I Thought You Were Different: Part 3

Responsibility

The next morning, Steve wandered into the kitchen on the way to his workout with Sam, pulling the refrigerator open to grab a bottle of water with a lively whistle and a mood that nothing could ruin. Nothing until he closed the door and turned towards the table at the center of the room, seeing his three children eating their cereal with heavy pouts and looking absolutely destroyed. Tony sat next to them, looking up at Steve with sorrowful eyes for only a second before bringing his newspaper back up to hide himself away.

"What's going on here?"

"Hey, Cap," Tony greeted quietly, still not looking up again from the safety of his paper, "is (Y/N) on her way too?"

"Um...yeah? I think so..." Steve answered uncertainly, taking a few steps closer with caution and a little fear as to why none of his kids had yet to look at him or say a single word. They were usually a bundle of energy and conversations that were impossible to silence; this sharp shift in their behavior left him uneasy and needing immediate answers. "Tony, start talking."

"I'd rather wait for (Y/N)."

"FRIDAY, get her down here immediately, please," Steve commanded, still not sitting for the risk that he might relax and miss even the slightest clue as to what was going on; he wanted to stay focused, his eyes moving from child to child as he waited.

"Grandpa," Anthony whispered, his gaze still cast down, "can't we do this later?"

"No."

"But they're both really happy today," he persisted, "and we're going to ruin it."

"Then that's on you, young man," Tony scolded. "Finish your cereal."

"Yes, sir."

Steve's eyes widened until they couldn't have opened any farther, in complete shock at what he was witnessing. Something was beyond seriously wrong, and he could feel his heart slamming into his chest wall as his mind raced with every option he could come up with, each worse than the one before. "FRIDAY, can I get an ETA on my wife?" he asked urgently, a fear building in his tone.

"What the hell, Steve-" you hurried into the room, but stopped in the doorway abruptly, a towel haphazardly wrapped around your head and your pajamas hastily thrown back on in your rush to answer FRIDAY's demand that you move. "Hey guys, what's going on that I couldn't finish my shower?" you hissed through your fake smile, which faded as quickly as you had put it on once you felt the tone of the room and the weight in the four expressions that wouldn't look back up at you. "Dad?"

"FRIDAY."

You heard tiny groans of pain from each of your three as they sat as a captive audience to the replaying of their indiscretion, their voices carrying the same conversation that Tony had replayed for them the night before. Anthony squeezed his eyes shut at the waves of emotions that were hitting him from you and Steve all at once, having to shut you both out just to keep himself from getting angry too. "Dad, please calm down," he asked quietly, trying to hold his composure, "I can't block you."

"Steve, maybe step away for a minute," you offered, resting a gentle hand on the flexed muscles of his arm as his adrenaline began to surge. "Grab some air or go punch for a while until you're not pushing him so hard, okay? I'll just talk to them until you're ready."

"Yeah...sure...okay," he answered in quick breaths, ashamed of himself for having such a strong reaction, but this was the first time that his children had caused him so much anger and disappointment. He didn't know what to do with it, and it hurt like nothing he had experienced before. You watched him walk away and clear the room before you sat down in front of the kids and Tony, your wringing hands folded in front of you on the table.