That I would be your Girl - A Marvel Story

Chapter 21. Scars

**A/N & TW** I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as I do. TW for blood and violence.

Evelyn POV

I didn't get out of bed for the rest of the day. Steve did, he had his duty, his entire personality wouldn't allow him to laze around in bed all day even if there was nothing else in the world that he would rather do. He had obligations regardless of how he resented them. While he was here, while he was Captain America, he would not skirt his duty. No matter how badly he wanted to lay with me, to learn my body like I wanted to learn his.

I was in a blissful state though there was still a part of me that I refused to acknowledge that felt like she was a betrayer. That she was the villain, that she was singlehandedly getting what she wanted by tearing them apart.

I lay between the sheets Steve's shirt pulled over my head and nothing else, the sunshine this morning has lasted only a few hours before the clouds rolled in again, rain falling harshly against the glass. The subdued daylight lit the room in a gloomy glow.

I looked around his room, attempting to learn everything I could, the aesthetic he kept the room was homey and old-fashioned. Unlike James' room, which was a mirror of my own, the standard issue Stark tech furniture, a room barely lived in, Steve had managed to personalize his space.

The bed was vintage in appearance, he'd most likely purchased it online, I was impressed. It was an old-fashioned style metal frame, something that you would have found in every apartment in every part of the city when I was a child.

When he was a child. The bedsheets were the colour of sand, a stark white duvet lay crumpled at my feet. I let my eyes scan the room, simple furniture, all vintage, and it warmed my heart, a man pushed into the future still hanging on to the past. This was another difference between the two men I knew. The Steve from my world was happily flung into the future quick to forget the world that had turned on him.

But I saw homey fabrics here, there was a hand crocheted Afghan the pattern, I recall was hard to learn but simple once you did.

Candlewick.

That was the name of the pattern, I remember sitting with Steve when his mother was ill. He ran his fingers habitually over the blanket on her bed. My heart clenched. Here in this world, he most likely did that alone. I stood from the bed and lifted the Afghan bringing it to my nose another habit of mine.

It smelled like him.

I wrapped it around me as I moved around the room, my fingers brushing the tops of his wood dressers, well used, and well-aged.

Like him.

There I spotted photos, some old photos of him and the Howling commandos my heart pinching a little. A photo of him and James before all hell broke loose their arms thrown around each other warm smiles on their faces, exuding happiness in a terrible time. There were photos of him and others too. Tony, Iron Man, the same man I saw from the footage Pepper had shown me at the cabin.

Another picture of him and a woman.

Nat.

My hand went to my mouth, silencing the anguished sound that wanted to be released. I hadn't the chance to mourn her, she had been my friend, maybe my only friend in the end, even if it had been strained between us at first. We had known of each other because of my relationship with Hydra and hers with the Red Room. We had not met under amicable circumstances, yet still after the first attacks on New York we had bonded indefinitely because of our shared trauma. She understood what it was like to be a woman under the thumb of evil men.

But now she was gone...

Both in my world and this one.

I swallowed thickly unwilling to give anymore of these thoughts any more of my time unwilling to let my heart ache more than it normally did. Unwilling to linger on the happy memories I had of her, because they now only existed in my mind. There would be no photos of the pair of us, there would be no text messages to read, there was nothing.