The Soldier and His Girl. (Steve Rogers Love Story)

Chapter Nineteen: Funeral

I cringed as the fluorescent lights pierced my eyes, forcing them open. The harsh brightness made me squint, and I instinctively raised a hand to shield myself. When I tried to lift my other hand, it wouldn't move. Confusion and a twinge of fear rippled through me, but when I turned my head against the pillow, I found myself looking at Steve, lying in the hospital bed beside mine.

A weak smile tugged at my lips as I noticed our hands joined together, his grip firm even in his unconscious state. The sight brought a fleeting warmth to my heart, a fragile comfort amidst the pain and uncertainty. But the moment was interrupted by a familiar voice that filled the quiet room.

"He really loves you," my father's voice was soft, but it carried a weight that made my chest tighten. I looked to my left and saw him sitting in his wheelchair, watching me with eyes that mirrored the exhaustion and worry I felt deep in my bones.

"He wouldn't let the nurses and doctors separate you two," he continued, a small, bittersweet smile playing on his lips. "And I think Steve knew we were at your work, so we have some pull here."

"Is he okay?" My voice came out shaky, barely a whisper, and my father nodded slowly.

"Yeah, even though he doesn't look it," he admitted with a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But you don't look much better either, sweetheart."

I turned back to Steve, my heart aching at the sight of him. He looked so peaceful, but I knew the toll this fight had taken on him. The bruises, the cuts—they were just surface wounds, but the real damage ran much deeper. As my gaze shifted, I noticed Sam asleep in the chair beside Steve's bed, his head resting against the wall, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

"How long has Sam been here?" I asked, my voice barely above a murmur.

"A couple of days," my father replied gently.

My brow furrowed in confusion. "How long have we been out of it?"

"Couple of days," he repeated, his voice tinged with a sadness that made my stomach twist.

The weight of everything we'd been through settled heavily on my chest. The battle, the secrets, the betrayals—it all came crashing down, overwhelming me. And then, the thought of Tony, and everything I'd learned about his parents, about my father's past, resurfaced, filling me with a sense of dread.

"Dad," I began, my voice trembling, "I know about everything—with Tony, his parents, you."

My father's eyes flickered with a pain that mirrored my own, and he nodded slowly, as if he'd been expecting this moment. "I figured," he said quietly. "The way you were acting...I could tell."

I glanced back at Steve, needing his strength even as he lay unconscious beside me. "What now?" I asked, my voice breaking.

For the first time since I woke up, my father looked at me directly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "Now we deal with it," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "I don't know how it's going to end, but we deal with it like a family." He reached for my other hand, squeezing it tightly, and I could feel the unspoken emotions, the unrelenting love and the fear of what was to come.

"And Tony? He's family too," I whispered, my voice barely holding steady.

"We tell him," my father said softly, his voice cracking with the weight of his own guilt. "And we give him space if he needs it. But, Emily," he paused, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, "at that moment with Howard and Maria—there was nothing I could have done. Even with our powers, there's only so much... I would give anything to have my friends back." His voice broke, the tears finally spilling over as he let out a choked sob.