I Thought You Were Different

Dating

The entire flight home was silent.  You were grateful that Tony didn't push you for any information, though you really could have used someone to sort out the flurry of thoughts going through your head. You had spanned the full gamut of emotions, from sadness that Steve couldn't come to you with the PTSD he was struggling with and your broken heart at what that must mean for him to acknowledge it, to the shamefulness towards yourself for your own words and actions directed at him.  Ultimately, you were so immensely proud of him that it paled everything else, and you only wished that you could tell him so. 

But this wasn't for you to bring up, it was for him to do.  And you would wait. 

"Hey, snap out of it, we're home."

"Hmm?" you mumbled absentmindedly, looking at Tony for a second before his words registered in your mind.  "Oh, yeah, right."

"Mind telling me where you went there?" Tony asked quietly, still in the pilot seat and watching you gather your things.  "Because you sure as hell weren't here."

You gave him a polite smile, then moved next to him for a hug, "thank you so much, Tony.  I know that you want Steve and I to work things out," you paused when he opened his mouth, raising your hand to stop him, "shhh. I can't promise you that we will, and I can't say that we won't.  But please, let us do this, okay?  No matter which way it goes."

"Okay," he sighed, "but I'm not about to stand by and watch you get hurt.  Those days are over."

"Deal," you nodded and grabbed one of your bags with your cane in your other hand, carefully making your way back to your room.  A movement in the infirmary caught your peripheral vision, and when you turned to look, your bag dropped to the floor to hurry inside. 

"Rogers, what happened?"

Steve sat up straighter in the bed at the sight of you, now visibly uncomfortable in your presence. He fidgeted with the blanket and looked around as if he were hoping that someone would come along to rescue him. "Um...hey, (Y/N)...yeah, I...Thor hit me a few times...in training.  I have a little bit of a concussion."

"And no one thought to tell me..." you faded, realizing that of course no one told you.  Why would they?  You no longer had any responsibility to each other.  "Okay, so, how are you?  When did that happen?"

"I've been a prisoner here for three days, being force-fed all colors of jello by Romanoff because she's mean."  He chuckled quietly and uncomfortably, looking in your eyes a little longer than was comfortable for either of you; he was mesmerized by your smile at the sound of his laughter.  "So, where were you off to?  Business trip?"

"Yeah, I took a quick flight over to England to visit your ex-girlfriend."

"Pfft, I get it, okay? That's what Nat said too," he scoffed, shaking his head.  "If you don't want to tell me where you went, just say so."

Wow, he must have really hit his head pretty hard, you thought with a small smile that didn't escape him.  You found yourself again holding each others' gaze a little longer, saying a million things in the silence between you.  For just a moment, he was your Steve again, and you were his. Nothing was insurmountable if you were together, as it had always been.  "Right," you gasped, pulling yourself back into the moment, "I have to go unpack, but if you need anything, you can call me, okay?"  You reached up and gave his hand a small squeeze before you turned away, but you were halted when he held it tightly to stop you.

"Dinner."

You turned and looked at him with surprise, not quite sure that you had heard what you thought you heard. "I'm sorry?"