The ticking of the clock was giving her a headache. Never had a single noise caused so much strain in her brain, she could feel each chime shake throughout her body. Her left eyelid hitting together as it twitches in desperation. Never had she been more annoyed. When considering her brother was the notoriously sarcastic Tony Stark, that was a bold statement.
She was tired of waiting. The soles of her socks feeling thread bare as she paced the wooden floor. Tingling pain vibrating up her fingers where she had nibbled on her nails for the past few days, getting further and further down and now it was more skin that nail she was chewing on. She looked like shit; she knew that she knew before Tony consistently reminded her. The lack of sleep shown clearly by the purple blobs under her eyes, her cheeks not having their happy glow and her hair looking lacklustre. She was tired of waiting.
Tony kept telling her to sleep, to rest and she knew he was just worried, but she couldn’t rest not while she was worried. The room is silent as she continues her pacing across the floor. Clint is sat by the breakfast table, munching on some cheerio’s, pretending he doesn’t feel the tension too. Pepper has been handing you mug after mug of tea, anything to stop your nerves from sparking up and down your body. The tea doesn’t work. Sam enters the kitchen, sweat dripping from this forehead and he strips off his tank top. He rubs the tank across his face and holds it there for a moment longer than usual, tension knotted between his shoulder blades. He’s worried too, he’s been running more than usual, trying to burn off all the helpless energy they all have.
They’re all on edge, the worry and guilt which has been slowly building up since the first missed phone call a week ago. They’re a week late and each remaining member of the team has felt their heart pounding, hands clenching and gripping, ready to hold onto things that aren’t there.
They’re a week late. No contact, no surveillance, no anything. They should have contacted them a week ago, they should be home by now. She had come to stay at the tower just to be around the rest of the team, so they could be together as the only people who understand. They only sent half of the team, a simple recon mission. They get in, they get the information and then they get out. A simple and easy mission for such a professional and talented team.
They were a week late. She could feel the fear crawling its way up her throat, the pressure forcing its way through her skull to surface at her eyes. Why were they so late? Tony keeps trying to locate them, find any ping anywhere. No luck.
God, she misses him, she’s worried for him. She just wants him home.
The seconds tick by.
The days fold into one.
They try to work through each day.
She’s curled onto the couch when she can hear a ping of the door downstairs. Her knees are still tucked into her hoodie when she vaguely registers Jarvis speaking to her.
Miss Stark, you may want to check the doorway.
She lifts her head, and it takes a moment for her eyes to focus on the three disgusting individuals stood in the doorway. God, they look like shit, her eyes rake over Natasha. Checking if the dirt matted in her red locks is blood, checking for any visible wounds on her slender body, checking if the rips in her suit are something to be worried about. Carrying on she looks at Bucky, checking to see if his arm is attached, gazing into his eyes, making sure that no demons from his past are knocking on his head. Her eyes carry on their journey and land on the final member of their group, helmet already making its home on the floor.
She doesn’t know if she believes its him. But after being over a week late, he’s stood there.
Steve.
‘Who’s injured?’ is the first thing that has croaked out of her throat for days. The first words she’s managed to whisper into the room. She barely notices Clint and Tony enter the room as she still roams her eyes all over Steve.
‘Clint, you take Natasha and clean any wounds she may have. Tony take Bucky and make sure his arm is functioning’ She barks out orders, gripping into the familiarity of the situation, taking control so she can organise her thoughts into a semblance of order.
The others find an area of the room to brief each other and fix wounds, not wanting to leave this space, not wanting anyone of their family out of sight when they just got everyone back. She takes slow, anxious steps towards Steve, unsure and nervous. Feeling the linger doubt playing with her mind, what if he isn’t here. Steve sits in the tall stool next to the breakfast counter.
They didn’t rush into a passionate kiss, they didn’t fall into each other’s embrace. They just looked at each other, a ghost of fingertips against his cheekbone. They didn’t move. But everyone could see, they weren’t hiding it. The adoration, the respect, the pure unfiltered love that passed like electric between them. This is why she’d been unlike herself this week, why she had seemed quieter and reserved. She had been missing him, worrying about him. Now that he was back within her sight, her shoulders dropped, the tension draining away. Her eyes warm with relief. He was safe and she was home.
‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do Steve Rogers’ her head thunks down gently to press against Steves. His dirt riddled hands coming up to frame her face. His baby blue eyes swimming with love and relief to be home as he urges her closer to him.
‘I know. But I’m here doll, I’m home’ Is the last thing he whispers before firmly pressing his lips to hers. Nothing frantic, not trying to take it any further than just this. A firm press of lips, hers against his as their eyes flicker closed, and she slides her fingers through his. Gripping his fingers and pressed against him.
He’s home.
Steve’s home.