked mildly. "You opened with a 'first of all' which usually means there was something to follow up." The smirk playing around the corners of his mouth made Steve want to punch him.
"The second point," he didn't even bother to hide his disgruntlement, "Is that I didn't think it would take this long to deal with them. Three days of fighting, one day of cleanup. They're starfish for God's sake!"
Tony's eyes widened as he watched Cap closely. That was as close to swearing as he'd heard him get when not in battle and it was… concerning.
He wasn't finished though. "They're cute! They're small, and people put them in aquariums. They have names like chocolate chip and sunflower-"
"And the next thing you know they're lifesize and have devoured two college interns," Bruce finished for him.
"Exactly." That was an image he could have gladly gone the rest of his life without. He couldn't suppress the shudder as it played out in his mind again, complete with screaming. Nightmare fuel for sure.
"Cap…" from the tone of his voice, it hadn't been Tony's first attempt at getting his attention. "You seem a bit tense." His light tone only underscored the concern on his face.
"I don't want to talk about it." It had been too much to hope that he'd be able to distract Tony for long.
"Did you two have a fight?"
Needling he could take. Hell, needling from Tony was expected, it was the compassion however that set Steve's teeth on edge. He shifted in his seat and set his jaw. "Fighting would involve both parties instead of one party making unilateral decisions. And what part of 'I don't want to talk about it' was unclear to you?"
Tony's expression shifted from concern to wariness as he regarded Cap's profile. "What kind of decision?" That he conveniently ignored Steve's admonishment was nothing new and honestly, he expected nothing less from his friend.
"Decision is the wrong word." Since they were, apparently, going to have this conversation he decided to lay it all out there. "Proclamations maybe? Hell, I don't know. She thinks I view her as an obligation. How horrible is that?"
"Do you?" Natasha asked, clearly invested in the conversation he didn't want to have now.
"Of course not," he snapped. "I just… I know things between us have been kind of backwards and upside down, but 'obligation' never crossed my mind." He frowned as he remembered her voice, so cautious and devoid of emotion even as she snuggled up against his side. "Why would she even think that?"
Natasha held up her fingers, listing one item at a time. "So you're saying she thinks you rescue fugitive mutants and their mothers, move them into the Avengers tower no matter how temporarily, and generally fawn all over them just as a matter of course?"
"Yeah. And I don't fawn." He frowned as he thought about it. "I mean, I care about other people, that's what empathy and compassion are, but this isn't that. At all." He rubbed his temples feeling like by all rights he should have a hell of a tension headache brewing. "I mean, it is those things, obviously, but not solely."
"Then maybe you should make that clear." Natasha's calm voice was comforting as she overtook the steering of the conversation.
"How could it not be clear?" Eyes narrowed, he turned in his seat to face her.
The assassin considered him for a moment, her scrutiny always feeling like an interrogation. "Perhaps" she suggested gently, "the ghosts your fighting aren't your own?"
Now she was just talking in riddles. "Meaning?"
She reached down by her ankle and pulled up a bottle of water, sipping as she eyed him. "Perhaps she's used to certain types of relationships with men and not accustomed to anything else."
"Why the hell would that be the case?" He wasn't trying to be obtuse, truly, but she was amazing and he couldn't imagine why someone else wouldn't see that. "She's beautiful and wonderful and kind and sings like an angel. Hell, two angels, fuck it, a whole choir of angels. Who couldn't appreciate that?"
Tony marveled as Steve casually just dropped an f-bomb in the middle of conversation like it wasn't a big goddamn deal. "And it's not even my birthday."
Natasha's hiss of annoyance stifled any further commentary from the copilot's seat. "I know you think so and that's great." Her smile was soft, kind of sad, and knowing in a way that he knew he shouldn't probe. "Men have certain… habits. Desires, and not all of them are as kind or as... " she rolled her lips between her teeth as she settled on how to phrase it, "open-minded as you are."
Never in his life had he heard 'open-minded' used as an epithet, the implications of which made his stomach churn. "Because she's black? I didn't think other people had a problem with that anymore."
Nat cringed. "Yeah, that's one reason of several off the top of my head. All the more reason to talk to her and tell her what's on your mind. You don't know the kinds of other guys she's dealt with, but if she's skittish, there's a reason."
The idea that someone hurt her made his mouth go dry as his temper spiked. "I see. So she thinks I'm going to hurt her too is what you're saying?" He was going to talk to Delilah, get a list of these men. He only wanted to talk to them, really. Just talk.
The deep sigh from the seat behind him was long-suffering and slightly impatient. "She's used to men treating her a certain way and she doesn't know how to interpret, or trust, your actions. You're going to need to spell it out." Satisfied that she'd imparted the wisdom these two idiots needed, she sat back in her seat and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her Twitter feed.
Tony watched her closely for a moment before turning to Steve and stage-whispering, "Thank God Nat's here, you know my Tony-to-relationship translator is decidedly broken in the 'short term' position." Her very unladylike snort brought a smile his lips as he turned around and faced the growing glow of New York City on the horizon.
Steve was quiet as he ruminated on this new knowledge. He didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him previously but hell, that's why he had friends, to see the blind spots he missed. This was fixable, this was eminently fixable.
"You good, Capsicle?" his friend asked from the copilot's seat as Steve capably maneuvered them to the landing pad.
He nodded smartly, feeling more together and focused than he had in days. "Much better, thank you."
"Happy to be of service."
"Jarvis, my friend, we're doing different things today." Delilah announced as she strode into the music room in much higher spirits on the fourth day since the team had left for their mission. And the day they were due home, according to Clint, who'd gotten the info from Phil, who may as well have been the burning bush on the mount.
It was early afternoon now, much later than she normally showed up, but she'd spent the day enjoying the sun on the balcony and helping Clint with the finer points of backgammon strategy. He was hopeless at it, but for the first time in so long, she felt a lot more normal. After her mother dipping her in a vat of 'get right' the day before, she felt better, mentally, than she had prior to all this starting. Her confidence returning, she decided to abandon her steady diet of sad bastard music in favor of something much more lively.
"As you wish, Miss Ford." The AI sounded amused as she practically bounded through the room, or at least as much as her hitched gait and cane would allow.
"How do you feel about Queen?" She took a seat on the bench and cracked open the lid over the keys, deciding to forego her usual warm-up for something rowdier.
"One of Sir's favorites," he replied approvingly. "Did you have something in mind or should I just pick something?"
Her mouth rounded into an excited 'o' at the AI's suggestion and she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, feeling sassy. "Hit it."
Freddie's voice filled the room, opening with 'Somebody to Love' and her smile was so wide her cheeks hurt as her hands immediately snapped to attention and began to play. She led them into 'Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy' and chased after Jarvis again on 'Killer Queen'. By the time she had finished that, she was laughing and sweating, her playing feeling more life-affirming and a lot less like penance.
"My turn," she murmured and took off in a different direction entirely, banging out the opening to 'Doctor, My Eyes'. It reminded her of her early days in college, making money in a piano bar singing for tips three nights a week while playing. Life had been a lot simpler then.
From there, she launched into Billy Joel's 'Only the Good Die Young'. It was a physical song, as most of his works were if she wanted to faithfully follow the album and sing, but man did she love it. She transitioned immediately to 'Big Man on Mulberry Street', her personal favorite, with Jarvis backing her up with heavy horns and craziness. The elation of singing and playing and carrying on was just transporting, and by the time she and the AI finished it plus another three or four songs, she was panting and he informed her he would send up a 'bot with water for her.
"You're incredible, you know that?"
She spun around on the bench so fast she would have swooned across the piano if she hadn't been seated. Leaning against the closed door was Steve, in an obscenely tight white t-shirt and his hand in the pockets of jeans that she was sure should be illegal for a man with his thighs, hair still damp from the shower. One corner of his mouth curled up in a half grin that made her cheeks flush with heat, in short he was perfect.
"Hiya, doll."
"Hi back." Delilah pushed to her feet with her cane and he was across the room, faster than she could blink. He cradled her face in both hands, sealing her lips with his for a brief, but chaste kiss. It was sweet, delicate, perfect. Her free hand came up to hold his wrist while her other hand held firm with her cane.
When he pulled back and gazed at her, blue eyes dark like the deepest ocean, he smiled down at her with a soul-cleansing kind of joy she couldn't help but return. "Exactly what I needed," he murmured, his gravelly voice sending a shiver down her spine as his thumbs ghosted over her cheekbones. Steve pulled her closer to him, shifting a hand behind her neck and the other drifting down her t-shirt to wrap around her waist as he slanted his mouth across hers for a much more thorough taste.
He smelled like leather and soap and sandalwood, and she felt like she could get lost in just his scent. Not content to sit still, she raked her fingernails across his scalp, carding her fingers through his soft, damp hair, feeling his answering growl deep in his chest vibrate through her.
The spike of lust that shot through her weakened her knees and Steve compensated by grabbing her by the hips and lifting her into him without even breaking the kiss. Her cane clattered to the floor as she held onto his shoulder. Her other hand was occupied with a handful of his ultrasoft cotton shirt, and she felt the quick tattoo of his heartbeat behind the warm, muscular wall of his chest.
The way she purred at his touch earned her a quick squeeze as he broke away from her lips and nibbled his way down her jawline to a spot under her ear that made her gasp and squirm in his arms. When they finally separated to take a much needed breath, she touched her thoroughly ravished lips.
He looked so damn delicious with his swollen red lips and darkened blue eyes, it was hard to concentrate enough to make conversation. "I-um… that is… Wow." She blinked at him as she felt her face flush with embarrassed heat.
His half grin was back, curling up one corner of his lips slowly as he gazed affectionately at her. Steve looked so damn pleased with himself at her dazed expression, he couldn't help teasing her. "I'd never thought I'd see the day when you were speechless."
She wrinkled her nose in mock irritation. "Oh, I'm sorry. You take a whisk to my brain and expect cogent conversation? That's just cruel."
He threw his head back with an evil little giggle. "And she's back." Slowly he let her slide back down until her feet touched the floor, the delicious friction of her soft body against his a sexy little thrill. She'd looked so good in her comfortable jeans and long t-shirt hanging off her shoulder with her hair pulled back, she looked a lot like she did the first time he saw her. Steve had a hard time restraining himself.
"I missed you, too." Up this close to him made it difficult for her to think, he was all megawatt smile and beautiful eyes and unreasonably strong arms… He was just so damn sweet it made her whole body ache, but still she couldn't get past the gnawing sense of unease at the back of her mind. "I'm sorry."
He adored the tiny frown lines between her eyebrows and the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth and damn if they didn't make him want to kiss her all over again. "Before we get into this conversation, you mind if we go someplace?"
Delilah blinked warily before nodding. "Sure. You got a destination in mind?" She knelt quickly and retrieved her cane from the floor.
He winked at her as he took her other hand, leading her to the elevator. "You trust me?"
"Hmm." She made a show of really thinking it over, staring at the ceiling of the elevator and tapping her chin, at least, until he lightly shoulder checked her. "You're Captain America. What kind of question is that?"
Steve stuck his tongue out at her in response, leaving both of them giggling as they rode the elevator up past the common floor. With his hand on her back, he regaled her with tales of the vicious starfish and why, when she does see Tony, she probably shouldn't ask about his black eye. It was comforting, normal, like the dark cloud that settled over them when she'd been sprung from SHIELD Medical had lifted.
The living space just off the elevator on his floor is much cozier and lived in. There were little touches of him everywhere, from the art on the walls to the books on every available surface. He herded her to the overstuffed blue sectional with a giant chenille throw blanket across the back of it, installing her in the fluffiest corner with the chaise so he could prop up her injured leg with some generously tufted throw pillows before taking off to the kitchen.
"Starfish, huh?" she called after him. "Sounds like that scene from the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Yowza."
He was practically beaming as he hustled out of the kitchen with two bottles of water. "Exactly like that. Except with no musical score." With a frown he cocked his head to the side as he looked over her leg. The bandage wasn't visible, but he still worried. "You sure you're alright there? I mean, I could get you an ice pack or more pillows or…" he trailed off a he looked around the room pensively.
"I'm sure you're exhausted, Steve, come," she patted the cushion next to her, "have a seat and relax. I'm okay." His look of vexation didn't dissipate when he gingerly dropped onto the couch next to her. "Tell me about Fantasia."
He settled in facing her with a fond, faraway grin, one foot braced against the edge of the coffee table. "I saw that movie in the theatre on R&R. Never seen anything like it."
Delilah blinked, reminded in a very concrete way that this man's life had been upended by his gift the same way hers had. A warm feeling of kinship and understanding bloomed in her chest. "My mom showed it to me when I was three or four, and promptly regretted it. Let's just say I've seen the movie a lot. Like a lot." She widened her eyes briefly for emphasis. "You?"
Steve stretched his arm across the back of the couch on top of the cushions and grinned when she reached out and tangled her fingers with his. "I'd never seen art like that. Color like that. Hell, animation like that. It blew my mind honestly." He sipped his water as his gaze settled on the stack of books in the middle of the coffee table. "It was transformative, really. The idea of art that could move like that." His smile faded a little before his attention returned to her.
"Disney movies have always been like that for me. Singing, dancing, the art…" She sipped her water with a wry grin and a snort, shifting to face him more fully. "I'm pretty sure those movies are part of the reason I learned to play the piano, but that's a longer conversation."
He dipped his chin and looked up at her through his unreasonably long lashes and softly growled, "I have time if you do."
The deep timbre of his voice shot straight through her and she locked her jaw against the unexpected wave of heat that flowed in its wake. "Another time, maybe." She sipped her water and trying to focus on anything other than the warmth of their joined hands or the feather-light brush of his thumb against her knuckles. "My mind's still stuck on the starfish. I have this image of Patrick the Starfish strapped up with a bandolier and dressed up as Che Guevara and nothing good happens after that." Delilah chuckled to herself which became outright giggles in the face of Steve's look of utter confusion. "Spongebob?" A blink was his only reply. "Oh," she felt like a jackass and pulled her hand back from his in embarrassment. "Okay then. Sorry, it was funny to me."
Steve shrugged with a sigh. "It's okay. I figure understanding one pop culture reference a day is really my limit anyway." His small self-conscious smile was equal parts adorable and heartbreaking. He was trying so hard and the world appeared to cut him absolutely no breaks.
"So I spoke to your mom," he opened gingerly, looking as distinctly uncomfortable in the shift in topics as she felt as he studied the water bottle in his hands intently.
"Ah Jesus." It was all she could do to keep back her hum of irritation as she dropped her head back on the couch cushion behind her to stare holes in his ceiling.
Hand up, he tried to keep her from getting the wrong idea. "No, no. Not like that." She raised an eyebrow as she turned her head toward him. "I asked her if you were okay after I left."
She didn't like where this was going at all. "Let me guess, she sold me right out wholesale."
He rolled a shoulder in an unapologetic shrug, still not quite looking at her. "Well, if she didn't, Clint seemed pretty eager to."
"That dirty motherf-" she pressed her fist to her lips to cut herself off from finishing that invective, again staring at the perfectly white ceiling and concentrating on breathing through her nose and not becoming a dragon. She didn't know if she should be enraged, mildy piqued, or just amused at this point. The anger and upset that came from her and Steve's previous conversation prior to his mission had dissipated so far, she had to work to untangle the feelings associated with it.
Concerned, Steve took her hand between both of his, petting her as if that alone could soothe her annoyance. "He just worried, that's all, doll."
Him being right only made her pout more pronounced. "'Hawkeye,' my ass," she grumbled under her breath. "Shoulda been called 'Magpie'." Steve's surprised bark of laughter sounded like he was choking for a moment. "You good, Cap?"
The chuckles subsided into a cough that had him waving off her concern. "'M fine." He took a few deep breaths to get himself under control, then gazed at her fondly with his trademark crooked grin. "So," he cleared his throat when his voice came out extra deep. "Chatty Cathy aside, you doing okay?"
Delilah sighed as she watched the slow, repetitive sweep of his hand back and forth across hers. "I just… I had some things to work through-I have some things to work through." He cocked his head to the side looking interested and she sighed. "Look, I'm… complicated."
He scoffed, "Really. I had no idea." His quiet chuckle and warm smile held no mockery, which was a small mercy.
"All right, smartass." It felt a little sacrilegious calling him that, but it was true and she wasn't taking it back. "I'm… I exist in a state of constant terror." When his only response was to blink and gesture for her to continue with his water bottle, she added, "I'm always waiting for the next reaction. The next interaction that's going to touch off something terrible, and I can't stop it. Relaxation and complacency have some pretty hellified consequences attached. I can't make it work or make it any better, and honestly, when the opportunity comes to give in to the depression, I take it. Depression, for me, is easier. Sad is a helluva lot less destructive than angry."
"I don't know about all that." He finished his drink and set it on the table, lacing their fingers together again like it was totally natural between them. "Sadness can be pretty damn destructive, especially when it keeps you from living the life you want."
His relentless optimism made the corner of her mouth twitch as her eyes began to burn. "There is no possible circumstance in which I get to live the life I want." If her voice broke and died as she spoke, that was between her, him, and Jarvis, and Jarvis could be trusted.
"How d'ya figure?" God, he looked so serious and sincere and it was beyond comforting given the conversation topic, even if it was totally unrealistic.
"I am not…" she closed her eyes and shook her head and started again. "I want nothing more in in this world than to sing, be on stage, and be a musician. That's really all I want. My whole life. And yet, here I sit, waiting to hear if I'm going to go on trial for being a murderer for something I can't control. Or rather, something I can control, but lost control of."
He raised her hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. "In your defense, both times really weren't your fault."
"That's not helpful at the moment, babe." She laughed in irritation. His lips twitched at the pet name but that was the only acknowledgement of it. "I want a quiet life. I want a normal life, and I can't have that, and I'm mad. It feels like I'm going to stay mad forever."
"It doesn't have to be like that." He scooted over until he was right next to her, her hand in his as he cradled it in his lap. She watched his face as he worked through organizing his thoughts, unsure about where he was going with this.
"My whole life stopped when I crashed that plane in the ocean. The woman I love, gone. My best friend, gone. The war I was fighting, I didn't even know we won until I woke up defrosted." There was no denying the rawness of his voice, it went with this rawness of his thoughts. This was an open wound for him, one that wouldn't ever really mend completely, but he was learning to live with it. His eyes dropped to their hands as he licked his lips. His shaky, barely audible sigh had her lifting his hand to her lips like he'd done for her.
A muscle in his jaw tensed, revealing a brief, tremulous smile. "I've been trying to figure out where I fit in all of this now. Everything I thought I wanted, everything I was putting off until after the war, became immaterial because there was no 'after' for me. There's just 'now'." He fell silent again, gnawing on his bottom lip and gazing at her pensively. "Maybe though," he swallowed hard, "maybe it doesn't hurt to find something else to want." He swept her ponytail off her shoulder and settled his palm on the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the warm, gentle pressure of his fingertips against her skin. "I'm afraid of that, honestly."
"So you've said." His deep voice was so warm, so comforting, it was tempting to just let go and enjoy this moment with him.
"I'm bad at this," she warned him softly, nervous laughter coloring her voice. "I'm bad at this. I can't relax. I'm always on guard. I'm always… I'm passive because I know if I get worked up about anything I'm dangerous, so people-men-walk all over me. And I hate that, but I can't stop it either. I'm…" she flailed her free hand around in agitation, "bad at this. Anything more than a quick fling and I'm out the door."
He nodded solemnly, his eyes darkening but never leaving hers as his fingers gently massaged her neck. "Out of curiosity, do those reprobates," and the way he said the word sounded like he was spitting, "the ones you used to see, do they know who you are really?"
A muscle in her cheek ticked as she gave him a melancholy smile. "Not normally, no," she whispered with her chin tucked to her chest. "I mean, they probably do now but not when we were seeing each other." It wasn't the kind of parlor trick she could show off at parties, and was too dangerous to show just anyone. Ironically, her gift of fire had been her darkest secret.
With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face until her uncertain eyes met his. His smile was back, much more confident now as he shifted even closer to her. "Then we're already starting at a completely different place, doncha think?"
His lips were on hers then, soft and warm and… perfect. Her heart pounding in her ears and he smelled like soap and laundry detergent and it was just a hot second before he stretched out over her, pressing her back into the plush couch cushions, and she wanted to touch him more than anything else in the world. "I don't think there's any harm," he whispered against her lips, their breaths mingling as they both absorbed the effects of the kiss, "in wanting something else." Kiss. "Doing something a little different." He punctuated the sentence with a lingering kiss that left her whimpering and rising slightly to chase his lips when he pulled back once more. "You'd be surprised at how much your life changes with just a little adjustment here or there."
"Oh yeah?" She giggled as she nuzzled her nose against his before tasting his lips again. His kisses were drugging, addictive, and were almost enough to distract her from the burning pain that shot up her leg the moment she wrapped it around his hip to pull him closer. She gasped as he rolled his hips against hers, his interest in the proceedings more than evident and god, she just wanted one good, untainted thing… She breathed his name as he scraped his teeth over her earlobe and he pulled back to look at her.
The blue in his eyes was but a memory, swallowed by pupils blasted with lust and late evening rays of the sun that were receding across the room. His breathing hitched as they moved against each other, each adjusting to this new configuration of the two of them. "You alright?"
The husky whisper, a barely intelligible rumble in his chest, shot straight to her clit, bypassing all stops in between and she whimpered involuntarily as her body rose to curl into his. "Never better," she assured him, running a hand over his pecs and down his abs, her fingertips memorizing the tantalizing topography of all that muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. He was beautiful and damn if she was going to stop now. Cupping the incredibly flattering ridge hidden behind the zipper of his jeans, she batted her eyes at him innocently. "How you doin', Cap?"
His sharp, drawn out gasp sounded suspiciously like, "Fuuuuuuuck!" as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. "I… um… yes. I… I'm good." The way he looked at her, like she was made of gold and tasted like his favorite candy never failed to blow her mind. "And… um… considering where you have your hand? Maybe you could call me Steve."
"Oh yeah?" Delilah loved the way his mouth fell open and his eyes lost focus as she stroked him.
"Mm-hmm." His forehead set against hers, he watched her work him over for a moment, too many clothes in the way but getting the job done nonetheless. When she yanked on the hem of his shirt to untuck it from his jeans, he surged over her again in a kiss that should have scorched the sofa. His kisses were urgent, sloppy, sucking her upper lip and lower lips before making his way to her neck and jaw. One hand still cradling her head, his other hand wandering, digging into her hip as she ground against him before making its way up to the neckline of her shirt, the only impediment between his lips and more of her delicately soft skin.
"You like this shirt?" he breathed between biting kisses on her neck that she knew were probably going to bruise.
Delilah threaded her fingers through his hair and guided his mouth back to hers, sliding her tongue against his the moment he slanted his mouth over hers. Pulling back, she stared him straight in the eyes and answered, "No."
Steve wasted no time shifting to his knees between her splayed out thighs and making short work of rending her t-shirt down the middle from her neck to her waist. The look of satisfaction and lust of his face was enough to melt her panties straight off.
All it took was a crook of her finger and a wicked grin to make him pounce, a deep groan vibrating through him as he buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. "You feel so good, god damn." His hands roamed over her chest, up to cup her ample breasts, rubbing and kneading them until she began to squirm beneath him then down to hold her hips while he let her know exactly how much he wanted her.
"Steve…" she sighed against his neck as she dug her fingers into his biceps. "Fuck me."
His groan as he quickly skinned her out of her jeans and panties was toe-curling, hot breath against her skin followed by the occasional petal-soft brush of his lush mouth. This was so much faster than she'd imagined but so much better to have him here to touch than to just rely on what was in her head. One kiss and her imagination smoldered, after this, her damn brain would be a conflagration.
The Steve in her imagination hadn't exactly been shy, but she definitely had not expected him to be the guy slowly eating her mouth from the inside as his fingers meandered up her inner thigh with a clear destination in mind. The first brush of his fingers against her slit had her arching up into him, gripping his arms hard enough to leave half-moons marks from her nails, a cry torn from deep in her chest.
"Yeah," he sighed against her neck just below her ear, his voice a rumble that made her squirm even more. "I love how wet you are for me, Delilah. I've been thinking about this," he broke of to groan softly as his finger circled her clit and her body undulated into his touch, "fuck me. God, I've been thinking about this all day. Being with you, touching you." He pulled his fingers out and stared her down as he made a show of licking her juices off each. "You taste so fucking good. I can't wait until you smear this all over my face, baby. You ready for me?"
Her mouth fell open as he slid two fingers into her, her moans mixing liberally with the filthiest swearing she could lay her lips to. He was good, her Cap, too damn good and the way he touched her had her coming apart for him in practically no time at all, curling his fingers just so inside her as his thumb focused on her clit. The moment he gently bit her nipple and sucked it deeply into his mouth, she hoped like hell the whole rest of the tower couldn't hear her because there was no way to come quietly after that.
He talked the whole time, praise and encouragement, the litany of debauched, pornographic indecencies rolling off his tongue straight into her pussy damn near melted her into the fabric of the couch cushions. Not gonna lie, his wholesome 'aw shucks, ma'am' persona made defiling him that much hotter for her. It was a kink which had sprung up spontaneously that she planned to unpack later.
Clutching his wrist firmly in her hand brought his blasted out blue eyes to hers. "Now, Cap. I can't wait. I need it." Any other commentary was smothered by the moan as he immediately moved over her and spread her thighs a bit more with her knees draped over his forearms. It wasn't the most comfortable position she'd been in, but when he leaned over her and slid that truly epic cock into her body an inch at a time she no longer cared.
"Ah Gawd, so fucking tight! ugh... Delilah, you're killin' me. So good, dollface," he groaned with his head thrown back, the cords of muscle at his neck standing out as he eased his way into her so agonizingly slowly.
Fucking freedom, fucking patriotism, and easily the largest dick she'd ever had the pleasure of riding. Unbelievably thick, she hadn't really thought through the whole situation when she initially had her hand in his jeans. Oh she'd felt the impressive girth but somehow that hadn't translated to the Vlad the Impaler impression he was doing right then. Not that she was complaining. She could barely form words around the delicious stretch of him sliding in and out of her at a leisurely pace, her throat almost raw from the loud and ceaseless moans and gratitude that came spilling out of her mouth.
Delilah was a vision and he wanted to memorize every single inch of her in that moment. One arm over her head, the other tightly gripping the couch cushion beneath her, plush velvet mouth agape, shirt open so he could watch her breasts jiggle and bounce as he drove into her, she was the perfect embodiment of Bernini's ecstatic St. Theresa and he'd never seen anything more beautiful.
She reached for him then, and he let his hands slide up her silken thighs as he leaned in close with both hands braced on either side of her. Her purr and full body stretch against him made his whole body throb with the need to come. "Steve," she whispered, her hot breath telegraphing fire across his skin as she cupped a hand around the back of his neck and traced her tongue around the edge of his ear, "fuck me into the floor."
He met her command with a groan as his arms collapsed. Gathering her close, he swallowed her squeak of surprised as his hips snapped against hers, driving into her with much more force than he had previously. The way she sucked on his tongue and clawed his shoulders only stoked him higher as he abandoned all attempts at being gentle.
Delilah's legs wrapped around his narrow hips, heels digging into his muscular thighs for leverage as she chased the release her body craved. There was nothing she wanted more in this world than to know how it felt to melt around his stiff shaft as he pounded into her. "Fuck-Steve-I'm-"
"Yeah-" he shifted then, balancing his weight on hand as his other slipped between them. He knew exactly what to do, his fingers zeroing in on her clit and rubbing it in tight circles in time with his thrusts. "Fuck! Now… Delilah, beautiful, come for me now-"
She lost her mind not a moment after, the heat surging through her body would have been worrisome except she felt too damn good to care. There was none of the fear and nothing but pleasurable goosebumps and as she felt her pussy clench around him. Steve's rhythm stuttered, falling off into only a handful of sloppy thrusts before he followed her over into the abyss, swelling and spilling his seed inside her in heavy spurts.
For a moment the sound in the living room was little more than competing panting breaths and lips against skin as they came back to themselves. Her fingertips slipped lightly over his sweaty muscles, up and down his biceps, down his back, an idle path borne of a simple need to maintain contact in the aftermath of some absolutely hellified sex.
"Fuuuuuuck," she muttered vehemently, trying to corral brain cells that had gone out to pasture and were roaming free range. Steve hummed in agreement, pressing little sucking kisses to her shoulder, her collarbone, her cheek, the point of her chin in his quest for her mouth. His tongue flicked over her bottom lip, sucking it lightly before sealing his mouth over hers and sliding his tongue against hers. He kissed like he had a PhD in pleasure and a thesis to defend.
When he pulled back, it was with a highly amused grin and a rueful chuckle. "That was not how I intended that to go."
A giggle burst out of her, unbidden. "Oh? Oh really?" Even in the mostly dark room, the flush of his cheeks and silly grin made her laugh some more as she shifted underneath him, suddenly reminded that he was still inside her. "So," she paused to take a deep breath as he moved and brushed against her in a way that had all her nerve ending calling in from their posts. She faked a cough as she attempted to focus on conversation that didn't involve moaning and/or begging, and tried again. "So, out of curiosity, how did you see that going? Because I thought the results were spectacular, not gonna lie."
"Wasn't fishin' for compliments, but thanks." Steve wrinkled his nose at her and nipped her chin before dropping his forehead onto the cushion next to her. His mouth immediately went to her shoulder, giving in to the urge to feel the soft skin against his lips and between his teeth. "I intended romance, if that's worth anything. Like wine and roses and everything."
He shifted again on the couch and she bit back a groan as he pressed deeper within her. "Uh huh," she encouraged him to continue breathlessly.
"And then somebody told me to fuck them into the damn floor n' I kinda lost my mind," he broke off as his breath caught and he moved within her again with the tiniest swivel of his hips. "God."
Her laugh was a little more than a wheeze. "I see." She was having a hard time breathing, and she couldn't tell if it was the giant human being laying on top of her or the fact that he was slowly fucking her stupid. "I'm not sorry."
Steve hummed contentedly as he pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to her lips. "Somehow I didn't think you would be." He wiggled again, then his stomach growled aggressively, shattering the moment that had been building between them. "Um… sorry?"
Delilah blinked at the sound, then snorted, the sexy vibe between them long gone, leaving an amused fondness in its wake. "Christ, dude. I thought all the biting was a sex thing. If you were hungry, you should have said so!"
He rolled his eyes and pushed to his knees and forearms over her and still between her outspread thighs. The positioning was remarkably intimate given their nakedness, but she wasn't going to mention it if he didn't because the view was fucking exceptional. A too-tight shirt that was more of a display than an article of clothing, muscular thighs cast in shadows and a half-hard cock that was still covered in a mix of their juices, he was perfection and perfect was, in that moment, staring down at her mostly naked body with the cutest pout she'd ever seen. "I was attending to a much more pressing hunger at the time. I didn't figure on a gastric mutiny." Only he could make that sound like he was chastising her.
She giggled and pushed up to where she was reclining on her elbows, enjoying his involuntary whine when she thrust out her tits. "Whatever, Captain Cannibal. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me that 'eating me out' is just a metaphor."
He licked his lips then, dragging his gaze back to her captivating dark eyes. His slow grin was the definition of licentious. "Not at all. I'll have you know I take the idea of eating your pussy very seriously and plan to do so very literally and very, very thoroughly." He finished with a quick flick of his tongue around his too red lips and fuck if her knees didn't just take a powder, falling further open for him and tilting up her hips a bit more.
Whatever he'd done in a past life to deserve this, he'd never been more grateful. "You're something else, you know that?" he whispered, the awe and affection in his voice plain.
Delilah's whimper was unmistakable and she wasn't even a little bit sorry. She only had to lean up a bit more and her lips were against his throat, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the staccato beat of his heart rate accelerating against her lips and tongue as she gave him the same treatment he'd given her collarbones. As it was, she'd need extensive concealer to cover up his attentions if she needed to go back onstage with something slinky and strapless.
Any actions she may have wanted to undertake, though, were cut off when his stomach gurgled again. "That sounded painful, babe." The term of endearment seemed to just roll off her tongue now where he was concerned.
"Hell," he muttered as he slowly lowered himself back onto her and hid his over-warm face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry, dollface."
Her fingers began threading through the ultra-fine hairs on the back of his head, petting him just because she could. "Steve." She waited until he was looking her in the eye before continuing, "Did you eat after you got back?" He dropped his head back to her chest with a mumble and she snickered. "Okay, I see how it is. Get up and go make some food. I'm gonna go get a little cleaned up here and then I'll meet you in there. Work for you?"
His look of hopefulness was kind of heartbreaking, like kindness and consideration weren't things he's used to experiencing. "You're not mad?"
She wanted to roll her eyes but refrained and kissed the tip of his nose instead. "Nope." She tapped his hip and began to wriggle underneath him. "Go on, I'll be in, in a minute."
It took a minute but he finally relented with a pout and a whine before hitching up hs jeans to migrate from the couch to the large and apparently well-appointed kitchen. Delilah watched for a moment as he scavenged in the fridge before rummaging through the cabinets, apparently totally comfortable in his space before she grabbed her cane, wrapped up in the throw blanket from the back of the sofa, and wandered off in search of a bathroom.
"End of the hall, last door on the right," Steve called after her, shamelessly enjoying the view of her retreating form. He hated to see her leave, but he loved to watch her go. Snorting, he shook his head at his own silliness. Now, on to dinner. "Jarvis, lights at 50%, please."
The lights came up slowly as he set out his implements. It wouldn't be fancy, but ham and swiss on rye were pretty damn universal in their ability to bring joy and sustenance at the same time. "Thank you, Jarvis."
"Of course, Captain," the AI replied deferentially. "Though, If I may..." When Steve paused in his preparations, the computer reminded him, "She's a vegetarian, sir."
Dammit, he knew that. "Crap," he muttered, and then felt something cold and wet hit his wrist as the bottle of squeezable horseradish mustard exploded in his hand. "Hell!" He glanced quickly in the direction of the hallway to make sure the gaffe was unseen.
"She's washing her face, sir," the AI informed him, the amusement in his tone quite evident.
"Thank God," he muttered, then took in the mess he'd made. His wrist and hand wasn't that big a deal but the shirt was a total loss. "Ah well." He stripped it off and ran it under some cold water in the sink before taking stock of his options. Since he normally ate in the communal kitchen, he normally limited his personal food to late night dagwood sandwiches. Not exactly hearts and flowers, post-hottest-sex-of-his-life food.
"Might I suggest grilled cheese?" Jarvis was nothing if not helpful.
"I'll take it."
In the time it took to wrangle her hair into something not quite so 'freshly fucked' in appearance, clean her face, and fashion the blanket into a semi-respectable toga the scent of cooking tomatoes and garlic filled the air. When she finally made it back into the living room, her heart melted so fast, all she could do was lean against the couch and watch the display.
With his back to her, she could only ogle his absolute perfection as he danced in front of the stove, singing along to Fats Waller. His shirt was gone, only adding to the overall luscious domesticity, and he was sliding grilled cheese sandwiches two at a time onto a plate already populated with several of them.
He flipped the latest batch of sandwiches over and then sang into the spatula, "'I don't stay out, got no place to go, I'm home about eight, just me and my radio-'"
"'Ain't misbehavin', savin' my love for you,'" she answered from where she leaned against the breakfast bar with a grin she could feel weighing down her face. He whipped around, cheeks ablaze and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him forever in that moment. "How do?" She giggled and he grimaced, looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I didn't know you sang."
He raised one shoulder and turned back to the stove, turning off the burners and plating the last of the snacks. "I'm not sure you'd call it that." Plate in hand, he herded her over to the already set table where two bowls of tomato soup were waiting in cute, handmade bowl cozies with fanciful rainbow and daisy patterns.
With a plate of two swiss and provolone on rye in front of her to dip in the soup, accompanied with about half a cow's worth of milk in a glass, she was about as happy as she could ever remember being. It was a simple meal, but she appreciated both that he'd cooked and had done so for her. It was a little thing but it warmed her heart even more than the food warmed the rest of her.
The only sound in the kitchen for a bit was more of the jazz Steve had selected as they both fell into their plates. It was a peaceful kind of silence between them, borne of exhaustion and the apparent Olympian levels of hunger Steve was experiencing. Delilah watching in amazement as he demolished his sandwiches and killed his bowl of soup like it wasn't 2,000 calories in a sitting. Apparently all his appetites were oversized and she was perfectly fine with that.
"Question." She caught his eye as he looked up from his bowl but kept eating. "So, um, I'm not… That is, we-by that I mean you and I-aren't... I mean, I wasn't… Hell." She took a defiant bite of her sandwich in hopes that it would quell the humiliated fire that was blazing across her face.
Steve primly brushed away some nonexistent crumbs from his lips and focused his amused and curious blue eyes on Delilah. "Yes? I can sense a question, I'm just not sure which one you want me to answer."
"I speak English," she muttered into her bowl, annoyed with herself, "just not right now apparently."
"Dee." Her dark eyes met his and a slow grin spread over his lips. "Ask."
She thought about just skipping past this entirely. Playing it off and whatever, but her own awkwardness had made that impossible. "Tell me I'm not the first chick you've slept with since thawing out."
Steve's startled blink was his only reaction. "Wow, that was not what I expected at all." His eyes widened as he thought about it, completely flummoxed. He opened his mouth a couple times, but nothing came out but a wheezing laugh. Finally, he settled on a reply, "To answer your question, no, no you are not." He watched her carefully after his response, even more confused when her shoulders sagged with relief.
"Man, thank God. That was a lot of pressure." She gave a quick nervous chuckle and picked up a half of her sandwich. "So what did you expect?"
"Not that, for sure."
"And you and she are…" she took a bite and gestured with her sandwich to indicate her intent.
"No." He shook his head and dipped his own sandwich in his soup. "She's an agent and I was at loose ends about Peg and Buck and… not a great decision but sometimes things happen."
Lord knew she'd done the same thing once or twice, so she couldn't fault it. It was a remarkably… human response from someone many revered as a paragon or a god. "You know, you're different than I expected," she remarked as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.
He quirked an eyebrow and finished chewing before asking, "In what way? Were you expecting a virgin?"
Delilah snorted, frowning as she dipped a half of her sandwich in the soup. "Are you kidding? You were in a war. And the USO. I've seen those girls."
With his chin up and a half smirk as he sipped his milk, he looked vindicated. "Thank you." He then wiped off his milk mustache with the back of his hand and asked, "So then, what did you mean?"
"Well," she chewed thoughtfully, "I guess I wasn't expecting a guy who could turn my panties into an endangered wetland. I think that's pretty accurate."
Steve's shoulders jumped and he very deliberately put down the spoon, narrowly avoiding decorating the table with his soup. "Ya think you could warn a fella next time, Delilah? Jeez!"
She giggled, very proud of herself. Steve was fun to tease, and bless him, he made it so easy. "Sorry."
"Are you really?" He wiped his mouth with a napkin and couldn't hide his amused grin.
She shook her head. "Not really, no. I'm glad that you're so comfortable around me, though." At his raised eyebrow, she snickered slightly and folded her napkin on the table next to the empty bowl. "I just mean…" Her eyes travelled around the room as she thought about it. "Well, like Cap." Steve blinked and she continued, "He's a good guy, a stand up guy. Cap doesn't cuss."
"Clearly you've never seen me in battle," he responded, watching her with undisguised curiosity.
She waved off his assertion. "Right, but Cap doesn't cuss around me."
He reared back in obvious offense, "Of course not! It's not polite to cuss around around a lady."
Her triumphant smile was all teeth and dimples. "I'm pretty sure Steve disagrees." She hooked her arm over the back of the chair as she twisted in the seat to face him more directly, enjoying his wide-eyed realization and subsequent flush that started somewhere north of his navel. Her blanket sarong loosened a bit, exposing her leg almost to her hip, drawing his eye.
"There are," he paused and cleared his throat to clear out the rough notes of arousal that were present. "There are contexts," he emphasized the last word as he licked his lips. "Circumstances where that kind of language is… appropriate."
"Encouraged, even." Delilah trailed her fingertips from her knee up to her hip, over her bandage, skin prickling with goosebumps that were spreading over her whole body. Now that she'd had him, she couldn't stop herself from wanting more and more.
He nodded as he slowly rose from the table. "Exactly." Steve paused by her chair and looked her over with a speculative gaze. "I'm gonna do something, and please don't get upset."
"Okaaaaaa-Hey! The hell, man?" she asked breathlessly as he very easily scooped her up from the chair and turned to ferry her back down the darkened hallway to his room. She started to squirm and kick her feet, but as tall as he was, if he dropped her, it would hurt a lot, so she settled down with her arm around his neck and her other tucked up against her.
"You're injured," he replied casually, as if hauling her around bodily was a common thing to do.
"And?"
"I don't think I was very mindful of that our first time out," he informed her, as blase as could be.
"I'm alright. It doesn't hurt too badly. It's okay."
"Maybe." He shrugged under her hand as he shifted her to one hand to open his bedroom door and then kicked it shut behind him. "Maybe," he deposited her softly on the mattress and stood at the bedside looking her over with his delectable bottom lip caught between his teeth, "I just want to spoil you a little."
Well when he put it that way…
Cap missing dinner wasn't entirely unusual in the grand scheme of things, but to miss dinner with the team after a mission? Short of being confined to medical, that was absolutely unheard of. Meredith came out to join them to rejoice in their safe return. Hell, even Agent Agent showed up, but that was really just because he wanted drape himself all over Barton and enjoy a meal simultaneously. Regardless, dinner with the team after a mission was kind of inviolable, and thus Tony took it upon himself to go fetch their leader.
"Jay," Tony inquired as he stepped into the elevator, "Cap in his quarters?"
"Yes sir, but-"
"Great, thanks. Can you bring up the numbers for the latest alloy stress tests?" Just because he had to wait in an elevator was no reason not to tinker a bit. Standing still was never his strong suit.
The holoscreens he'd been working with vanished once he arrived at the floor, though the doors didn't open immediately. "Um, Jarvis, the doors?"
"What I attempted to inform you of earlier, sir, was that Captain Rogers is indisposed."
Tony grimaced as he pushed against the door to emphasize his desire. "Whatever, I'll wait for him in the living room. Let him know I'm here."
"Sir-"
The elevator doors whispered open to a room lit by the city light below and only the barest hint of the overhead lights. From his vantage point, he could see the bowls left on the table and the light on over the stove. "Okay, that's weird." Cap was normally a clean freak and having a ripple in a throw rug was something of an anathema. He lived to be orderly.
Now Tony was on a mission, venturing deeper into the apartment as quietly as possible, headed toward the bedroom. As he cleared the edge of the couch, he noticed a pair of jeans on the floor. "What the hell, Jay, is he ok?"
"The Captain's vitals are within normal ranges, sir. As I was saying, he is-"
"Is that Dave Matthews Band?" Tony hissed, staring directly at one of Jarvis' many cameras in arrested horror. The music was faint, but definitely familiar, a song Pepper had on a playlist back in the day when she was feeling especially romantic. "Is he-?"
"Sir. I must strenuously insist." The elevator doors snapped open at the command, and after a brief hesitation, Tony entered the glass box with a huff. "Thank you, sir." If it were possible for an AI to sound relieved, Jarvis definitely did after the doors closed and they began their descent to the common floor. "Now, as I attempted to inform you several times, he is indisposed with Miss Ford."
All the pieces began to click into place at once, the darkened living room, the dishes on the table, the clothes on the floor, the music. "Huh."
His squinting look of open disbelief was met with the computer version of a sigh. "It would appear that they have come to some sort of an understanding."
"Well, I'll be damned." Tony chuckled to himself as he stepped off the elevator and into the common area. "Good on 'em. Obviously, I want the recordings."