You screwed up, made mistakes
Got dirty from the messes you've made
But I whisper, "That's okay
I love you despite what you say"
Take another chance
Take another chance on my love
No matter what you've done right
No matter what you've done wrong
You, you've been fighting so long
You, you belong in my arms
- "Crazy About You" by Plumb
A single night in a narrow cot in a hospital room wasn't enough to rejuvenate Steve's energy, even though Sam had let him sleep more than his fair share. Steve was sore all over, his cheek swelling up despite the ice pack the nurse had insisted on giving him. And his heart ached worse than all his other injuries combined. All he wanted was to stumble home, sleep in a real bed, and try to somehow process everything that had happened.
But of course it wasn't going to be that easy. Apparently, Ross hadn't decided if he wanted to arrest them or not for what they'd done. No, he probably did want to arrest them and throw them behind bars along with every other 'dangerous' enhanced individual. He was just trying to find a way to do it that wouldn't make him look like the bad guy.
From what Steve understood, T'Challa was one of the main deterrents to that outcome. He'd not only handed over Zemo and Bucky, he was also making sure the true version of the story was told and everyone was treated fairly. And not even Ross could afford to brush off the king of Wakanda.
So for now, they were free to go, as long as they handed over the shield and Falcon wings. They did so willingly, making only the most noncommittal responses to questions about how they'd gotten their hands on them in the first place. Until a final decision about their fate could be made, they were to stay at the Avengers compound. "Guess it's kinda like being told not to leave town," Sam commented after they heard the plan. "Plus, it might be better not to be in the city right now...what with everything the news is saying and all."
Steve had made a point not to look at any headlines or turn on the TV since they'd returned. The last thing he wanted to do right now was see Bucky's name plastered all over, followed by wild speculation and rumors that were bound to be far from the truth. Everyone would be talking about them, accusing them of one thing or another, but no one would have the slightest inkling of what they'd really suffered in Siberia.
T'Challa was actually the one who gave them a ride to the compound. (To be more precise, he sent his driver to pick them up from the hospital.) It felt strange, going off to what more or less amounted to house arrest in a sleek limousine, but Steve appreciated T'Challa's generosity. The tinted windows and Wakandan flags fluttering in the wind also afforded a welcome sense of anonymity as they made their way through the city.
Because of all the red tape they'd had to go through in the hospital, it was late afternoon by the time the limousine slid through the gates to the Avengers headquarters. Placed ever-so-casually along the road, several black cars with tinted windows sat at strategic intervals, as if to keep an eye on the premises and make sure no one came or left without their knowledge. Just because they weren't under arrest, that didn't mean they weren't under surveillance. Clearly, Ross wanted to remind them of that.
The limousine pulled up to the front door of the building they used to call home. They'd all been fairly quiet on the ride over, each of them deep in his own thoughts. Now Steve turned to Jake, helping him unfasten the seatbelt that was much too big for him. "You remember this place, Jake? We're going to be staying here for a little while."
Jake solemnly looked out the window at the glass-fronted building rising above them, and nodded. He'd barely strung two words together all day, even when he and Sam had tried to engage him in conversation. He no longer seemed afraid that they would kill him at any moment, but it seemed he had as much to process as the others.
It was strange, walking back into the Avengers compound after so long. It felt like home, and yet it didn't at the same time. There were so many memories locked inside these walls...but they weren't Avengers anymore. They didn't really belong. Steve looked down at Jake as they climbed the stairs to the top floor, wondering what he was thinking about.
As they neared the kitchen, Steve caught the sound of rustling plastic bags, cupboard doors opening and closing, and three female voices chatting and laughing.
He spotted Natasha first, carrying two gallons of milk over to the refrigerator. Meanwhile, Sharon stood at the door of the pantry, holding a large bag of flour in one hand and trying to dust off her jeans.
From inside the pantry came the slightly muffled voice of Leyla. "Okay, who's responsible for the entire shelf full of...what is this stuff? Borscht?"
"That's actually Vision's fault," Natasha laughed, waving cheerily at Steve and Sam as she continued to load the refrigerator with groceries. "One time, Wanda mentioned that she was craving the borscht soup she used to have growing up, and Vision hunted down a store that actually carried it. I think he cleaned out their entire stock."
"That's the robot guy, right?" Leyla called over the loud clattering sounds she was making in the pantry. "What the heck kind of name is 'Vision,' anyway? Sounds like a camera."
"I don't know," Natasha mused. "We just kind of started calling him that, and the name stuck."
"Somehow, I think it would be weirder if you called him something normal like 'Bob' or whatever," Sharon said, handing the flour over to Leyla and turning to give the new arrivals a smile.
Steve looked between them and the mountain of grocery bags all over the floor and the kitchen island. Of course they would need to stock up on food; no one had lived here for months. "I...didn't even think about groceries," he said.
"We know," Natasha said, pulling armloads of fresh fruit and vegetables out of the shopping bags. "Which is why we thought about it for you."
"Aren't they watching the entrance, though?" Sam asked. "You sure you wanna be seen coming in here?"
Leyla emerged from the pantry and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Who says we were seen?"
Sharon shared a satisfied grin with her. "Those 'guards' think they're doing such a good job."
"It's cute."
Steve wondered if he should be this proud of his girlfriend being so good at breaking and entering, but he couldn't help it.
While Sam went to help put away the food, Sharon crossed over to the dining table, where a few paper bags sat out of the way. "I hope you don't mind, but we stopped off at your place to grab some clothes and toothbrushes and stuff for you."
Steve felt a little hot around the collar at the thought of her digging through his underwear drawer, but he squashed that thought. "Thank you," he said, glancing through the bags. "That was very thoughtful..."
His voice trailed away as he looked in the bag carrying Jake's things. Sitting at the top of the bag, smiling up at the ceiling, was the stuffed lion Steve had mended...how long ago was that? A week ago? It felt like another lifetime.
He looked over his shoulder at Jake, who stood uncertainly in the sitting area, half-hidden behind the couch. He kept everyone in sight as usual, but when Steve pulled the stuffed lion out of the bag, Jake's eyes latched onto it immediately. Steve wondered if he were remembering the day he'd ripped it apart.
There were so many layers hidden beneath Jake's small, innocent appearance, and now that a few of them had been peeled away, Steve realized he'd have to reassess everything he thought he'd known about his son. He used to think that Jake's tantrums were just that—a young boy's emotions exploding out of him because he'd never learned to control them. Then he'd realized that Jake saw him as an enemy, and had no real incentive to please him at all. And then Zemo had convinced him that Steve wanted to kill him.
But...what about now? What did he think of Steve, after everything that had happened? Did they have a second chance?
Steve glanced at Sharon, who was watching him with a little smile. He was overcome with a sudden urge to tell her everything, just to be able to lay out all of his thoughts before someone who would care. Someone who would just let him talk, let him purge some of the darkness clouding his brain. But...not right now. So he just reached over, squeezed her hand in thanks, and then turned back to Jake.
When he slowly walked over to Jake, Steve thought for a moment that he would shrink away, or even turn and run into a corner. Instead, Jake just stayed put.
"Hey, buddy, you remember this little guy?" Steve asked quietly, sitting down on the couch within arm's reach of Jake. "Miss Sharon brought him for you. See? He's happy to see you. He wants to be your friend."
Steve held the lion out, and Jake hesitantly accepted it with his good hand. He stared down at the buttons Steve had sewn on for its eyes, then looked back up at Steve, a troubled furrow in his brow. "But..." He bit his lip and dropped his gaze again.
"What is it, buddy? It's okay, you can say it."
Jake's voice came out in a tiny whisper. "But I broke him."
"I know," Steve said gently, rubbing a thumb absently over Jake's cast. "But Daddy fixed him up, and he's all better now. So now we can start over."
Big, blue eyes stared up at him. "Start over?"
"Yes. Do you want to say sorry for breaking him?"
"Sorry for breakin' him," Jake mumbled.
"Look," Steve murmured, running a finger over the smile stitched into the lion's face. "He's still smiling at you. I think that means he forgives you."
Steve was glad that Sharon, Leyla, and Natasha had decided to show up, and not just because they'd brought a mountain of groceries with them. If it had just been him, Sam, and Jake sitting around in the big, empty Avengers compound, it would have felt too much like those early days after Bucky's arrest, before they'd moved into the apartment. But with three more people there to fill the kitchen with conversation and laughter, it felt a little more like it had before the Avengers had broken apart.
The ladies stuck around for dinner, everyone pitching in to make a big pot of stew. Steve certainly didn't feel cheerful, but something warmed inside him as he watched Sharon recruiting Jake's help in sprinkling garlic on the toast, or Leyla teasing Sam for how much his eyes watered when he chopped up the onions, or Sharon and Natasha's friendly bickering about how to set the table.
By unspoken agreement, everyone kept the conversation around the table light, steering clear of the events of the past few days and concerns about the future. For a little while, at least, Steve could almost pretend there was nothing to worry about. There were too many empty seats at the table, and he didn't have much to say, but it was comforting to be surrounded by people acting normally. Even when Sharon and Leyla shared a look that contained an entire conversation, then burst into laughter at a joke no one else was privy to. It reminded Steve painfully of similar moments he'd enjoyed with Bucky.
After a dessert of store-bought chocolate chip cookies, which everyone agreed were nowhere near as good as Sam's (though they all reached for seconds anyway), they began cleaning up the kitchen. Noticing that Jake was beginning to droop, Steve left them to it so he could put Jake to bed.
Their old rooms were ready and waiting for them—a bit dusty, and empty of all the little personal effects they used to hold, but familiar all the same. Jake seemed to relax a little as Steve guided him through the familiar nightly routine in the place they used to call home. As he helped Jake brush his teeth and change into pajamas printed with stars and crescent moons, Steve realized just how long it had been since he'd been able to help Jake like this. He felt cheated of all the nights Jake had spent at New Hope, where one of the facility's employees had cared for him instead. But Jake was here now, and he needed Steve's help more than ever with his arm in a cast. So Steve just savored every moment.
Finally, Steve helped Jake climb into the huge bed that used to be his, and tucked him in. As a final touch, Steve settled the stuffed lion on the other pillow. Jake watched him with a sleepy look of confusion, like he was still trying to figure out what the lion was for.
"Okay, buddy, try to get some sleep," Steve said gently, brushing Jake's hair out of his face. "I know it might be a little hard, since we're in a new place again. But if you need anything, I'll be just in the other room." He bent over to kiss Jake and whispered, "I love you, Jake. Sweet dreams."
Once he stepped into the common room and softly closed the door behind himself, he thought of going to see what the others were up to. He caught a distant burst of laughter from the kitchen, and that made up his mind. He just switched on a lamp in the sitting area and dropped wearily onto the couch instead, staring blankly at the opposite wall.
He didn't feel like laughing. And he was too exhausted to keep pretending. He didn't really want to think about the past or speculate about the future, but there was so much rattling around in his brain, he thought he might explode. What he really wished...
There was a soft knock at the door leading to the hallway, and Sharon poked her head in. "Hey, I didn't want to bother you, but you...kind of looked like you wanted to talk."
"Come in," Steve said, straightening a little. Already, his heart began to lift a little. "You know me so well."
Sharon crossed over to sit next to him on the couch. "You're like an open book, really. I could tell right away that you were brooding about something. So what happened?"
She laced their fingers together and looked up at him expectantly, settling back as if to assure him that she was happy to listen, no matter how long it took. Steve hesitated for a moment, but it was impossible to resist such an invitation.
He started off talking about what was marginally easier to put into words, telling her what it was like to have to fight Bucky again, how their stolen time together was ripped away all too soon, how he worried over the ramifications this incident might have on Bucky's case. But he couldn't talk about Bucky without telling her how he'd broken Jake's arm, and he couldn't explain that without going through all of Zemo's plan...
Steve knew his story was disjointed and probably didn't make much sense, but Sharon patiently listened to it all, occasionally asking a question to clarify what had happened. Her hand tightened around his when he told her that Jake had thought Steve wanted to kill him.
He kept dancing around the one topic he was most reluctant to tell her. The one thing he wished he could forget, the one image that had branded itself most vividly in his memory. When he described the video Zemo had played for them, he heard Sharon's sharp intake of breath, but he couldn't make himself look up. If he saw her horror-struck expression...he didn't think he could keep his composure. So he just stared at their clasped hands instead.
"They made him kill his brother," Steve muttered past the lump in his throat. "He was two. And they had him kill his baby brother. He...He should have been...getting excited about choo-choo trains, or...or learning about shapes and colors or something. But instead, they..."
He pulled away from her grasp and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. No tears came—he seemed to have run out at last—but he couldn't stand to look at the world anymore. Not when that world would forever be tainted in Jake's eyes.
"Hydra ruins everything I love," Steve groaned. "It wasn't enough for them to try to destroy the world...or take over S.H.I.E.L.D. It wasn't enough for them to shatter Bucky's life into a million pieces. Or for them to kill all of my children. No. They had to take my son and..."
Heaving a bone-weary sigh, Steve let his hands drop into his lap and stared blearily at the blank TV screen on the opposite wall. "Unless it's just me. It's like...everything I touch, everything I care about, just gets broken. Both of my parents died young...Hydra never would have made the Winter Soldier if I hadn't taken the serum...if Bucky hadn't decided to follow me...and with no Winter Soldier, there'd never have been a Project Legacy...and so many people would never have suffered. You know...sometimes I wonder if it almost would have been better if I hadn't..."
Sharon's warm hand pressed against his cheek, gently turning his head to face her. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she gazed up at him. He waited for her to say something—to agree, to protest, to say she didn't care—but she didn't say a word. She just pulled him closer and kissed him.
The funnel cloud of despair spiraling through his chest immediately dissipated. Her touch was like a shaft of sunlight breaking through the storm—it didn't keep the rain from falling, but it allowed him to look up and remember there was still a blue sky above the clouds.
When Sharon pulled back, Steve saw that a tear made a silvery track down her cheek. As he reached to brush it away, he murmured, "What was that for?"
"It was to stop you in your tracks before you say something you know is wrong. Because that's called lying, Mr. I'm-Always-Honest. So take a deep breath and listen to what I have to say for a minute."
Sharon didn't seem angry, exactly, but there was a stern quality to her voice that he wasn't used to hearing. So he held his tongue and just nodded.
"Hydra is the only reason Bucky is alive today." Sharon met his gaze unflinchingly, as if daring him to contradict her. "Hydra gave him the enhanced strength he needed to survive the fall from that train. Because of that strength, and because they put him in cryostasis for years at a time, he's still alive. Is that a bad thing?"
Steve mutely shook his head.
"Hydra's also the reason you two met each other again," Sharon continued, taking his hand in hers and running her thumb back and forth over his ring. "They sent him after you, but that only gave you a chance to save him, even though you didn't know who he was yet. You were able to show him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you love him no matter what. Is that a bad thing?"
"No," Steve whispered.
"If not for Hydra, Project Legacy would never have been started. Mabel would never have been born...so Jake would never have been born. Because of Hydra, you're able to raise your son, to teach him about the world, to show him love and kindness."
Steve frowned. "Are you saying I should be grateful to Hydra?"
Sharon smiled sadly, squeezing his hand. "I'm saying that sometimes good things come despite the worst intentions. And I think that's what we should focus on."
"If it weren't for Hydra," Steve said slowly, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear, "I probably wouldn't have taken the serum. I wouldn't have crashed into the ice. I might not be alive today...and I never would have met you. Not like this, anyway."
Her lips curled into a little smile. "Is that a bad thing?"
In reply, he leaned in and gave her a kiss. Not just a quick peck, but a long, lingering kiss so he could savor her taste, her smell, the warmth of her body as her arms wrapped around him. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss...
His sharp hearing caught the very faint sound of someone crying, muffled under blankets and behind a closed door. With a sigh and a faint chuckle, Steve pulled back and rested his forehead against Sharon's. "Sorry."
"What is it?"
Oh, right, she wouldn't be able to hear that... He reluctantly straightened so he could look her in the eye. "I can hear Jake crying, so I should probably go see what's wrong. Sorry..."
But Sharon smiled, patting him on the cheek. "Never apologize for helping your son, Steve."
He grinned. "Yes, ma'am." As they got to their feet and crossed over to the door, he said, "So I guess this is goodbye for now..."
"Goodnight, not goodbye," she corrected him. "Nat said you've got lots of empty rooms here, so we're spending the night."
"Then...I guess we'll continue this conversation tomorrow."
Sharon smirked. "If that's what you want to call it." She gave him a quick goodnight kiss, then let herself out.
Steve smiled, his heart soaring in the clouds. How did she manage to do that so easily? He'd been carrying such a heavy weight for so long, but all it took was a single conversation with her, and even though nothing about the situation had changed...it suddenly seemed manageable. She was amazing.
But then he caught a louder sob from behind Jake's door, and he refocused his attention on the matter at hand.
When Steve eased the door open, sending a band of light across the foot of the bed, he heard a sharp intake of breath, and suddenly the quiet sobs ceased. Closing the door behind him and crossing over to switch on the lamp on the bedside table, Steve couldn't help wondering what sort of consequences Jake might have faced if Vino or one of the others had heard him crying.
The soft lamplight illuminated Jake blinking owlishly up at him, half-hidden under the covers. Tears streaked down from his bloodshot eyes, and there was a wet spot on the blanket where he'd clearly been trying to muffle his sobs.
"Hey, buddy," Steve said gently, sinking onto the edge of the bed and tugging the blanket down just far enough so he could see all of Jake's face. "What's the matter? Does your arm hurt?"
Jake glanced down at his cast, tucked close to his body, and shook his head. As he did so, his chin began to tremble, and two big tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Did you...have a bad dream?" Steve guessed.
The hastily-stifled sob and the way Jake squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away from his broken arm, was all the confirmation he needed.
"It's okay, baby, it's okay," he murmured, smoothing down Jake's sleep-tousled hair. "Daddy's here now. You're safe. Daddy's not going to let anything happen to you." He kept stroking his fingers through Jake's hair with slow, gentle movements until Jake calmed down a little, sniffling miserably. "Do you want to tell me about the dream?"
Jake shuddered, looking up at him as more tears welled up in his eyes. "Bucky gonna kill me," he mumbled. "I...I don't w-wanta die..."
Steve's heart sank to his toes. He'd known they'd have to have a serious talk about what had happened, but he'd been putting it off as long as possible. Well...no time like the present.
He drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "Jake...I know Bucky hurt you. And that was a very bad thing. I wish with all my heart that I could have kept it from happening. But there's something I want you to understand: Bucky didn't want to do it. But he didn't have a choice."
Jake sniffled and looked up at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Steve swallowed painfully. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but he made himself say it anyway. "You know...that video that Zemo showed us? Of when you..." His voice died, and he had to clear this throat before he could continue. His throat felt like sandpaper, but he did his best to speak gently. "Jake...that baby in the video...he was your brother. He was my son too, just like you are. Gabriel. His name is Gabriel."
Jake hastily looked away, going very still.
Steve reached out and laid a hand on Jake's chest. He could feel that little heart thumping rapidly against his palm. Steve couldn't help thinking about Gabriel's heartbeat slowing down as Jake squeezed the life out of him...
But when he looked down at Jake now, all he felt for him was love. Grief, pity, anger at the ones who had made him like this...but most of all, love. And that was what Jake needed to understand more than anything else.
"That was also a very bad thing," Steve whispered, gently stroking his thumb back and forth across Jake's chest. "And I would do anything to keep it from happening. But, Jake...you didn't have a choice. Vino told you what to do, and you had to obey him. You knew that if you didn't do what he said, you'd be punished. So I don't blame you for that, Jake. I know that the one who's really responsible for what happened is Vino."
Jake slowly looked up at him again, his brows pinched together in deep thought.
"It's the same way with Bucky," Steve continued, hoping that Jake understood. Or if he didn't now, maybe he would someday. "He didn't want to hurt you. But he had to do what Zemo said. There are...words. Words that someone can say, and then Bucky has to do whatever they tell him. So even though Bucky's the one who did it...really, it's like Zemo broke your arm."
The silence stretched out between them. Steve could practically see the gears turning in Jake's head as he thought it through.
Finally, Jake drew a shaky breath and spoke. "Bucky wasn't Bucky. 'Cause Zemo made him be not Bucky?"
Steve nodded slowly. "Something like that. Bucky loves you. He would never choose to hurt you."
"And he didn't wanna fight you either?"
"That's right."
Jake thought for another minute, then mumbled, "Zemo still tellin' him what to do?"
Steve patted Jake comfortingly on the chest. "No. Bucky is safe now, and Zemo can't hurt anyone anymore. You have nothing to worry about, okay?"
"'Kay." Jake yawned widely, his eyelids drooping downwards.
"I think it's time to get some sleep, buddy." Steve gave him one last pat, then stood up and reached to turn off the light.
But he stopped short when he tried to take a step away from the bed, something tugging on the hem of his shirt. He looked down in surprise. A small hand reluctantly let go of its fistful of fabric. Jake awkwardly tried to roll onto his left side to avoid Steve's gaze.
"Should I leave the light on?" Steve asked, remembering that Jake had woken from a nightmare not too long ago.
Jake said nothing, holding very still. He didn't look anywhere near as relaxed as he had a moment ago.
Steve hesitated. Dared he ask? He didn't want to get his hopes up, but... "Maybe...I could stay...until you fall asleep. Would you like that?"
Every second that passed in silence felt like an eternity. Steve found himself holding his breath, waiting with pounding heart...
Jake nodded once.
Steve beamed, even though Jake couldn't see him. His heart felt light as a feather as he perched on the edge of the bed again. He reached out and gently rubbed Jake's back, watching carefully to make sure Jake was comfortable with that. Jake just lay still, his stiff shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
Even now, a lifetime later, Steve could remember countless nights when his mother used to soothe him just like this. When he was sick and couldn't sleep, or when he woke up from a nightmare, she would rub and pat his back just like this...and she would sing. What was that lullaby she was particularly fond of?
"Tell me why the stars do shine..."
As Steve began to sing softly, Jake turned his head slightly, looking confused.
"Tell me why the ivy twines..."
Slowly, as Steve continued to sing, Jake rolled over onto his back so he could look up at Steve.
"Tell me why the sky's so blue..."
Steve moved his hand to Jake's chest instead, patting him gently in time to the song.
"Then I will tell you just why I love you..."
Gradually, Jake's eyes slid closed and his breathing evened out. Steve stayed where he was, softly singing even long after he was sure his son was fast asleep.
Sharon ventured out into the hallway. Everything was quiet, though she thought she heard water running through pipes somewhere. She headed towards the kitchen, which was bathed in early morning sunlight. Maybe she could get breakfast started...but how many eggs did it take to satisfy four normal appetites, plus Steve and Jake? Well, maybe she could just get something started, and then the pan would be hot, so they could add more as people showed up.
Remembering that they'd grabbed a few packages of sausage links, Sharon decided to start with those. Then she could cook some eggs in the grease. As she dumped a few sausages into the biggest frying pan she could find, her mind flitted away to her conversation with Steve, as it had ever since last night. She couldn't suppress a giddy little grin as she idly rolled the sausages around with the spatula. The way he'd looked at her, with such gratitude and admiration...and their kiss...and just a few days ago, he'd actually said it. I love you, Sharon.
Her smile faded a little as her hands slowed to a stop. I haven't said it yet, she realized. I've never told him I love him.
Why was that? She'd had plenty of opportunities in the past 24 hours. She could have said it when he did. And really, hadn't she known she loved him ever since their first kiss? Why hadn't she said it then, or when they'd said goodbye that night? Or any of the dozens of phone calls since then?
In the back of her mind, she knew exactly why she'd been so reticent. She just didn't want to admit it. She used to tell Kyle that she loved him all the time. And yet, she could hardly remember him returning the sentiment unprompted. When things had started going downhill, she would ask him from time to time, trying to convince herself that the magic was still there. But when she looked back on it, she realized that Kyle would always either laugh it off and say, Of course I love you, what are you talking about? or he would get offended that she even needed to ask, and would impatiently snap something like, Okay, fine, I love you! Are you happy now?
Not like Steve, who—
Warm, strong arms wrapped around her from behind, a beard tickling the side of her neck. "Good morning, darling."
Every last uncomfortable memory evaporated like dew in the sunlight. Beaming, Sharon set down the spatula and turned around to face him without breaking the embrace. She curled her arms around his neck, gazing deep into his sky-blue eyes. "Oh, is our relationship at the pet-name stage now?"
Steve shrugged with a grin, his whole face practically glowing with affection. "Just trying it on for size. What do you think? You like it?"
She smiled back, warm all the way down to her toes. "Yes, dear."
They'd barely even begun to kiss when a loud, false cough interrupted them from behind. Sharon turned to see Sam walking into the room. "Y'know, as cute as you two are, you might wanna put it on hold before you burn the whole place down."
Sharon followed his pointing finger to the sausages steadily turning black in the frying pan, and abruptly realized she could smell smoke. "Oh no!"
In the end, they managed to salvage just two of the sausages, but most of Sharon's attempt at breakfast ended up in the trash. Still, Sharon discovered she didn't mind too much. It was worth it in the end.
Sam shooed both of them away from the stove, taking over the cooking. When Leyla emerged from her room, yawning, Sam recruited her help in making toast, claiming he trusted her more than the 'smooching pyromaniacs.' Before too long, Natasha appeared as well, followed by Jake lurking uncertainly in the doorway.
Conversation around the table was light-hearted again, as it had been the night before, but Sharon thought there was a little more genuine cheer this time. At least she could tell that Steve wasn't quite as preoccupied anymore. Hopefully, their conversation had helped at least a little bit.
"You having some trouble, buddy?" Steve asked quietly.
Sharon looked across the table and saw that Jake had finished his bacon and toast, but he was struggling to get the last bits of scrambled egg onto his spoon. His cast went almost all the way up to his shoulder, so he couldn't use his left hand to help very much. He just kept chasing little bits of egg around the rim of his plate.
"Here," Steve offered, holding out his hand.
Jake stiffened, his hand clenching around the spoon as if it were a knife. Sharon remembered Steve talking about how defensive Jake usually got around food. Would he actually let anyone help?
"It's okay," Steve murmured. "Just give me the spoon."
For a moment, Jake looked like he was going to resist. Then his shoulders slumped and he reluctantly let Steve pull it from his fingers.
Sharon wondered what Jake thought would happen, but he looked surprised when all Steve did was scoop up the rest of his food and hold the spoon in front of his mouth. Slowly, watching Steve with wide eyes as though waiting for the other shoe to drop, Jake opened his mouth and let Steve feed him the rest of his breakfast.
No one else seemed to have paid much attention to this little interaction, but Sharon felt as though she'd just witnessed a momentous occasion. It was the most mundane, expected sight in the world: a father feeding his son. But all it took was one glimpse of the soft wonder in Steve's eyes, and Sharon knew this was the first time he'd ever been able to do such a simple thing.
After breakfast, the girls began talking about heading back home. Before they could leave, Steve pulled Sharon aside and murmured, "Can you...I want to show you something before you leave."
So they left Jake with the others and set out across the grounds of the Avengers HQ, hand-in-hand. After they'd been walking in silence for a while, Steve asked, "So...what sort of consequences are you facing for helping us out? Have I put you out of a job again?"
Sharon chuckled. "Not yet. But I think my boss is pretty sure I was involved somehow." She remembered the tired, exasperated look Everett had given her when the topic had come up—but then, he had connections with King T'Challa, who had vouched for Steve, so maybe that had something to do with why Everett hadn't actually accused her of anything. "It'll probably have a lot to do with what they end up doing with you. And whether they find any hard evidence on me and Leyla. We were pretty careful, though."
Steve gave her a little smile. "I'm not sure if I should say thank you or sorry."
"Hey." Sharon squeezed his hand. "You brought everyone home alive, and you stopped Zemo before he could hurt anyone else. No matter what happens, it'll be worth it."
They didn't say any more as they moved from the open lawn to the shelter of the trees. Sharon wondered where exactly he was taking her as they followed a faint track winding through the woods. But when they stepped out into a small clearing, she realized she should have known all along what he wanted her to see.
Five gravestones stood in this small, peaceful space. A few weeds and wildflowers were scattered across the ground that held three bodies and far too many stolen memories.
Sharon glanced up at Steve, whose expression was distant as he stared at the graves. The grief written on his face was like a red scar—healed, no longer a source of constant pain, but unable to be ignored. The ones who had been taken from him had forever marked him, and there would never be any going back.
Gently, Sharon slipped her hand from his and stepped closer to the gravestones, reading the inscriptions. She read them over and over, running the names through her mind again and again. There were so many of them. So many lives snuffed out, the vast majority of them before they'd reached their first birthday, many of them before they'd even drawn a single breath.
And yet...they had names. All of these little boys and girls—and the unknown women memorialized along with their unborn children—had been someone. The sheer potential of all these lives that could have been took Sharon's breath away.
So much death. So much pain. Those were two things that seemed to hound Steve's steps. No matter what Sharon had said to encourage Steve last night, it was still true that tragedy and violence seemed to surround him and his family on all sides.
The three individual graves in the middle, the ones that actually had bodies buried beneath them, made the lump in Sharon's throat grow the more she stared at them. She wondered if these were the ones that weighed most heavily on Steve's heart, lives he might have been able to save if he had been a little faster, or if circumstances had fallen out differently.
Eve, who had been killed probably just minutes before they found her.
Grant, who had died in Bucky's arms.
Mabel. Jake's mother.
I wish I could have known you, Sharon silently whispered as she slowly trailed her fingers along the letters etched into the stone. Maybe you wouldn't have known how to be a good mother for Jake, since you never knew your own mother, and you had no examples. Maybe you would have hated me. Maybe you would never have trusted me, or Steve, or Bucky, or anyone else. But maybe I could have helped you. Maybe we could have been friends.
She glanced over at Steve, who knelt at the memorial for his children, pulling a few weeds and clearing away some dead leaves. From the beginning, he'd been so open with her, sharing so many details of the darkness he'd been through. He'd never tried to keep anything a secret—not what had happened, not how he felt about it. He never seemed worried about how she would react to learning what had been done with his children, or the complicated mess of issues Bucky had to deal with, or the harm Jake could still cause to the people around him. Or if he did worry about how she'd react, it didn't prevent him from telling her anyway.
Why can't I do the same? Sharon gazed at the back of his head, her chest tight with all the words she'd never said. She knew exactly how he felt about the hardest things he'd ever had to live through...but could he say the same about her?
No—for the simple reason that she never talked about it. She'd spent the last handful of years doing her best to not talk about her feelings. It was too painful, and not really conducive to her work anyway. So she kept silent and didn't let anyone get too close.
But now, as she stood looking at the graves, she realized she wanted to change that. Maybe that was a strange thought. Maybe it was more natural to get cold feet when faced with such a stark reminder of the burden Steve carried. That she would need to carry too.
And yet...Steve had gone out of his way, from the beginning, to invite her into his world. It wasn't always a pleasant world, but it was real. He wasn't hiding, he wasn't pretending. And she ached to do the same. To somehow peel back the hardened layers of skin and show him who she really was underneath. Even if she was half-afraid he would turn away in disgust, she still wanted to try. For the first time in years, she actually wanted to try.
Steve had fallen still, just staring at the names of the children he'd never met. Sharon crossed over to him, sinking to her knees and putting a hand on his back. "Which one was it?" she murmured.
He seemed to know exactly what she was asking. "Gabriel."
Gabriel Rogers. The name was tucked in among the others in the list, nothing particularly remarkable about it. And yet, the story of his short life was perhaps the saddest and most horrifying of all. Maybe he was the one that would haunt Steve the most.
Sharon kissed her fingertips and brushed them across Gabriel's name. Tears stung her eyes as she realized...she loved him. She loved all of them. She'd never seen any of them, not even their bodies, not even cruel video footage of their deaths. She wasn't related to any of them by blood.
But...this was her family now. She claimed them. She chose this family of corpses and blood and the echoes of violence. Because this was Steve's family.
Sharon rested her cheek against Steve's shoulder. The words bubbled up inside her, begging to be spoken...but she couldn't open her mouth. She couldn't find the voice to speak the most important words of all.
Steve wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. He had no idea of the turmoil within her. Yet he seemed to draw comfort from her presence, even with how much she was holding back. I'll do better, Sharon promised him silently. From now on, I'll do better.
They remained where they were, wrapped in the stillness of the clearing, as the sun rose higher and the birds filled the air with song.
He will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.
- Zephaniah 3:17