This chapter is set after Chapter 63, Snuggle Time, in Roots and Anchors
The late afternoon sun streamed through the window as he sat at his easel and paused to look around his apartment. It didn't feel like a home to him and yet he knew he needed this time to ground himself. Megan was right, as she often was, that he had something to prove. Usually, he was trying to prove himself to others. For once, he was trying to prove his worth to a much harsher critic: himself.
The kitchen timer went off and he stripped off his gloves and went to check on the rice. It was finally done, so he moved the pan to the oven, already set on low, so the rice could keep the steamed vegetables company. The salad was in the fridge and the crock pot would keep the chicken and gravy hot. He didn't know exactly when Kathy and Greg would arrive and the D.C. traffic at this time of day only added to the uncertainty. For now, there was nothing more for him to do to prepare his home for guests. Megan had already sent a text that she was stuck in a meeting and would be late arriving. She urged them to start dinner without her.
He'd spent two days cleaning a bit obsessively. It kept his hands occupied while his mind raced. And if he happened to 'accidentally' damage some of the bugs that had been placed in his apartment, then his observers should have picked someone less fussy about their cleaning habits. He left two of the devices in place to avoid raising suspicion, but they were in the living room. When Megan next stayed over, they could converse quietly or enjoy each other's company without anyone intruding on their most private time together.
Megan. She'd dropped into his life so unexpectedly and only a few months later, she filled every corner of his world with joy and contentment. Her parents had welcomed him into their family and treated him like their own son. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have someone care about the little things in his life.
His mother had fretted over providing clothes and food as any caring parent would. But more than that, she'd cared about his thoughts and feelings. Was he frustrated by his homework? Was he excited by a drawing he'd made? She took the time to find out. Sarah had wiped his tears, celebrated his victories, and counseled him wisely as he found his own solutions to life's problems. Then she'd been gone.
Bucky had filled the void as best he could, but Steve missed his mother deeply. He missed the opportunity to know his father. Kathy and Greg were filling that need without taking his parents' place. He'd never expected to have anyone looking out for him in that way again. Having two people doing so was a blessing he had never dared dream of.
When they had gone fishing at his pond, Greg had confided he'd already lost both of his parents then added it was hard knowing you were the next in line in the natural order of things. It felt strange to Greg to see young children on the street and know that he wouldn't be around when they were old. Then he'd switched to the topic of the best bait for catching bass.
Greg was a master at touching on serious topics just enough to open a door, then moving on without making the transition feel at all awkward. The stories he'd told at Steve's bedside had been a lifeline he'd clung to when the pain had threatened to consume him. He could only imagine what it would have been like to grow up with someone like Greg in the house to counterbalance Sarah's doting, but Greg gave him enough of a taste that he thought it would be wonderful.
Kathy, like her daughter, was a force of nature who bent the universe to her will. There was no such thing as an insurmountable problem. Instead, life presented challenges that would somehow be overcome, most often with food, hugs, and a determination to manufacture solutions out of whatever materials were available. It took a strong woman to support her daughter's courtship of a man like himself. Kathy seemed to be fully aware of the challenges that came with his role as an Avenger yet was largely unbothered by them. Instead, she had taken to sending him amusing emails, calling him to suggest a new recipe she'd found, and even chiding him when she thought he was pushing himself too hard. She wasn't Sarah, but she was a welcome surrogate. Steve knew that his mother would have liked Megan's parents a lot and been pleased to know they were in Steve's life.
His apartment wasn't fancy, but it felt good to be able to offer the space to Megan's parents. They'd done so much for him in such a short period of time. And for a few days, at least, they'd make his empty apartment feel like a home. There would be life and laugher in these walls. He wouldn't have to resort to a record player to fill the silence.
With a sigh, he began to pick up his mess. He closed the case in which he kept his pastels but left it on the table by the easel. There was no need to hide them from prying eyes. The reference clippings that were scattered on the coffee table went back into their folder. The samples of fabric and lace were folded and placed in a manila envelope. He turned off the air purifier he kept running to collect any dust when he worked with the soft pastels. A youth spent struggling to breathe made him careful with his lungs. He knew the serum would probably protect him, but using a simple dust mask and air purifier seemed like reasonable precautions, especially now that he'd had a reminder of how vulnerable he was to suffering permanent harm. The serum didn't excuse him from using a bit of common sense.
He folded the chef's apron he used to keep pastel dust off of his clothes and put it in the closet where it belonged, lying on top of the folder and envelope he didn't want Megan to see. On top, he placed the sketch pad he had filled with drawings of her face in different settings and with different expressions. There were some things he didn't want to share with her just yet.
The pastel board he'd been working on got covered with a protective sheet of glassine paper and slid gently onto the top shelf of the closet, too. In its place, he set a still life he'd started during his latest lesson. Somehow, he'd managed to fit three sessions in with his internet instructor before his eyes had been burned. It had been enough for him to fall in love with the medium. Given his enthusiasm, if he didn't have something in progress on the easel, Megan would be suspicious. She had no idea that he'd decided to paint her for a wedding gift. She'd moved the timetable up on him, so it was a good thing he'd gotten started already. And though his right hand was still healing, he was able to work on the background using his left. He'd have to work hard to master all of the needed techniques in time, but with some help from Jarvis, surely he'd find a way.
Steve smiled to himself as he imagined her reaction to seeing the finished product. With any luck, maybe someday they'd find a gorgeous horse that Megan could ride on a beach as the sunset made the sky glow around her. She'd be laughing as Steve watched her ride, one hand fisted in the thick mane of her mount, the other resting lightly on her leg, ready to offer a gentle pat to the muscular neck and shoulder of the horse that carried her swiftly across the packed sand at the ocean's edge.
He'd become fascinated with capturing the movements of a horse as he attended her lessons. Even Pumpkin, draft horse that she was, moved her bulk with grace as she trotted around the ring. Youtube videos had shown him light-footed Arabians, with their beautifully shaped heads, floating over the earth at a full gallop.
He was drawn out of his musings by a knock at the door. His family was here.