Trust Me (Steve Rogers Fanfiction)

Chapter 29

AMERICA'S POV

"Okay, one tablespoon of oregano," I mutter, sprinkling it into the tomato sauce with the caution of a chemist dealing with potentially explosive chemicals. I peer at the recipe of my phone. You'd think following step by step instructions would be easy. Apparently not. I turn the heat up and focus on the side dishes. Steve will be back soon, and I wanted to do something special for him. We've been together for three months now. It seems like longer, though.

The last week in DC has been absolutely amazing. Steve and I sometimes go on runs in the morning, but I've been catching up on sleep lately. Plus, he can't keep up with me, so it's kind of pointless to go out together. We do spar, though, to keep us on our toes. Personally, I'm hoping Fury leaves us alone for a while, but that's probably too much to hope.

I went on a walk one day to a farmers' market to pick up vegetables and check out artwork. The September sun was shining, and even though fall is beginning to creep closer, it was still warm enough to be outside without a coat. No cameras followed me. I smiled instead of cried. Hummed instead of hid. Maybe after so many years of leaving, America Evans has finally found her home.

I become so obsessed with chopping onions evenly that I don't notice a big problem on the stove until it's too late. Flames leap from my saucepan, and my eyes widen to the size of Steve's shield. And since I'm not usually working in the kitchen, I have no idea how to handle it. I do the only thing I can think of: yell.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Within seconds, the connecting door bangs open. Steve drops his bag instantly. He takes in the scene: flaming Italian tomato sauce, perfectly chopped onions, and his screaming girlfriend flailing around the kitchen like a madwoman. He quickly turns off the stove and pours water into the pan, which fills the room with smoke. I gather enough of my senses to open the windows before the smoke alarms go off. We both try to wave it out, coughing nonstop. Through the smoke, I catch Steve smirking at me.

"Here, let's let it air out in here." He leads me into his apartment and firmly shuts the door. I immediately start pacing in his living room, which is still relatively unadorned. There are a few books and picture frames, but that's about it. We need to go furniture shopping soon.

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaim. "I wanted to make you dinner to celebrate, but I messed everything up, like always."

"Come on. You don't always mess things up. We rotate." I raise my eyebrows. "I thought you were good at cooking. Your meals at the tower were always the best of everyone's, even better than Bruce's."

I sigh. "No, Bruce is definitely the best cook out of the Avengers. I... didn't cook for my nights. I was embarrassed and didn't want anyone to know I couldn't cook, so I always ran, grabbed takeout somewhere, and made it look like I made it. I'm so fast no one ever knew. When it comes to culinary skills, I'm worse than Tony. Please don't laugh!" I beg, but of course he doesn't listen. It takes a minute, but he laughs, and he laughs hard. Clutching his stomach bending over hard. "It's not that funny!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it's not!"

"You made Tony do the dishes every week for your meals you didn't even cook!" Steve chuckles, cupping my face in his hands. "America, doll, you can't be good at everything. It's okay." I roll my eyes.

"Easy for you to say. You're perfect!"

"I'm not perfect, Mer. Not by a long shot." He leans on the dinner table casually. Just the fact that he says that irritates me even more. How does he not see how good he is?

"You are!" I insist. I throw my hands up in the air in obvious frustration, shaking his hands off of me. "You're strong and gorgeous and kind. You always look out for everyone. The entire team looks up to you. And I'm this mess who doesn't even know her real name and who's first instinct is to leave everyone and save herself. Steve, someone like me doesn't deserve someone like you!"

He looks crestfallen. "Is that really what you think?"

I shrug. I've always been insecure. It's in my nature. Living in the constant regret of my past gives me a lot of reason to hate myself. And it's hard being an antihero while dating a hero. The tabloids have made it very easy to play the comparison game lately.

"I want you to listen to me." He grips my shoulders and waits until I'm looking straight into his clear blue eyes. "You aren't perfect, Mer. Neither am I. I promise neither of us will ever be perfect. But you know what? I love you for it. I love the way you can't cook to save your life. I love that you almost set our new apartments on fire. I love the way you belt Broadway no matter if it sounds good or not. I Iove how you step on my feet when we dance. I love when you pull your hair up into a messy bun or don't bother applying makeup. You are a good person. Don't ever think less of yourself because of what those people made you do. You're not selfish or cruel. Just because not everyone gets to see that side of you doesn't mean it isn't there."

I'm speechless when he finishes. I'm still trying to process everything he just said to me, but three words in particular stand out in my mind. "You love me?" I ask quietly, looking up into his eyes.

There's a quiet moment. A faint blush creeps up his neck, but he nods slowly, standing by his previous statement. "I've loved you even longer than you can remember."

Steve Rogers loves me. He takes my silence for reluctance and rushes on. "You don't have to say it back. That's just how I feel."

"I love you too." Smiles form on both of our faces as we realize what we've just said. Those three words have somehow managed to change everything.

"I have something for you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box. Inside is a silver necklace with a light blue teardrop gem. The same color of his eyes. "May I?" I nod, and he lifts my hair up, fastening it gently around my neck. It's very light, almost like I'm not wearing anything. But now I'm wearing a piece of him, in a way.

"Thank you. It's gorgeous."

"You're welcome. Happy anniversary." He leans in and I tilt my head sideways. Our lips connect in a slow, lingering kiss that gains a bit more passion as we continue. He runs his thumb down the side of my cheek, sending goosebumps all over, and I involuntarily close my eyes as he draws me closer to him. "You're beautiful," he whispers over and over between kisses. I run my fingers through his usually perfect blond hair, thoroughly enjoying the fact that I'm messing it up.

"Why do you keep saying that?" I mumble back.

"I'm going to keep telling you until you believe it."

"You might have to say it again."

"You're beautiful."

"Steve, you're such a hopeless romantic," I tease. I feel his smile against my lips.

"I think you'll have to deal with that. Take me as I am, doll."

I smile, too. "Okay."

Hi! What did you all think of this one?