It’s Alright ‘Cause Tonight
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
— “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou
To Steve’s frustration, the scandal of Captain America being a pregnant Omega did not die down. He couldn’t leave the tower without a hoard of paparazzi stalking his every move. To make matters worse, Dr. Cho officially declared his pregnancy high-risk. Steve’s nerves, the doctor explained, were too high. Of course, he was fucking stressed—he was fucking trapped in a tin box! Well, a ridiculously large tin tower, but still.
Steve just wanted his freedom back. But that was the thing. Omegas weren’t free. They never had been. Being Captain America, pretending to be an Alpha—hell, faking it for so long—had given Steve the illusion of freedom. It gave him the power to choose, the power to fight for what was right, the power to make a real difference. But now? Now, all of that was lost. He was right back where he started, just an Omega.
The truth stung.
He didn’t have Howard anymore to fight for him, to help him navigate this cruel world. Tony? Tony didn’t advocate for him. Not really. All Tony knew how to do was protect—lock him up in the Tower like he was some fragile thing to be shielded from the harsh world.
But ever since the serum, Steve didn’t need protection. Not in the way Tony thought. Sure, his body had been modified, made stronger, faster, and more durable. But it’d always been his mind—his will—that had given him a strength most Alphas couldn’t understand. Once he had the physical strength to match his will, Steve had known a freedom that transcended who he’d been born to be.
His chest burned with a rage that had been festering for years. He was so angry. Pissed off at the world, his ma used to say. If he were honest with himself, his anger had started simmering when he was just a boy. He and his ma hadn’t had much, and they’d had to fight for everything they ever got. Sarah Rogers had been strong—stronger than anyone ever gave her credit for. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. They were always scraping by, always trying to survive in a world that didn’t give a damn. He could remember all those nights she’d worked a double, sometimes triple shift at the hospital. As a pup, Steve would pile the couch cushions, blankets, and pillows in front of the door so he’d wake up when she got home. He was always afraid she wouldn’t come home.
Omegas disappeared all the time…
He remembered those late nights she’d stayed awake, worrying about his hospital bills and medications. She was always worried about food, about medicine, about just keeping them safe in such a dangerous part of the city. He could remember when she cried, only when she thought he was asleep. She’d carried the weight of the world with a smile so he wouldn’t know just how much she hurt.
And that’s where the anger came from.
The way people, the system, treated Omegas like they were less than nothing. Like they weren’t worthy of respect or care.
He’d watched his mother struggle because of her status, watched how hard she worked and still couldn’t make ends meet. He’d seen how society had turned its back on her, had blamed her for the very circumstances she’d fought to overcome. And now, here he was, still dealing with the same damn thing.
Steve had lived with this rage for so long that it was part of him. It had fueled him through wars, through the years of loneliness, through the moments of despair. But now? Now, it was eating at him. It was suffocating him. The anger he’d always had—his righteous fury, his need for justice—it had nowhere to go. He was trapped in a gilded cage, his hands tied by a system that had no use for someone like him.
Rage. It was the only thing that kept him going anymore. But even that felt like it was slipping away. Steve felt like a burned-out match. The flames that once burned so fiercely were now reduced to nothing more than smoke, drifting aimlessly, fading into the air. He thought about his mother—how she had always been the one who pushed through. She’d never let the weight of the world crush her spirit. But Steve wasn’t sure he could do that anymore… Steve couldn’t escape the overwhelming sense of being adrift. He needed a break from the isolation, even if just for a moment. So, he moved—his feet carrying him toward the elevator almost without thinking. The doors closed behind him, and he hit the button for the lower levels.
The elevator hummed quietly as Steve stepped in, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His thoughts were a blur—too much stress, too much pressure, too many people watching him. He just wanted a moment of peace. The doors closed behind him, and he hit the button for the lower levels.
But just as the elevator began its descent, it suddenly halted with a jarring jolt. Steve stumbled forward, bracing himself against the wall. His hand moved to the control panel, but before he could press anything, the doors slid open with a soft chime.
And there he was. The Alpha from the gym… It felt like a lifetime ago.
Steve’s breath caught in his throat. For a split second, he felt the world tilt, like everything had come to a halt.
The Alpha was different—this man had a hardened look in his eyes, his face more closed off than Steve had ever seen. And there was the obvious: Bucky’s left arm was gone, replaced by a sleek, high-tech prosthetic.
Bucky immediately recognized Steve as the Omega who’d made headlines—Captain America, the soldier who was now pregnant and stirring up the news. But Bucky didn’t acknowledge that. He didn’t bring attention to it or treat Steve like a symbol or spectacle. Instead, he saw the man who’d briefly crossed paths with him at the gym, the man who had been hurting so profoundly, the man who reminded him of his sister...
As he stepped inside the elevator, Bucky gave him a brief, knowing glance. He didn’t speak, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. Neither of them said anything at first, allowing the silence to stretch out between them. In that quiet space, Bucky didn’t see the news headline or the Captain—he just saw Steve. Finally, Bucky broke the tension with a hesitant, “You.”
Steve blinked, his heart skipping. He didn’t know how to react. Was Bucky referring to him as the Captain, or was it the gym interaction? His mind scrambled. “Me?”
Bucky’s expression softened slightly, the recognition settling slowly in his gaze. “Yeah... you’re the idiot who busted his hand on the punching bag, right?”
Steve’s breath hitched at the unexpected words. It was like Bucky hadn’t connected the dots yet. Steve swallowed, a dry lump forming in his throat. “Yeah, that’s me. Uh, Steve?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but his nerves were starting to get the better of him.
“Steve, huh?” The Alpha’s lips quirked up. “I’m Bucky.”
Who the hell’s named Bucky? Steve thought wryly.
Bucky’s fingers brushed against the edge of his prosthetic arm. “How’s the... how’s the training going for you?” He glanced down, noticing the faint curve of Steve’s stomach, but quickly averted his gaze.
Steve felt a tight knot form in his chest. “It’s not,” he admitted, trying to brush off the awkwardness, though it was hard to ignore the elephant in the room—the very visible sign of his pregnancy. “My uh, Alpha doesn’t want me leavin’ de tower?”
Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, clearly sensing Steve’s unease. He hesitated before speaking again. “I’m sorry. Guess things haven’t exactly been easy for either of us, huh?”
Steve nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. And then, like a dam bursting, Steve confided in a practical stranger, “I don’t know how to... how to be myself anymore. Everywhere I go, it’s like people just see dis.” He gestured to his belly, his face tightening with frustration. “I-I’m more than my body, than my type… But it’s like I’m trapped by all of it.” The words came out in a rush, and he lowered his gaze. His own body, his own designation, had become a cage, and he was terrified he’d never escape.
Bucky met his gaze now, and there was something in his eyes that Steve hadn’t expected empathy. Understanding.
“You’re allowed to feel trapped,” Bucky said quietly. “But the thing about a cage is it doesn’t change who you are. I’m not sayin’ our situations are anything alike, but what use is an Alpha who can’t protect?” Bucky lifted his prosthetic arm weakly. It was heavy and awkward—painful to move. “We’re both just tryin’ to survive in this fucked up world, right? Trying to figure out what’s left of us.”
Steve felt a swell of gratitude at the Alpha’s words, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. For the first time since he’d woken up, he didn’t feel completely alone. Someone had finally seen him—not Captain America, not the pregnant Omega plastered on every TV screen, but Steve Rogers.
The elevator jolted again, snapping both of them back to reality. The doors slid open, and Bucky stepped out, offering one last look at Steve before turning away.
“Take care of yourself, Steve,” Bucky said, his voice low but firm.
Steve watched him walk down the hall, his heart still pounding, but this time it was different. It wasn’t fear or loneliness. It was hope—a tiny spark igniting in the dark.
***
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