These are the Hands of Fate - Steve Rogers x OC

Four: Salute to Me, I'm Your American Queen

April 10, 2020

"I just don't understand why tabloids are still around." Steve grumbled from the kitchen. Stretching across the couch for the remote, Maggie paused the film, yet again, and sat up on her knees to lean over the back of the couch so she could watch him. An amused smile played on her lips; he'd been complaining about the encounter on and off since they'd arrived home over an hour earlier. "Don't they have anything better to do?"

"Everyone has to make a living somehow." She gave a half-hearted shrug, taking a sip of the white wine that had grown slightly warm since it had been poured. Wrinkling her nose at its sour taste, she sat it back on the end table before resting her chin on her crossed arms.

Maggie had always led quite a private life; she only had a handful of friends and her social media profiles were all but barren aside from the occasional birthday post. She'd never expected anyone to be interested in her, or her life at all, so seeing paparazzi out and about, sent to catch her, nonetheless, was the last thing that she'd expected that evening.

"Yeah, by invading people's privacy." Steve shook his head in annoyed disbelief, quietly replacing her glass of wine with one that he'd poured from the fridge.

With a grateful smile, she took a sip and gave a quiet hum of pleasure at its sharp sweetness. Maggie shifted to allow him to reclaim his spot on the couch, "It's fine, Steve."

As soon as the restaurant's door had opened on their way out, the quiet night air had been filled with the repeated shuttering of a camera lens. The photographer had only caught her look of surprise and the fury in Steve's eyes before he'd held up a hand to block the shot and murmured for her to keep her head down as he guided her to the car. He'd carefully closed her door behind her, before quickly moving to the driver's side and tearing out of the parking lot to make their hasty escape home.

It had been bizarre, of course. When she'd asked who the hell that had been, Steve had finally, begrudgingly, disclosed the constant war of attrition he'd had with photographers. Since being pulled from the ice, his day-to-day life had been the subject of focus for many of the gossip rags; his love life, however, was usually the star of the show. In his years in the public eye, the tabloids had grasped at straws to make the hero seem like some Casanova; he'd been linked to random women that he'd passed by on the street and others that he'd only ever met in passing. Tonight, however, was the first time he'd actually been caught red-handed.

They'd finally gotten what they wanted, and it had taken everything in him to not follow the photographer and smash the camera before giving him a firm lecture on people's right to privacy.

"You sure you're okay?" With his back resting against the arm of the couch, he opened his arms wide for her to move closer and Maggie happily obliged. Resting between his spread legs, her back pressed against his warm chest, and she melted into his embrace. Burying his face in her hair, his breath tickled the nape of her neck as he murmured, "I don't like how close he got to you."

Tilting her head back until it rested on his shoulder, she looked at him upside down with a fond smile, "I'm fine, I promise."

"I just wanted to pick up dinner."

"I know." Taking his hand, she pulled it to her lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it, placating him for the time being. Silently, she mused that he'd previously had the audacity to say that she had a one-track mind; it was like pulling teeth as she tried to make him let go of the incident.

Sinking deeper into his arms, she let out a soft sigh of contentment, "Focus on the movie. Turn that brilliant brain off for a little while."

Pressing his lips together in a flat line, Steve sighed before giving her a short nod of appeasement.