A secret language
“How’re you doing?” Natasha questioned as she took a seat on the bench next to the treadmill where Steve was running. Her eyes, filled with genuine concern, were focused on him. “Is it better than when you left, at least?” Her question hung in the air as if she was carefully treading the thin line between concern and intrusion.
Steve responded with a simple, “A bit, yes.” As he pressed the stop button and the treadmill began to slow down, he wiped his face with his now-damp T-shirt. He walked off and headed to the punching bag. She followed his movements, inquiring about his emotions. Steve was often hard to read, contrary to the popular belief that he wore his heart on his sleeve.
Over time, he had become accustomed to his “hero” character, the one who stood smiling in front of the camera in the ‘40s, even though he felt like a stupid mannequin while people were getting murdered and nations were crumbling. He was told, and he had convinced himself, that the Great Nation needed a symbol. The people needed to believe in something real, tangible, something down on this earth. But for the belief to work, that something also had to be unreachable. The stoicism of the great man who wore stars and stripes had to be portrayed as divine, as something no ordinary man could ever hope to be. But underneath the facade, he was just a man, after all.
“How are things with Iris? Everything okay?” she insisted. Not because she wanted to be nosy, but because she knew he needed to talk, to let out everything he was holding in. The absence of Bucky was heavy enough; alone, he couldn’t bear it.
He stopped mid-punch and turned to face her. “Do you really want to know?” he asked, out of breath, with his eyebrows raised.
“I do, Steve. You need to talk, and now I am here to listen.” She patted the empty seat on the bench next to her, and he followed her command. His legs were spread as he regained his breath, his eyes reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and unresolved tension.
Natasha leaned in slightly, her expression softening. “You’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders. It’s okay to let it out, you know. No judgment, just talk to me.”
He looked at her, his gaze shifting from wary to slightly more open. “Shit was fucking deeper than I thought,” he sighed, looking down at the pavement.
“Captain, what’s with this language now?” she joked, trying to ease the tension she could feel in him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. He chuckled slightly, nodding his head. “So shit is really bad, huh?” she teased, emphasizing the word “shit.”
“Her and Bucky… They were… Oh man, I don’t even know what they were.” His voice grew louder as he took his head in his hands while his arms rested on his knees. She patiently waited for him to go on, her silence encouraging him to continue.
“They fucking lived together for a year and still pretended like they hated each other.” He let out a hopeless and almost sad laugh. “At first, when we were in Zagreb, I was so mad at her, and… and at Bucky,” he sighed. “I felt so stupid not to have seen this before. I felt like they just played this game on me, thinking I was too stupid to grasp it.” He stood up, pacing the room slowly, his steps heavy with the weight of his thoughts. “But then I realized that they really didn’t know. They didn’t know what to do with all that they were feeling.”
Natasha stood up, coming right in front of him, searching for his gaze. “What are you saying, Steve?”
“I’m saying they loved each other, and they were too stupid or too scared to admit it.”
Natasha’s expression softened even more as she watched him, seeing the raw vulnerability he rarely showed.
They stared at each other, waiting for… he didn’t know what. Reassurance? Pity? He didn’t know. But during that time in Zagreb, he knew another scar was forming in his heart. The first one was when she left, out of the blue, and that was her fault. But this one—was it her fault still? Was it Bucky’s? No, of course not. But now another tear was forming, the idea of his best friend bearing alone the thoughts of someone he had loved under the same roof but in his friend’s bed—that was another type of pain he never thought he would experience. He felt ashamed and dirty, but it wasn’t his fault. He knew that.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
“That’s not the point,” he shook his head, never leaving her scrutinizing eyes.
“That’s exactly the point,” she responded.
A loud noise of a door closing disrupted their staring contest. They both turned toward the rapidly closing door and heard someone running down the hall.
“Shit,” Steve murmured as he sprinted to the door, leaving Natasha in the middle of the gym, still surrounded by the heavy words said.
As he followed the trail left by the running thud, which was uncommon for her, Iris abruptly stopped. He was now standing behind her, still keeping a safe distance as he could sense her heavy breathing, completely out of character: she must be crying, he thought, and that idea punched him right in the gut.
“Iris, please,” he whispered, not daring to move.
She unexpectedly turned, facing him, her eyes watering as her cheeks grew a shade redder. “I don’t love him. I never did,” she stated, looking straight into his eyes, almost holding her breath.
He knew in Zagreb she had shown him the truth one single time, but she would lie and lie, and she would go on and lie a million little times. She would never say it. And he also knew he was sentencing himself; he just didn’t know to what.
“I love you,” she whispered, placing both hands on his face, drawing him closer.
He knew that was true. He knew they were beyond falling in love with each other. She was teaching him a secret language he couldn’t speak with anyone else, and he was building her a home she never thought she deserved. He knew she would break his heart either way, whether she chose him or not. If Bucky really loved her all along, he had lost him enough times. But that sentence was still pending, not yet declared. So he leaned in, and their lips collided. He tasted her like a starving deer on the side of the road. She was the only air he could breathe; he needed her like a dying man.
She felt his hand cupping her face. No space was left between them, and she didn’t want any.
He deepened the kiss, slowly becoming more urgent, more desperate. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he gripped her waist, like she was the only anchor to this life, lifting her slightly off the ground as their bodies pressed together.
“Steve,” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling with need “Ifucking need you”
His eyes darkened with desire as he looked at her “I need you too,” he murmured, his voice down a few notes. Without another word, he carried her to the his room, kicking the door shut behind them.
He gently placed her on the bed, his hands roaming over her body, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her clothes. She arched into his touch, her breath hitching as he trailed kisses down her neck exploring a body he couldn’t get enough of. His fingers found the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head, revealing the delicate lace of her bra. He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of her, his heart pounding in his chest.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the clasp of her bra. She smiled, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she helped him remove it, tossing it aside.
She reached for him, pulling his shirt off, her hands exploring the hard paths of his chest. He groaned at her touch, leaning down to capture her lips in another deep kiss. Their movements became more frantic, more urgent, as they shed the rest of their clothes.
Steve’s hands roamed over her body, mapping every curve, every dip, as if trying to memorize her, scared that in a blink she would be gone. Her nails digging into his back as he moved against her.
With a swift movement he put on a condom and a few seconds later he sunk into her. Her walls adjusting to his presence as he trusted with a steady and strong pace.
They moved together in perfect harmony, each touch, each caress bringing them closer to the edge.
“Iris,” he gasped, his voice raw with need. “I can’t…”
“Let go,” she whispered, her own voice trembling “I’m here. I’m right here.”
With a final thrust, they both tumbled over the edge air as they clung to each other, riding out the waves together. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the pain, just the two of them, together in their own little world.
As they lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, their breathing slowly returning to normal, Steve pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
He tightened his embrace, his hand gently caressing her back “No more secrets Iris, please. That’s the only thing I ask.”
She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I promise,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “No more secrets.”
He kissed her tenderly “We’ll get through this together,” he murmured against her lips. “Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together.”
She smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lit up her face. “Together,” she agreed, snuggling closer to him, feeling a sense of peace she hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe never. Was he becoming her home? Was she safe? Could this be her future?
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, their hearts beating in sync.
Eventually, they reluctantly pulled apart, knowing they couldn’t stay hidden away forever. Steve stood up, reaching for his discarded clothes. “We should probably get back,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice.
Iris nodded, following his lead.
Once they were both dressed, Steve took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “No matter what happens, remember that I’m here for you,”
Iris smiled, squeezing his hand in return. “I know,” she said, feeling a renewed sense of strength and hope. “Thank you, Steve.”