Who Are The Rogers? (Steve Rogers x Reader)

MEET THE ROGERS

"Morning, sweetheart," you greeted, watching Steve as he entered the kitchen. Everything was beautifully laid out on a tray, complete with coffee, pancakes and a glass of orange juice. There was even a small flower from the garden arranged artistically in a vase.

"Good morning", he replied to you, eyes wandering somewhere else and voice still hoarse from sleeping longer than usual.

You stood by the aisle, pouring yourself, and now Steve, a cup of good coffee. Dressed in your medical scrub, you slid the cup to your husband and took a sip from your coffee. He mouthed a thank you while he brought the cup to his mouth. You eyed him up and down, in case he was armed.

Steve lowered the newspaper and instantly saw everything he had served before his eyes. As if by magic, he began to starve. "What is this, sweetheart?" he asked, dumbfounded.

You turned to look at him, and made a fool of yourself. "Oh, this? I slept terribly last night, but woke up this morning to you by my side and decided to make you some coffee and pancakes," you said foolishly but enough for him to trust you.

He grabbed his case and darted his eyes between the front door, wondering if staying was actually a good idea. Glancing at his watch, he pointed at the door. "Uhm...I'm sorry, darling, but I'll be late for work if I stay. I would love to. I swear, but–"

"Yeah, I understand. Work," you sighed, losing all hope of being able to love Steve the way you'd loved him when you'd accepted to be his loving wife.

He approached you and leaned forward, your lips almost brushing, millimeters apart. Nonetheless, you spinned around Steve, distracting him for a second so he missed his chance to kiss you goodbye as he usually did. Eventually, he sensed you were not in the mood, which somehow made his blood boil. "Right," he breathed before you, pursing his lips; "I should get going."

"Yeah," you said coldly.

"Bye," he muttered and escaped through the door. So much ran through his mind now that you had rejected his farewell peck that he nearly forgot the hidden shield in the tool shed.

Your previous home used to be called the Red Room. After your superiors took you in as a child, you learned how to endure both an education and indoctrination into the world of spy-craft. There, you also excelled in this strict training environment and soon became regarded as a master spy and one of the world's greatest assassins. Your ruthless effectiveness in your later years earned you the code name, Royal Swan.

However, knowing what they were going to do to you once the celebration started, you decided that escaping your homeland was the best option. So, after putting a tracker on the establishment's system, you ran away from Russia and fled to the US, where you knew you'd be safe.

You shook your head and snapped out of your thoughts, heaving a loud sigh. Lowering your gaze, you noticed you'd cut yourself while washing the dishes. You winced slightly and cursed under your breath while you grabbed a towel and used it as bandage.

"Great!" you cried rather sarcastically, one hand waving in the air. Just as you finished patching yourself up, your phone chimed. You looked over at the ID and your eyes widened as your lips tugged into a smile. "Yes. Great news, indeed," you said, your voice sounding rather serious now.

With your eyes snapping up to the stairs, you moved rapidly and smoothly, passing the door to your secret den. You closed the door and grabbed your laptop to start working on your long term target – Brock Rumlow.

Now dressed in his uniform, Steve opened the door of the common room of the new Avengers headquarters and walked in, sighing quietly. Sam followed him, giggling. He took off his jacket and dropped it on the sofa opposite the one where Steve was sitting.

"So, let me get things straight," Sam began as he rummaged the refrigerator and got two drinks out for themselves; "you tried to smooch her goodbye and failed and to top it off, she didn't even wave back at you?" he asked, handing Steve the drink before diving onto the opposite sofa.

There was an uncomfortable silence for Steve, the events of this morning still fresh in his mind. All of a sudden, Sam burst out laughing. He tried really hard to hold back his tears. He was the first one to say you were trouble, when you and Steve had first met.

Steve pressed his lips together for a moment, and then looked around the room. "I don't know, Sam. It's my wife we're talking about. I wouldn't hope too much," he said, downing his drink. "You're out of your mind. That woman has you wrapped around her finger and you are blinded," he assured, pointing at Steve with his finger.

The supersoldier groaned and leaned backwards, regretting telling his friend about what had happened that morning. "I knew it. I knew I should've turned to Natasha."

"Be careful what you wish for, Steve, it might come true," a female voice sang while she placed her hands on his shoulders. Steve, bewildered, looked over his shoulder to see Natasha's face while Sam wiggled his eyebrows with a smug smile plastered on his face.

"Come on, Nat, help me. Y/N and I are just in a bit of a jam, aren't we?" Steve asked her since they knew she had listened to all of their conversation. "Hey, I'm not a loser."

"He is a loser," Sam replied immediately, earning an eye roll from Natasha.

"I don't care whether you're a loser or not. The thing here is your marriage is a mess and you have to deal with it like a grown man," she responded and gave him an encouraging smile. "Meanwhile, Fury left us a task. Maybe that will clear your mind."

Natasha threw the classified file that Nick had given her on the coffee table so her teammates could read it. Steve picked it up and began to flick through the pages, looking for some kind of useful information. The target was Brock Rumlow and the STRIKE team, but this seemed ridiculously insane for him since the past events with S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten subverted by its enemies.

"Brock Rumlow, is he still alive?" Steve asked surprised while he kept reading the data.

Sam turned his gaze towards his friend and glared at him intensely. "Dude, that man better either be alive with no vocal chords or dead."

Pretending not to have heard such a thing leaving Sam's lips, Natasha went on explaining the plan. "Yeah, well, Fury wants just us there. Just the three of us. This will not be an Avengers mission unless he gives the order. So, please, don't spread the word," Natasha mentioned, getting all the attention she needed.

Steve nodded and after some hesitation Sam followed.

Closing the front door, Steve hastily slipped his wedding ring out of his pocket, onto his finger. The simple thought of you figuring out he was not wearing his wedding ring while working troubling him.

"Honey, I'm home," Steve bellowed with the will to fix your marriage. "Honey?" he asked, concern washing over him since you hadn't responded.

"Bathroom," you replied from the distance, relieving your husband at the same time.

Steve followed the traces of your voice that finally led to your shared bathroom, where he found you in a bathrobe with your initials monogramed. You were brushing your teeth at your own sink.

"You're late," you managed to break the silence with your toothbrush still in your mouth.

For the first time since you got married, Steve ran out words. He just didn't know what to say. "The meeting finished later than I expected," he lied. "You know how irritable clients can be. I'm sorry."

You took a step forward and narrowed your eyes, toothbrush in hand. "Okay," you said.

"Is it, really?" he inquired, inching towards you and looking into your eyes.

A huff let your lips as your eyes rolled. "I'm going to bed, it's been a rough a day at the hospital. By the way, where have you been? You smell of dirt. Please, do yourself a favour and shower," you mentioned, placing some towels by the shower and heading off.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered to himself, tired of this critical state of yours.

As Steve showered, you rolled into the bed, wearing loose pyjamas and your hair down. With the same death stare that you used to look at him, you took some minutes to review the files about Rumlow on your laptop.

The next day was going to be a long, long day for the both of you.