These are the Hands of Fate - Steve Rogers x OC

Sixteen: Can't Not Think of All the Cost and All the Things That Will Be Lost

October 3, 2023

Tilting her head up to the ceiling, Maggie carefully stretched her arms over her head, the desk chair precariously bending backwards as she let out a soft groan at the welcome relief. She dreaded the days that she had to spend tucked behind a desk in her office; her legs were restless and the strain on her bloodshot eyes was becoming more and more irritating, the longer she spent staring at the too-bright screen of her computer. It was miserable.

Then again, maybe it was the price she paid to run her own division. Though she still love it, the Division for Displaced Children had slowly. become less and less urgent in the past three years; it was like the world was finally reaching equilibrium again. They made fewer placements; the emergent need was mostly long gone after all this time. Exiting out of her email and spreadsheets, eager to call it quits for the day, the clock in the corner of her screen caught her eye and a small crease appeared between her brows as she double checked the time on her phone.

Since moving, Maggie and Steve tended to carpool whenever they could; she'd be lying if she said she didn't love the domesticity of it all. Her making his coffee, him opening her door; it had all become a comfortable routine. That morning, he'd gone into his own office for a few hours before dropping by her's with lunch and a kiss as he left for the afternoon, needing to go into the city for his support group's meeting.

From the text he'd sent her after leaving the meeting, Steve should have already been back to get her. As she stood, gathering the mess of folders, and slipping them into the worn linen tote, she glanced at her desk calendar. A small star had been messily doodled into the date's corner; it was the first Tuesday of the month. The tattered remains of the Avengers would have held a conference call that evening.

The halls were mostly quiet, only a few stragglers like her left behind in their offices, as she found her way to the elevator. Entering the floor code, it was only a few moments before the metallic doors slid open and a wave of nostalgia washed over her. It still felt strange, not being able to just take a short elevator ride home and crawl into bed, but she had no regrets about moving out with Steve. She loved the life they'd built. The living room was silent, she made her way towards the office with each step of her heels muffled by the carpet.

With a soft knock to the dark wooden door frame, Maggie took a careful step in, her voice quiet, "Hey, is Steve—" Natasha sat alone at the desk, her face pressed into her hands until the familiar voice caught her attention. Her jade-stained eyes were rimmed in red as she looked up at her third unexpected visitor of the evening. A frown unconsciously found its way to Maggie's lips, "Are you okay?"

"Hey!" Natasha's raspy voice was filled with an artificial happiness that Maggie could see right through; she'd certainly used it enough times in her own life to recognize it when someone else used it. Sitting back in the heavy, leather desk chair, the red head gave her an inquisitive look, "What are you doing here?"

"Steve was supposed to pick me up, but he never came down to my office, so I just figured he was up here with you." Maggie brushed off the question, more concerned with whatever was upsetting her friend. Her brows drew together as she took a few more steps into the room; a quick glance around it had disproved her theory and he was nowhere to be found. There was a weird stagnant, silence that filled the air and brought about an unwelcome sense of discomfort. "Nat, what's going on?"

The expression that flashed in Natasha's sad eyes was unfamiliar, the slightest bit of regret laced with some amount of pity, as she began carefully, "Maggie..."

"Hey, sweetheart." Steve's deep voice interrupted their old roommate as he strode into the room, beelining for his girlfriend. Handsome as always, dressed in some cozy, charcoal gray sweater that she'd bought him for Christmas the year before, he looked more tired than she'd seen him in quite some time. His hand rested on the small of her back as he pressed a kiss to her temple. Trying to keep his tone nonchalant, he looked back to Natasha, "Nat, could you give us a minute?"