Safe

Y/N,

Meet me at the dock at 11, please.

Steve

That’s all the note had said. Written in flawless penmanship, you’d found it propped up against your pillow when you’d returned to your room a half hour ago, the evening around the campfire eating more s’mores then you could’ve ever imagined being able to eat having finally come to a close.

Now, as you glance at the clock, you find it’s a quarter of, and you are a bundle of nervous excitement as you try and decide whether to wear the blue dress or the red. It only felt fitting to wear one of his colors tonight.

You’d arrived at the lake house yesterday, and you’d be leaving the day after tomorrow. It was only the four of you: Steve, Nat, Sam, and you. The house belonged to Tony, who’d been generous enough to offer it up as a means for a weekend getaway for the team.

And, well, for you, the girl who’d somehow become a fixed feature in the group despite not being an Avenger yourself.

Some days you still couldn’t believe it, that not only were the Avengers your friends, but that they felt like your second family even.

And that, when it came to one Avenger in particular, your feelings for him had become far more than platonic.

Specifically, the one blonde-haired supersoldier responsible for introducing you to the Avengers in the first place. The one who’d walked into the record store you worked at one day and ended up walking straight into your life in the process.

In those first two weeks of knowing you, he’d come to that record shop nearly every day, buying more music in two weeks than you’d ever seen before. And yet, no matter how many records he bought, he kept coming back, asking for your recommendations or what you’d been listening to recently. And you found yourself answering him, rambling on about your new favorite song or artist, because for the first time in a long time, it felt like someone actually cared about what you had to say.

While it may have started off with records, you soon began talking to each other about any and everything. You opened yourself up in a way you hadn’t done since…since you’d learned the risks of what could happen when laid bare in front of someone.

He introduced you to the rest of the team soon after having met you, and they welcomed you with surprisingly open arms. You found a place with them much easier than you’d expected, finding an acceptance there that you came to cherish.

You were happy with what you’d found with Steve and the team, and that made you all the more worried that you were going to lose it.

You’d lost everything once already, and you weren’t sure if you could risk that again. You weren’t ready to lose the safety of what you had now.

So, you played it safe, and in doing so, you kept what you had with Steve strictly under the label of “just friends”, despite what you felt. And what you knew he felt too.

Steve had wanted more with you for a while; from the moment he first laid eyes on you, really (although he’d never told you that). He wanted a relationship, with all the strings attached.

But, you couldn’t give that to him. Not yet. Not so soon after your last relationship and the baggage it had given you.  

You’d told him that—about not being ready, not the reasons behind it—when he’d finally asked you about it one day. You’d expected him to turn away, to leave you like you’d been left before when you gave him the answer he didn’t want to hear.

But, rather, he’d been nothing but respectful and patient, and so kind about it all, that your heart ached over not being ready, because your feelings for him were raw and real in a way that you knew all too well.

But you weren’t ready for what all those feelings meant, so you waited. You both did.

You were still friends, and it was wonderful, each moment you spent with him. Peace and a calm you hadn’t known for a long while came in the months that passed, and it felt like you were finally healing.

And with healing came discontent, because you didn’t want to be just friends with Steve any longer.

You wanted more, you had for a while, only now you were ready for it.

So, when Steve had asked you to come up to the lake house with him, you hadn’t hesitated in saying yes. The secluded, little getaway had felt like the perfect opportunity to come clean to him, to ask if he still wanted something more with you too.

You really, really hoped he did.

You finally decide on the blue dress instead of the red. You hope to look half as good in the color as Steve did in it.

You slip it on in place of the towel you’d wrapped around you after your shower, careful to avoid looking in your room’s standing mirror as you do. You knew better than to risk catching glance of the scar, or any other part of you that reminded you of…well, that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

You swallow, a chill you despise suddenly running over your skin.

No, not tonight. You think, determined to escape from the dark corner of your mind you’d found yourself in.

Your resolve holds for a little bit longer, as you slip on your shoes and apply some finishing touches to your makeup.

Just as you are contemplating whether or not you had the time to do something else with your hair, you hear an alert go off on your phone. A text message, from the sound of it.

You grab your phone from off your nightstand, clicking the message after taking a second to glance worriedly at the time. It’s only five minutes till eleven.

Hey, girl, the message reads. It’s from Christina, one of your closest friends back home. Thinking about you today. How’re you holding up? If you wanna talk, I’m always here. <3

You furrow your brow for a second, puzzled about what she’s talking about, when it clicks.

Your breath catches at the realization, your hands clenching tighter around your phone before it loosens enough for it to slip from your grasp.

How could I have forgot?

Your question is rhetorical, because you know damn-well how you forgot. Too caught up with thoughts of Steve and the night ahead with him, you’d forgotten to remember how today marked a year since your last relationship had ended. A year since you’d last seen the man you’d once thought you were in love with, the same man who was the reason for many of the scars you carried, ones both visible and not.

You swallow thickly, a new twist to your stomach that wasn’t there before.

You glance over at the mirror, tempted to raise your dress up so you could see the scar, so you can see the reminder of—

No.

You are not going to let that man ruin anymore of your life, you’re not going to let him control you anymore. He was in the past. He couldn’t hurt you anymore.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

The affirmation rings hollow and echoing in your mind as you pick yourself from off your bed, not having realized you’d fallen back on it when your knees gave out until that moment. You run on autopilot as you hurry out your door, rushing through the house to the front door. You head towards the docks and towards Steve, each step you take carrying you farther from your phone and the memories it had drudged up.

You couldn’t forget about it entirely though, because no matter how far you ran, the scar remained.

And as long as the scar remained, you knew a part of him did too.

~

You slow your pace once the dock comes into view, extended out over a long stretch of the lake’s calm waters. The moon glints against the water’s surface, but it’s not the only light reflected against the lake.

Your eyes rake over the view, your breath taken from you for a second time, this time for a much better reason.

Extended from the start of the dock to the end, laid candles. The flames flicker in the gentle nighttime breeze, but their warm glow remains, the light they provide just enough for you to see Steve’s silhouette against the lake’s backdrop.

Petals lay scattered across the wooden boards of the dock. You feel almost guilty as you walk across them. They look like rose petals, in particular. Your favorite.

You glance up from looking at your feet to look at the man ahead of you. Steve had gotten up from where he’d been sitting on the dock’s edge in favor of standing in wait for you, looking just the tiniest bit awkward as you watch him stuff his hands in his pants’ pockets before apparently thinking better of it and taking them out.

You stifle a laugh, already at ease from only seconds in his presence.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice slightly breathless as he takes you in. You stand barely a foot from him now, and your face warms as his eyes travel up and down your body before he says, “You’re…you, you look beautiful.”

Beautiful.

The last time a man had looked at you so intently, that hadn’t been the word he’d settled on.

Your hands clench at the memory, angry at yourself for not knowing how to respond before settling on, “Look who’s talking.”

He laughs, the smile you love so much—the one that reaches his eyes—finding a home on his face. “I owe it to Sam. He was the one who helped pick it out.”

While part of you glowed at the thought of him caring so much about the night to ask for advice on what to wear, the other part of you simply took the time to properly take in the sight before you.

He wore a blue button down that clung snugly to his broad shoulders and muscled arms, paired with perfectly fitting jeans that had surprisingly zero rips or tears in view. He’d styled his hair, brushing it away from his face, and he’d shaved, removing the five o’ clock shadow he’d had only hours before. While you’d never seen him with a full beard before, the thought occurred to you that you’d like to. 

You redden, realizing with not a small amount of embarrassment that you’d been blatantly checking him out for far too long. You clear your throat, desperate to move past it. “I’ll have to tell Sam thank you. He did a really good job.”

“Please don’t. It’ll go straight to his head,” Steve jokes, still smiling that gorgeous smile of his as he gestures for you to take a seat.

He’d laid a tablecloth across the part of the dock at the very end, where the majority of the candles sat.

You sit, careful to not let your dress ride up and show the scar or anything else that he’d once found fault in. You blink rapidly, the memory of your ex’s words and the shame they had brought you causing a swell of emotion you were not prepared for.

You angle your head away from Steve as you try to get yourself under control. You catch only the tail-end of his sentence.

“…I brought champagne. You like champagne, right?”

You turn to face him once more, nodding. You plaster on a smile for his sake. “I do.”

“Good, I knew most dames liked it—at least, I thought that they did—and Sam said you would too when I asked, so I bought a bottle. I’m sorry if it’s not good. I haven’t drunk a lot of champagne to know what’s good and what’s not, but the guy at the store said it was one of the best bottles they had and—”

“Steve.” You set a hand atop his, your boldness surprising both of you. “I’m sure it’ll be great. But, either way, let’s open it and see.”

Steve’s gaze had trained on where your hand met his, the hand holding the champagne bottle still in the air.

He pulls his hand out from yours reluctantly to open the bottle, the pop of the cork stirring a laugh from the both of you. He pulls two glasses from a basket you hadn’t noticed before, setting one before you both.

He pours your glass first, the small gesture resonating in a way that shouldn’t have felt as profound as it did.

I was never put first before.

You chase that thought away with a long sip of champagne, the drink fizzing on your tongue and eventually in your stomach.

Steve watches nervously, having not yet taken a sip of his own drink. “Do you like it?”

“It’s delicious, Steve. Thank you. For all of this.” You smile at him, casting an awed glance around at the candles, the roses, the tablecloth beneath you, and then once more on the champagne. “You put a lot of thought into this, and that…that means a lot. More than you know.”

“I just wanted it to be right, this first...” he hesitates, but you watch as a boldness similar to your own crosses his face and he says, “…date with you, if I can call it that. I wanted you to like it, but I don’t have a lot of experience with dating or big, romantic gestures, but I knew a dame like you would, so I-I just wanted it to be perfect, like you deserved.”

Like you deserved.

Another’s voice in your mind burned to tell him that you didn’t deserve this, that you weren’t worth all this effort. That you’d never be worth anything.

That you were worthless. Ugly and worthless—

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Steve’s voice cuts through his, worry from your lack of response evident, and you were both grateful and sickened at the sound of it. You want to believe what Steve says, but you worry that if you do let yourself believe it—that if you let Steve believe what he does—later when he sees the real you, you’ll disappoint him the same way you always disappointed him.

But, as you look into Steve’s eyes, you can’t bear to tell him the truth when faced with the adoration you saw there, the pure care and concern contained within that bottomless blue. No woman could, no matter her intentions.

So, you change the subject, desperate to preserve his look of love and care just a little longer.

“Have you always liked the water?”

If Steve’s taken aback by the abrupt change in conversation, he doesn’t let it show before replying, “Yeah. I used to go to the Coney Island beach a lot, back in the day. I never swam out too far though. I only got good at swimming post-serum.”

“Have you been back since out of the ice?”

He shakes his head, taking a sip of champagne. You stare a little too long at his lips as you wait for his answer.

“No. I’ve thought about it, but I dunno. Just didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

“You’d have fun if you went,” you urge, shifting to lean a bit closer to him. “The beach is always a good idea, and you’ve more than earned a day off. You should go.”

Steve looks at you intently, noticing how you’ve drawn closer to him, and something there in his eyes that was once a flicker is now burning so brightly you wonder if his stare will leave you with a burn mark.

Unlike your ex, you wouldn’t mind wearing a reminder of Steve on your skin.

He clears his throat, having suddenly remembered to blink, and looks away. You wish he hadn’t.

It’s quiet for a moment, the stir of the leaves in the breeze and the stray sounds of wildlife being the only noise, before he says, “I’ll go, but only if you come with me.”

Your eyes are already on him when he turns to face you once more. “Deal.”

You’ve shifted closer to him, or he’s shifted closer to you, but either way your side’s now pressed to his and his body is warm in contrast to the slight chill in the air. The warmth is soothing, peaceful, and as he tentatively puts his arm around your shoulders, the solidness of it grounds you in a way that makes you want more, that makes you want everything.

Everything, as long as it’s with him.

You stare out at the water in silence for a little while longer, but you’re greedy, and you want to hear his voice again, so you say, “It’s a shame we didn’t go there this weekend. I would’ve liked to see for myself whether you really are a good swimmer or not.”

You meant to be playful, and maybe a bit flirty, but you hadn’t thought it through nearly enough as his reply is both obvious and immediate. “We are at a lake, sweetheart. I could show you now.”

You’re still reeling from the unexpected endearment when seemingly in the blink of an eye, he’s dived under the lake’s surface, splashing both you and his discarded pile of clothes with lake water.

“Steve!” you yell in astonishment, a laugh in your voice as you wipe a drop of water from your brow.

He breaks the surface and smiles smugly as he lazily does the backstroke close enough to the dock so you can see his perfect form. “Is this good enough for you?”

You roll your eyes, looking into his stupidly pretty face as you say, “You’re crazy, Rogers.”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to see for yourself. Can’t blame me when I only gave you what you asked for.”

Laughing, you try to keep your focus on the fact that he’s just jumped into a freaking lake in the dead of night, rather than on the pile of clothes beside you or the visible expanse of his chest and shoulders as he glides through the water. His skin glistens, and you can just make out the shadowy planes of his muscle by the candles’ light.

You hesitate in replying for a second too long; a second where he thinks of the one question you wish he hadn’t asked.

“Do you wanna get in?”

Yes.

No.

Both.

You don’t know how to reply. Part of you desperately does want to get in with him, because you really couldn’t think of a more perfect, romantic, out-of-a-movie time to admit your feelings for him than under the glow of candlelight while you hold on to one another in a lake, but another part of you—the part of you that refuses to believe that someone like him would ever want you—tells you to say no, or better yet, to run from Steve like you ran from him.

No. No. Steve isn’t him, and he never would be, and you, you want this. You want everything, as long as it’s with Steve.

You have to do this. You have to take this first step. You need to trust Steve, to put faith in him that he more than deserves.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

“Okay.”

Your reply is surprisingly unstrained, spilling from your lips with an ease that would’ve convinced nearly anyone that you thought getting into the lake with him was no big deal, no deal at all, for a fact.

Steve’s smile widens—if that’s even possible—as you stand, and it doesn’t leave his face as you ask—no, say, “Close your eyes.”

He does, respecting and understanding your boundary immediately. It leaves you a bit stunned, his respect.

You pull your dress off, your shoes following. You wish you’d worn a matching bra and panty set, but then again, you hadn’t been expecting anyone to see either tonight.

You take a shaky breath in, goosebumps rising on your skin, before you jump off the dock.

The water is cold, as you expected, but it still leaves you a bit breathless as you break the surface.

“It’s freezing!” You shiver, chattering your teeth exaggeratedly, and Steve chuckles.

He’s close. Close enough for you to feel his laugh on your face, close enough for his hand to brush against your arm, and then to take your hand in his.

It’s a small gesture, holding hands. It’s one that you’ve both offered and received many times in your life, but in this moment, under the darkness, with your hands just skimming the water’s surface as they intwine with each other’s, it feels more revealing than taking your dress off had.

The quiet is deafening as you both draw closer to the other. Steve gently pulls you closer to him until your free hand finds his shoulder, your thumb brushing against the hollow near his collarbone as you grasp for purchase.

You’re chest-to-chest, and your one leg has wrapped around his, using it as an anchor. It’s fitting because he’s kept you secure far longer than just tonight. He’s been the one constant in your life, your rock and structure, holding you steady when you needed him to.

Now, though, he’s using you as a support too, something solid to hold himself to in the water, because his free hand has found you too, and his hands are calloused and soft as they slip through the water till they find and rest on your hip. His fingers dig a bit deeper against your skin as he tightens his hold.

You glance up to look at his eyes, but find that they’re closed, his brow slightly furrowed. It’s as you feel his fingers trail over your ribs and stomach, that you realize he’s memorizing the feel of you, exploring your body like it’s something he wants to immortalize in his memory.

He wants to know you like you want to know him, and it’s gentle, and kind, and nothing like him, and it’s…it’s wonderful, to be known. To be known by someone who doesn’t look and touch you with eyes and hands of judgement, but rather with acceptance.

He opens his eyes as if he can read your thoughts, and they flit to yours. “Is this okay?”

You nod, because you can’t speak, but it is, it really is.

You fall into him, your face pressed into the side of his neck, and close your eyes, a final act of vulnerability.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

The affirmation is different this time, because this time it’s true and in the shape of Steve Rogers, because with him you really are safe.

You tug your hand out from his so you can loop both arms around his neck as you slide your one leg up higher, hearing his sharp inhale of breath as you do. You soon have both legs around his torso, low on his hips, and you feel the strong muscle of his stomach tense as you settle against him.

His hands rest against your waist now, holding you to him, but when one of your legs slips, one cuts through the water to grab it, finding your thigh and finding your scar.

You can’t control the flinch, despite your calm, and he feels it.

His hand stills, and then after a second it moves, sliding slowly across the length of the scar. It’s rough in some places, smooth in others. But, you’re not worried as you let him feel it Not when it’s his hands that have found it, his hands that you’ve laid yourself bare to.

“What is this?” he whispers, but you know he already knows what it is.

“A mistake,” you answer, because the man from your past was and always will be a mistake. The worst one you ever made, in fact.

But, he’s gone and Steve’s here, and that’s all that matters, and you can see that now.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He wants you to say yes, you can hear it in his voice, but you also know that he won’t press the topic if you say no either. He’s good like that.

“I do,” you respond, pulling your face from against his neck to look into his eyes. The love and care remains, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll last. Maybe you deserve it, his love. Maybe you always have.

You want to believe that. You do.

You reach one hand up, brushing your thumb along his jaw, and then the fullness of lower lip, so impossibly soft.

“But not now,” you continue. “I have more important things to do.”

You kiss him then, and after, when both of you have regained the ability to speak and he tells you you’re beautiful, you believe him.

You do, you really do.