These are the Hands of Fate - Steve Rogers x OC

Twenty: I'll Watch Your Life in Pictures Like I Used to Watch You Sleep

May 11, 2018

Opening the door to her bedroom, distracted by ensuring that everything was where it needed to be in her little work tote, Maggie ran smack into what felt like a brick wall and she let out a quiet 'oof.' Quickly, she felt herself beginning to ricochet backwards and tried to brace herself before she hit the ground. Hands reached out, wrapping around her upper arms to keep her from falling—a wall with hands?

"Shit!" Surprised, the curse spilled from her lips without a thought.

Looking up, she met a concerned pair of opal eyes and felt her face grow hot with embarrassment—she hadn't even had a whole conversation with the man and had all but mowed him down while trying to leave her room. With the way her morning was squaring up, it was just her luck.

She knew there wasn't much of a reason to be intimidated; Steve Rogers had been nothing but courteous since she'd moved in, always checking in with her when their paths crossed or asking if she needed any help with anything, but Maggie still found herself incredibly nervous every time she saw him.

"Captain Rogers, I am so sorry—"

"I told you, you can call me Steve." He smiled down at her. After a moment, after he'd ensured she wasn't totally off balance from their encounter and that she wouldn't fall, he let her go. His fists clenched loosely as he crossed his arms, stifling the urge he had to reach out and touch her again, to brush the rogue curls that framed her face or fix her little shirt collar that was slightly twisted from how quickly she'd dressed.

"And it's okay. Everything alright?"

His brow was furrowed as he observed her, and Maggie's already impossibly pink face faded into a deeper red at his genuine concern. She knew that she was quite a sight. Her alarm had gone off late and she'd fallen behind while trying to get ready—she thought it was impossible to be late when her office was only a few floors from her bedroom, but the constant chaos of the past month proved her wrong.

Nodding, she adjusted the strap of her heavy bag, switching shoulders as the laptop within it weighed her down, "Yeah, just running a little late this morning."

"It's Saturday." He rarely saw her around the shared apartment; for someone who wasn't a trained agent, Maggie certainly seemed to be adept at being a ghost. Usually, she woke around the same time that he did, seeing one another in passing as he went to the gym and she to her office, but she never returned before it was dark. Of course, he didn't know her well, but it seemed like she was running on fumes.

Steve frowned, checking the watch on his wrist, "And it's barely seven."

Her mouth opened then closed; would the embarrassment never end? It wasn't as if she could just tell him that she had no life outside of work so, as a result, she threw herself into it. She couldn't tell him that, if she could just focus on anything else, then she didn't have to think about Kate or Tony or the billions of other people that had been lost. Work-life balance had never been her strongest suit.

Settling lamely, Maggie attempted a nonchalant shrug with a tight smile as they walked towards the giant, open concept living space, "There's always work to do, you know."

As he took in the dark purple circles beneath her eyes, that not even makeup could camouflage, his concern only grew for the woman that he hardly knew. Nodding towards the kitchen, he nudged gently, "At least have some coffee."

Pressing her lips together, she waffled; she was already running so late, "I shouldn't..."

Not accepting 'no' for an answer, Steve ignored her pushback and raised an eyebrow as he grabbed one of the cups from the cabinet, "You like it with ice, right?"