Marvel Imagines ;)

steve - fugitives (part 2)

Sam hadn't stopped humming the same damned tune for hours. You and Steve—even with his seemingly endless patience—were both losing your minds.

"Are you sure I can't punch him in the face?" You asked when Sam walked from the kitchen to the bedroom, that horrible melody trailing his every step.

"I'm sure," said Steve. He stretched his long legs out in front of him.

"What if I just... " You made an arcing motion with your hands. "Break his nose a little?"

Steve laughed, but you could tell it was only for your benefit. You both had prudently ignored your rather horrible exchange from a few days ago, and you couldn't thank Steve enough for it. It was a truly terrible idea, romance within the team. It would poison the perfect routine you had going. At least, that was what you kept telling yourself when the urge to grab Steve and press your lips to his became too much to bear. And when he smiled at you like that, like he was right now with his head tilted to the side, a lock of hair brushing against his forehead that you so desperately wanted to tuck away...

"Alright, I need to get out of here." You stood from where you were lounging on the hotel bed, failing miserably at reading a book Steve had gotten you for your birthday. It was interesting, but Sam's humming trampled over any enjoyment you would have gotten out of it. A run, you decided. A run would clear your head enough to stop picturing various ways to rip out Sam's vocal chords. "I'm going out," you said to Steve, picking up your running shoes.

"Hang on," Steve called just as you were opening the door. "I'll go with you."

You stifled a groan. If Steve wanted to go running with you, that could only be a bad sign. It was well known within the team that if Steve wanted to talk to you alone—about something particularly embarrassing—he did it during a run.

You waved him off. "I can handle myself, Rogers."

"It's no problem, I could use the exercise."

"I really would rather I just—"

"Y/N," he said firmly. You sucked in a breath, and held it. Steve gave you The Look. A line grew between his brows and he frowned. It was the I'm-Steve-Rogers-And-I'm-Disappointed-In-You Look. "We need to talk."

"Yeah... right," you said, your chest tight. "Okay."

It was just a run, you told yourself. It didn't mean he wanted to talk to you about the other day.

It didn't mean anything.

. . .

You were both panting and out of breath by the thirteenth mile. Only sheer stubbornness kept you from falling behind, even when the stitch in your side felt like a knife between your ribs.

"You're out of shape, Captain," you said through haggard breaths, though you both knew it was a blatant lie. Steve looked like he could still go for a couple extra miles. He had probably slower to a stop for your benefit. The thought made you want to punch him in his perfect teeth.

Steve confirmed your suspicions when he laughed, and said, "I only slowed because you looked a mile away from coughing up blood, Y/L/N."

"Sure you did."

Steve was right, though. There was an odd coppery taste in your mouth.

"I think we should head back," you said when things got too quiet. You turned on a heel, heading back in the direction of the hotel.

"Wait, I..." You only stopped because you felt like an ass leaving Steve standing there alone. "I wanted to talk to you..." He rubbed at the back of his neck absently, a nervous tick he never seemed to be able to break despite all his training in the army. "About the other day."