Saving Steve (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter 53 - Sketches

You take a shuddering breath, a tear falling down your cheek as Steve slowly reaches out, his hand hovering above your own, hesitating. But he only hesitates a moment before resting his hand atop yours and weaving your fingers together.

"Here," he says, handing you the black notebook. "You stopped reading before the end."

You take the black notebook from Steve, hand shaking as you set it in your lap. Looking at it for a moment, you shake your head and hand it back to him.

"Steve, there's nothing in here I want to see," you say quietly. You're not quite sure how you're feeling yet, and you're still confused - Steve's lack of clarity is putting your mind through a hurricane of emotions.

"But there are things you need to see," he urges, handing it back. "Besides, once you start a book, you should always finish it."

You cast him a questioning glance. He answers with a sly, yet sincere smile. 

"A lot can happen in the last few pages of a book."

Steve nods once more towards the notebook. Swallowing nervously, you pull your hand from Steve's and flip it open, skipping past the journal entries back to the sketches. You thumb through the ones you've already seen before stopping for a brief moment on the two-paged sketch of those intimate hands. This is the last one you looked at before leaving the room. 

Taking a deep breath, you flip. And your stomach clenches as you see more sketches of Peggy. Several pages' worth. 

But then, they stop. And new images are sketched upon the paper. New people.

A little girl with wide eyes. An older woman - perhaps her mother - stands behind her. A teenage boy with freckles and a quiet smile...wait. Is this...Tom's son? From the shelter? 

You flip the page again and find another set of portraits full of familiar faces. There's even one of Casey and Blair in there. Small and mixed in with the other tiny sketches that pepper the page. You check the date at the bottom. These were done the day after Steve stopped Henry that first time. 

Your fingers grip the bottom of the page and turn once more.

And you let out a gasp at your own eyes as they stare back at you. A full-page portrait of yourself in stunning detail.

And you're...beautiful. 

Much more beautiful than you are in real life. Steve has captured every flaw on the page. Every mark, every crease, every messy strand of hair. And yet somehow he's made them all come together to look flawless. 

The date on this page? The day of Henry's first attack. The finish date? Two weeks later. Steve had spent two whole weeks on this sketch.

You bite your bottom lip to keep from crying, taking slow and meaningful breaths as you continue to flip through. Page by page, each one is filled with another image...of you. You standing over the serving line, speaking to a young boy. You sitting in your car. You smiling, your hand tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You holding up a chocolate chip cookie.

Steve has been drawing you from the moment you met.

You keep flipping. There are pages and pages of you - at least as many as there are of Peggy. 

But you reach a sketch that causes your breath to hitch in your chest.

It's you. Your back to the artist, sitting on a bench overlooking the river. And you immediately recognize the way your hair is braided in the sketch. You don't ever braid your hair. Not anymore. It had been something your brother used to do for you. But the morning after Steve left his goodbye note on your doorstep, you had felt awfully alone. And in memory of your brother you had braided your hair and gone down to the river simply to speak with him. To seek his celestial counsel. 

You lip begins to tremble, and you flip again. The next sketch is one of you walking away, a box on your hip as you head towards a small tent city across the street. Then another. You at a distance, opening your front door as the light of the parking lot lamp shines off your hair.

"You...you never left," you exhale, gently running your fingers across the page.

"I never left," Steve answers.

"That's how you knew I was in trouble. In that tunnel. You...you were watching me," you say, looking up at Steve.

"No," he says quickly, seeing a shadow of discomfort cross your features. "Not all the time. I never invaded your privacy, sweetheart. I promise. I...I only checked on you occasionally. Every few days. And only when you were out in public. To make sure you were safe."

You swallow the lump in your throat as your heart races. "I never saw you," you choke out, overcome with emotion.

"I never wanted you to," Steve says quietly. 

"Steve...I missed you," you admit, saying out loud the one thing you never allowed yourself to acknowledge in the weeks Steve was gone. But it's true. You had felt his absence like a hole in the chest.

Steve reaches out and takes the black notebook from your hands, closing it gently and setting it on the coffee table. Then he takes both of your hands in his, raising them to his lips and pressing soft kisses on the back.

"Staying away was the hardest thing I've ever done," he says quietly. 

You take a shuddering breath as Steve places a gently hand beneath your chin, guiding your eyes to his.

"I loved Peggy, Y/n," he says, his blue eyes holding yours. "But that doesn't mean I don't...Y/n, I...," Steve presses lips together, exhaling through his nose as his brow furrows in frustration.

"It's okay," you say quietly. "You don't...you don't have to say anything if you're not...if you don't-"

"It's not that I don't, Y/n," Steve interrupts. "Because I...I do. I do, sweetheart. But right now? With the unknowns that we face, I can't-," Steve sighs and brings his hand to his forehead, frustrated. You sit patiently, quietly, as Steve straightens up and looks back to you, reaching out and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "I just can't bring myself to open that door, sweetheart. Not when there's a very real chance it'll be pushed shut. I can't do that to you. Not after everything you've already lost."

You take a steadying breath and Steve runs the back of his knuckles gently down your cheek, stroking tenderly. 

"When this chaos over," he whispers. "When the dust settles and I've managed to pull us both through to the other side - okay?"

You nod frantically as Steve exhales in relief, placing a gentle hand on your face as he leans in and kisses the tears on your cheeks away. Once they're gone, he moves to your lips, catching you in a kiss that screams need and pleads understanding.

You melt into him as his fingers slip into your hair. Your blood warms as Steve deepens the kiss, speaking to you in silence as the kiss grows hungry and more desperate.

"I can't...I can't say it yet," Steve says. "But I can show you."