Charlotte was happy, and Steve was happy that she was happy, but not happy with the amount of days they would go without seeing each other.

Right.

It wasn't that he was jealous, he'd established that a while back. He trusted Charlotte with the same amount of trust that she had on him, so her working alongside Stark was not much of an issue, no matter how much Steve felt like strangling the guy half the time.

And it wasn't that Charlotte was suddenly not coming home at all. She'd been working with Stark for the past three months, and had only stayed in New York overnight once when there had been a crisis at one of the enterprises' factories in India. In fact, unless she was overseas, she was home every night, and would work in D.C. most of the time-scheduling and hassling could be done over the phone, after all.

It was, at the root of it, the fact that he saw less and less of her as the weeks passed by. There had been an increase in global almost-catastrophes that had needed Steve and his newly recruited Strike Team that made it so that Steve would be gone for a couple of days at a time sometimes. And that meant that he would sometimes come home to an empty home, and a text on his phone saying that Timber was hanging out with Sam (Steve's new friend).

He didn't like that.

Which was how he was trying to justify himself as he stormed down the street to cool off.

Earlier

He was greeted at the door by a smiling Timber (Charlotte was home!), who quickly recoiled from him when he got a whiff of the blood on his uniform-the dog had a thing against the smell and it made it easier to deduce that he had had some bad experience with it.

"Sorry, pal," he muttered, dropping his duffle bag by the door, and dislodging his shield from his back to set down alongside it.

He made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge to find leftover pizza with his name on it in Charlotte's writing. He closed it, deciding to take a shower and throw his uniform into the washing machine with an extra dose of laundry detergent before he made his way into the bedroom.

He discarded everything, and made his way into the bathroom adjoining their bedroom in his boxer briefs, sighing in relief the way he did when he would see Charlotte after some time of not seeing her.

"Hey!" She greeted with a smile, a towel around her and wet waves framing her face. She was applying that sage smelling face cream she did every night, her toothbrush discarded by the sink. "Missed you!"

He stopped to kiss her briefly before he turned the shower on.

"Tough day?" She asked, noting his rigid posture.

"Yeah," he said, turning to her with a self-deprecating smile. "Yours?"

She shrugged. "It was good…and the three days before that were good too." She added. They hadn't seen each other in four days.

"Yeah, well, what can we do?" he snapped, closing the glass door behind him and grabbing the shampoo.

"Is this really how it's going to be tonight?" Charlotte asked, and he could make out her form leaning against the countertop.

Charlotte had a way of making him instantly guilty when he snapped, and it wasn't necessarily because she couldn't take it. She could, and would snap back, but was calm enough to check him before they started an unnecessary fight. That's where the guilt would come in-she'd stay calm, and ask him if they were about to have a fight. He'd only ever answered yes a couple of times, the others they would resolve with talking.

He popped his head back out, "I'm sorry, I just…"

"It's fine," she said with a small smile, pushing herself off the counter. "You can tell me about your shitty days in bed."

He found her on the floor with a duffle bag, folding blouses and skirts.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," and he sounded annoyed when it came out, and almost regretted it. Except that he didn't.

He had had a shitty couple of days, had half his team in the medical bay back on base with injuries that took them off the roster for at least another month, and had gained nothing out of it. There had been no intel to gain, and, in fact, they had walked into a trap.

He had secured a few days for his team and himself, arguing with Maria Hill that he wouldn't go out into the field without vetted intel unless he was going alone, and telling her his men were taking some days off. The deputy director had merely blinked as he gave his demands, and told him to take some days off himself.

So he was home, and had expected to at least have Charlotte there too.

Charlotte turned and he could tell that the comment had incensed her. But she refrained from glaring and merely said, "I'm flying to China for the next two days for a conference."

"Of course you are," he said, discarding his towel, and putting on a pair of sweats rather angrily.

"Whoa. Cool it down." Charlotte said, this time with a glare.

He gave her a look, opting out of saying anything, knowing she was telling him to tone it down, but he didn't feel like it much. He threw on a t-shirt.

"You know, I don't want to take this personally, but I am, because I feel like it is," She started, standing up. "So I'm going to remind you that I'm not as passive aggressive as you are being every time I see you packing. Nor when you cancel plans because of your work. And that, by the way, I actually ask you if you need any help. So cool it, because I think you don't want to have this conversation right now either."

He glared, incessantly angry, with a need to punch one of those bags that Tony had engineered to not break.

So he glared, took a calming breath, and told Charlotte not to wait up for him.

He almost expected her to ask him where he was going, but she didn't, merely saying "You can take care of yourself. I won't," in such a cool tone that he almost reared his head back to start yelling. But he didn't, sidestepping Timber who had his tail behind his legs as he saw him storming towards the door. He knew the dog ran to hide under the coffee table when he slammed the door, and felt a bit of remorse.

So that's how he found himself walking around the block. He couldn't even bring himself to go to SHIELD headquarters and work his anger off at the gym there.

The anger blew almost instantly after walking into the cool air of the night, and had been replaced by the blossoming of shame and guilt inside his chest. But he kept walking, trying to figure out how he could even begin to justify his behavior to himself and Charlotte.

Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he hadn't promised anything to the girl at home-just that he would be her number one fan in anything that she did. He just wanted her to be happy.

And he was selfish. And God, was that true. He had been happy to see her waiting at home anytime he would come home from a mission, had overlooked the fact that she didn't enjoy her work. That she wanted something more, but didn't know what to do about it, and he had listened but offered nothing. Because she would be home every time.

And it was true that she never complained. She took everything calmly, and would volunteer to help him pack his bag when he was going overseas…wouldn't snap at him like he'd just done.

Steve arrived back at their apartment an hour later, and found Charlotte curled up on the couch with Timber, his snout buried on the crook of her neck.

"You can take the bed," Charlotte whispered as he walked in, not even bothering to open her eyes. Timber's eyes followed him as he walked towards them.

"Doll-"

"Please don't. I've gotta be up in like two hours to get to the airport on time."

Steve sat on the floor by the couch, running a hand through Timber, and letting the dog lick at his fingers when he reached behind his ears.

"We said we wouldn't go to bed angry, especially since we know we may not see each other for days at a time," he reminded her, waiting for Charlotte to open her eyes. He left the or ever out of it, knowing it was implied. It was always implied.

She opened her eyes after a minute or two of silence, and he could see they were a bit red. He'd made her cry.

"I moved to D.C. without wanting to," she started, "and I did it because you asked me to. And you know how much I got nothing out of working for an attorney's office that valued money over substantial cases that would actually help people. The least I expected was for you to have my back on this one."

He knew he shouldn't be giving excuses, but he was tired and perhaps a bit angry still so he said, "I had a shitty day-"

"But that shouldn't mean that you take it out on me. I didn't do anything to you, and I simply do not understand how I end up taking the brunt of your frustration the minute you step into the apartment," she said, fire in her eyes. "Tonight was not the first time."

He sat in silence, and she continued.

"I'm not saying that I expect you to come into the door with a smile and in a good mood all the time. I just need you to understand that I am not in the business of trying to pick fights with you on purpose. And that you can be hurtful sometimes."

More silence. She sat up, and Timber readjusted himself to lay on her lap, burying his snout into her stomach.

"With that said, you could've told me you didn't want me to work for Tony earlier. I would've told you to fuck off, but it wouldn't have come out in that doucebag way of yours."

"I would've never told you that I didn't want you doing something. I will never tell you that." He said, making sure she was looking into his eyes, his hands firmly on her knees. "I just…I got used to coming home to you."

He realized what it sounded like when her eyes lit up in mild indignation. "Not that-not that I am saying I want you to stay at home. Never. I would never. God, I'm screwing this up, aren't I?"

"A little," she said, giving him a small smile and he felt like he could breathe again. "It's hard not seeing you all the time for me too, you know."

He laid his forehead against her knees, sighing when she carded her nails through his short hair.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, turning earnest blue eyes at her.

She smiled, "me too. I was a little too hot coming in, too."

He shook his head, "you told me to cool it down more than enough times."

"Yeah I did," she said, not disagreeing with him with a smile.

"Can I take you to bed with me, Ms. Owens?" He asked with a rueful smile.

"Before marriage? How dare you ask such a thing!" She replied, but grinned.

He hefted the sleeping dog off her, who barely registered him before he licked at his arm lazily.

"You weren't complaining the other day," he threw back over his shoulder, depositing Timber onto his dog bed by the fireplace.

"Besides," he said, putting his arms out to catch her by the back of her knees and upper back, making her yelp and hit at his chest when he had situated her in his arms. "It ain't like I haven't put a ring on you, darling."