#i dont know what this is but

You don’t know where you stand with Steve Rogers. All you know is that he’s too good to be true and that must be bad. Right? 

“You could do worse.”

You scoffed as you swung your arm in the hopes of landing a blow. “Do worse?”

“People are shitty. Steve isn’t like other people.” She ducked out of the way of your bound fist as you lashed out once more. Conversation did little to disrupt her focus on combat, though you were not surprised by that. 

“What? He’s,” another strike, another miss, “he’s Steve.”

“Exactly my point.” As she spoke, Natasha dodged another hook from your right arm. In one fluid motion, she lunged forward and knocked your left shoulder with her open palm. Natasha’s lips turned up in the slightest smile of victory, but the heaviness in her knowing eyes filled your loss. 

Panting slightly from exertion, you leaned back to catch your breath. Sweat dribbled down your forehead and you quietly thanked Tony for not installing a mirror wall in the training facility. You didn’t need to see your reflection to know you were red in the face and utterly disheveled. Wanda looked the same way only an hour ago and she had been too tired to stick around only to watch you fall into the same fate. You wished you had gone through the exercise first because, now, it was just you and Natasha; and the widow had sunk her fangs in.

“Normally, I’d advise against in-office romance but,” Natasha’s expression softened, “time’s short and the world could end tomorrow, right?”

In her voice you could feel the longing for Bruce. Only a month had passed since Sokovia and the team, scattered to the winds, was still trying to recover. A pang hit your chest at the thought, though it quickly passed as Nat tossed a water bottle in your direction. Instinct, conditioned by your new training regime, kicked into gear and you caught the bottle before it knocked against your shoulder.

“Nice. Reactions are getting better. Now, you just need to learn to land a hit.”

“You were distracting me,” you protested. Natasha shook her head and took a seat on the bench pressed against the cement wall. 

“There will always be distractions,” a grin spread along her lips, “Steve being one of them.” Your face burned at the sound of his name. How she said it like a song singing of a cliche you had long since grown tired of. To keep yourself from snapping, you hit the inside of your cheek and took a seat beside Nat. 

“He’s not a distraction.”

“Hmm, sure seemed like it. Unless you’re just that bad at hand-to-hand. I bet he’d help you practice.” You gave Nat a slidelong glare, but her grin only widened. A defeated sigh passed over your lips as you pressed your back against the wall. 

“He’d be more than happy to,” you admitted, “because he’s too good. He’s too…”

“Right? Too emotional available?” 

“Compared to you? The bar is low.”

 At your dig at her, Natasha knocked her elbow into your side. “Hey.” 

You ignored the half-playful warning in her tone and continued. “You’re the one that brought it up, but yeah. He’s too sound.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

Her question knocked the wind from your lungs. You took a sharp, quick breath and tried to find something to say. Was that a bad thing? For as long as you had known him, held affection for him, Steve Rogers had been steadfast. You had labeled it as a blind stubbornness, an American value that left you wary. But it wasn’t blind. Steve knew where the line was drawn, where his morals lied. What wasthe problem?

In the quiet that followed your search, Natasha turned her gaze on you. You met her eye but stayed speechless. In her parted lips and slightly widened eyes, you could see that she hadn’t meant to tear your resolve to shreds. Slowly, she reached a hand out to you and rested it on your shoulder in the lightest of touches. 

“Are you-”

The doors to the training center opened with a whoosh of air. Your and Nat’s attention shifted towards the figures walking in. Sam and Steve broke from their conversation as they strode other. Suddenly self-conscious, you stood up from the bench and wiped at your still wrapped up hands against your thighs. You cursed yourself silently for the awkward movement before you looked up. Steve’s blue eyes were already on you, though he quickly looked away.

“Hey boys,” Natasha greeted, standing up beside you.

“Romanoff,” Steve glanced back at you, “Y/N.” His lips turned up slightly as your name left his lips. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting into a flood of embarrassed tears. He was trying not to laugh at you and that set your skin aflame.

“You two done dancing?” Sam asked with a wry smile. His teasing, and Natasha’s shift into an early, combat-ready stance, was enough to pull Steve’s eyes away from you.

“Depends,” she snapped, “you wanna go a round, see the two-step?”

 Still, the damage was done. Not even the threat of Sam getting his ass handed to him by Nat could lift your spirits. 

“As long as you let me lead,” Sam countered with a grin plastered across his face.

“Not a chance.”

“Alright, alright,” Steve raised a hand and interjected. “That’s enough now, no one is dancing. We have a regime.”

“No fun, Cap.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we could find you a partner,” Nat chimed in, glancing in your direction. Another shock of white-hot humiliation scorched along your skin. 

Softly, you whispered, “I don’t dance.”

You meant to snap it, glare at your agile sparring partner and wholly ignore how Steve was watching you. You wanted to say something else, something that was witty, quick, and confident. But only that lonely, defeated, phrase fell from your lips before you fled the scene. As you moved towards the exit of the training center, face burning with embarrassment, you caught a glimpse of Steve’s face.

His brows were furrowed, heavy with a look of concern that made his eyes seem all the more deeper. In an attempt to keep yourself from drowning in them or let yourself get captured in this momentary passing, you forced your gaze down. Though, you were met with the sight of his lips, at first in a frown before they parted and almost mouthed what you thought was an apology. Before Steve could put his words to sound, you quickened your pace and darted out the door. 

You did not slow as you made your way to your room. In time with your footfalls, your heart beat rapidly in your chest. All you saw in your mind’s eye was Steve, his eyes. You saw the moment you first met, so long ago now, and, more recently, his hands as he pulled you from the rubble of Sokovia. You weren’t sure which time, the day you met or the day he saved your life, you realized you were in love with Steve Rogers; but you had long since resigned yourself to ignoring it. He was too stubborn, too set in his ways. Steve was too good.

But was that a bad thing?

You spent your night trying to figure it out. Quietly, you paced around your room and  cleaned small messes that barely constituted as messes all in the hope of feeling some sense of control. Control that you no longer felt you had over your feelings for Steve as Natasha’s question lingered in the back of your mind. Even when you exhausted all minor messes and yourself, you could not find rest.
You tossed and turned under the covers, unable to push thoughts of Steve from you mind. How he looked at you! He saw it all on your face, read the room as soon as he and Sam entered it. Your burning face was evidence enough, you knew that much. And how you had left the room in such a hurry! Your stomach twisted with regret.

If you had stayed you could have recovered. You could have blamed the heat around you on the exercise, commented on how Nat was training you hard or how your regime was nothing like the dancing Sam had joked it was. Maybe, if you had stayed, you would have heard Steve laugh, watched him spar. Maybe you could have entertained Natasha’s pestering, proved her wrong; or proved her right. 

The back and forth of your doubts made sleep impossible. Sweat beaded along your forehead, the backs of your thighs. With a huff, you kicked off the covers and savored the chill air that kissed your skin cool. Though, it was not enough to slow your thoughts. Defeated, tired, but too awake to rest, you threw our legs over the side of your bed. Your feet landed on the carpeted floor, tickled them before you started towards your bedroom door.

The Avengers Compound was never really quiet. Even as you crept down the hall, you heard the chirping, happy jingles of one of Wanda’s sit-coms. A dull light slipped through the crack of her bedroom door and, in the shadow that stretched along the hallway floor, you swore you saw two silhouettes sat before the television. Whoever was with Wanda, you were glad she wasn’t alone. Part of you considered knocking, joining in in the late-night traipse about old American TV; but then questions would be asked, the very questions you were trying to escape. 

So, you stayed on your path to the main room and left Wanda, and whoever she was with, to the din of an old-timey theme song. The music followed you as you made your way to the end of the hall. Before you caught sight of the kitchenette, you heard the canned laughter of a ‘live studio audience’. The shift in sound hid the sound of another sleep-wary wanderer rooting through the cabinet. When you saw the figure, you jumped in surprise.

“Hey, sorry, I-”

While the voice was familiar, you reached and flicked the light switch on. As it flickered and exposed the face of the shadowy figure, you found your heart only beat faster. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve said, with his hands, one which held a bowl and another a spoon, raised. Of course it was Steve. It had to be Steve. 

“N-No, you’re…it’s fine. I…”

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

You nodded at Steve’s question, but did not dare to step closer. Instead, you pressed your shoulder against the entrance of the hallway, stayed half in the light of the kitchen and the other in the shadow. Unable to hold his gaze, your eyes fell from Steve’s to your fingers as you fiddled them together. The brushing of your knuckles did nothing to distract from the thundering beat of your heart. You silently hoped Steve’s sense were not enhanced enough to hear it.

“A harder regime.”

“What?” You glanced up only to find Steve was watching you. A faint smile played on his lips but, you imagined, it was a trick of the light.

“A harder regime will tire you out. You should talk to Nat about it, or you could join Sam and I. If you don’t mind bad bird jokes.” 

A small laugh rumbled in your chest and up your throat before you could stop it. Quickly, you stifled it but Steve’s chuckle reached your ears, and the sound soothed over your worry. Your shoulders relaxed and you found yourself holding his gaze. Much to your surprise, you managed to find your voice. “So, you’re the one making them then?”

“You have to ask?” Steve shook his head. “I’m not known as the funny one ‘round here.”

“You have your moments.” How did he make thisfeel so easy? You barely had time to dwell on the thought, or your newfound confidence, before Steve’s smile blinded you. In that sweet look, Nat’s question rested heavy, with it’s full weight on your soul once more.

No, that smile was not a bad thing at all, but it made you feel too good, which made you feel bad.  

You were waiting for some catch, the hook for you to get caught on, but no such jab came. It was only Steve’s smile and the slightest tint of pink that rose to his cheeks when he finally let his eyes fall away. He had set his bowl and spoon on the counter but had not touched them since. Instead, he braced himself against the polished granite, his arms tense and muscles bulging from under his grey sleep shirt. You had never seen him look so soft before, or maybe you were only noticing now. Just as you let your eyes trail along his thick shoulders, a laugh track played softly in the distance and brought Steve’s eyes back towards the hallway.

He caught you staring and a brush fire of embarrassment blazed through your body. Immediately, you dropped your gaze to the floor and feigned interest in the tile.

“It’s cute when you do that,” Steve said, numbing you with pure, unadulterated shock. Wide-eyed, slightly confused, you looked up. He was still smiling. “When you get all shy.”

“I-I don’t…”

“Dance? I bet you could.” The teasing jilt in his voice had you melting. The tension, while lingering, alleviated and the air was easy to breathe again.

“Not the two-step,” you joked back, though, the confidence you felt only moments before was wavering. “And it’s not shyness. It’s a…a nervousness.”

“You’re nervous around me?” Steve straightened, no longer did he lean against the counter and his eyes, something had shifted. His brows furrowed and you were suddenly reminded of his face as you fled from the training room earlier that day.

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly. “I’m just wary, is all.”

Quietly, Steve padded over towards where you lingered in the hallway. As he found his spot before stood you, Wanda’s sit-com seemed to roll it’s end credits as gentle music played in the dark distance. Though, you were caught up in Steve’s newfound closeness and the beat of your own heart to pay much mind to the tune.

“Wary like you can’t trust me?” With his question, Steve extended his hand to you. It took all you had to keep your breathing steady. Slowly, you shook your head.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Think so?” His hand was still held out, waiting for something. For you, you realized as you eyes flickered from Steve’s open palm and back to his eyes. In the hallway shadows, the blue of his irises looked nearer to black than the bright skies you often found yourself comparing them to. “You don’t sound too certain.”

“I trust you, as my Captain.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Steve said softly, his voice suddenly lower, “am I right?”

The question felt more like a challenge. Though, perhaps, it was because you were tired of questions. Tired of being asked what was bad and what was good. All you felt in that moment was the want to feel how Steve’s hand felt against yours. So, you closed the gap.

You did not reply, only took Steve’s extended hand and waited for him to guide you to the next step. His smile renewed as he pressed forward, his other hand finding a spot slightly above your hip. With this new posture, a grin broke out along your lips.

“Dancing?”

“Do you trust me?” In his question, you heard an echoing of Natasha’s. Was this a bad thing? You felt you were ready to find out.

Timidly, you reached up and rested your free hand on his shoulder. You straightened you back and, summoning all your courage, you met Steve’s eyes. “Let’s see.”

He smiled at you reply before he wordlessly began to sway, guiding you slowly around the counter in the kitchenette. Soft, dulled by the distance, the theme music emanating from Wanda’s bedroom served as your and Steve’s soundtrack. You knew then that the dance would only last for so long and felt an ache form in your chest. It spread from your heart to your arms, where it weighed them down, and then to your legs, the sore muscles there that begged for rest. Even your eyelids grew heavy and, before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward to lay your head against Steve’s chest.

The doubts and questions that had swirled about your head for most of the day fell away. In the peace you found your answer.

“Yes.”

Yes, you trusted Steve and loving him would be the worse thing because of the fear of losing him. Yet, as you danced, you did not feel that fear. Only the steadiness of your answer and the steadiness of his heart beating in his chest.