Saving Steve (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter 57 - A Sweetheart Grip

"And French," he says. 

"Okay, another romance language," you laugh.

"And some Japanese."

"Sure, another rom- wait, what? Japanese?" you ask, laughing as you lift Steve's chin to look at you. He tries to hide a smile of his own, but your playfully serious expression makes him laugh as he holds you tighter and buries his face once more in your neck.

"Kawaī on'nanoko o kandō sa serunoni chōdo jūbun," he mumbles, pressing a kiss on your neck.

You giggle and turn his face back to you, a single brow raised. "Let's stick with the English, shall we?"

Steve smiles and casts a quick glance over at Bucky and Natasha. They still have their backs to you both. Steve watches them for a moment before catching your chin between his fingers, stealing a quick, secret kiss before pulling away, his cheeks burning bright red.

"Steven Grant Rogers," you gasp in mock horror as he pulls buck. "How horribly crude," you tease, smacking him playfully on the shoulder before snuggling into his grip.

Together, the two of you sit in silence as Bucky continues walking Natasha through the plan, answering her questions as they arise. But you feel Steve growing tense beneath you over time. And as Bucky wraps up his explanation, Steve's heart is racing and his knuckles are all but white at the grip he has on his own wrist as his arms encircle you.

"Any more questions?" Bucky asks Natasha as the two of them back away from the schematics and turn to face you and Steve.

"Seems clear to me. Although the two of you will have a hell of a time on Floor 17," she says. Despite her nonchalance, you can tell she's genuinely concerned about whatever the men are planning on Sam Wilson's floor.

"It'll work," says Steve. "It has to."

"Well then, let's go. No reason to linger," says Nat, grabbing her own bag from the ground and throwing it over her shoulder.

Bucky nods and follows her lead, suiting up as he straps his holsters to his thighs, loading his weapons before storing them. The two of them then quickly take down the schematics, and begin storing them in the bags and duffels Steve had originally brought them in. You try to move to let Steve up so he can start preparing and cleaning up as well. But his grip is ironclad, and he isn't letting you go.

"Steve?" you ask, looking up at him. 

He glances down at you, forehead creased.

"Steve, are you okay?" you ask, placing a gentle hand on his face.

You can feel Bucky and Natasha both look up towards the two of you, stilling in their movements as they watch the taught exchange between you and Steve. But you ignore them, focused solely on Steve, whose face has paled.

"Baby, what's wrong?" you ask gently.

Steve swallows and leans his forehead to yours. "I might not make it back," he says quietly. And your blood freezes in your veins.

"You'll make it back," you answer firmly.

"Sweetheart, listen," Steve says, loosening his grip only enough to shift slightly to face you directly, putting you nearly in a straddling position on his lap. "Where I'm going, there aren't a lot who come back. None, that I know of. And if-"

You raise a hand and cover his entire mouth with your hand, shaking your head stubbornly. "Steve...you will come back."

You slowly lower your hand and Steve gazes at you with a deep-seated sadness that washes over the fondness, nearly drowning it out completely in desperation.

"Come on, Урод," you hear Natasha say quietly from behind you. "Let's give them a minute."

You hear Bucky and Nat shuffle out of the room, closing the door behind them. The moment they're gone, Steve lets out a shuddering breath as he slides his hands gently up your arms, taking your shoulders firmly. His gaze hardens, and his blue eyes convey nothing but serious intent.

"You promise me that if I don't come back, you'll be okay. That you won't linger here," he says. Your jaw drops in disbelief that Steve would ever say something like that. 

"I'm not talking about this with you Steve. You're coming back to me. That's an order," you say firmly, tears welling up in your eyes. 

Steve looks at you helplessly, shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulls you to his chest and rocks you gently. Holding onto you as if you were the only thing left in this world. For several long minutes you simply run your fingers through Steve's hair as you say your silent goodbyes. Finally, Steve drops his grip and pulls you both to your feet.

"Come with me, I have something I need to do," he whispers in your ear, tugging you along behind him.

He leads you in silence to the old office. You follow willingly, wondering why he's bringing you here when everything he needs is already back in the prop room, or already packed and downstairs with Natasha and Bucky.

Except, apparently, his black notebook, which still lays on the coffee table from last night. Apparently this is what Steve has brought you back here for as he guides you to the couch. You watch with curious eyes as he picks it up and then walks over to the office desk, returning with a small screwdriver and taking a seat next to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask as Steve sets the notebook on his lap.

He looks up at you, but doesn't answer. Instead he gives you a soft smile as he opens the notebook, flipping the pages until he reaches the sketches...of you.

Steve seems to regard each one carefully, flipping slowly until he stops on a smaller sketch - one of your favorites. A visage of you smiling with rouged cheeks and messy hair. In your likeness, Steve has captured a certain vulnerability in your expression. It's one of the more intimate drawings, despite its smaller size. 

"I love that one," you smile, leaning your head on Steve's shoulder.

"Me too," he says, running his fingers over your penciled cheek.

But then he begins to tear around it, ripping the paper. You gasp and grab his hand, looking up at Steve in horror. But he simply gives you a small smile, and pulls your hand away to continue ripping the small sketch from his notebook.

You watch, dismayed and confused as Steve pulls out the sketch and reaches behind his back, pulling his pistol from his waistband. Grabbing the screwdriver from the table, he starts unscrewing the transparent plexiglass plate on his gun's grip. 

Once it comes undone, he slides the sketch beneath the plate before re-fixing it in place. Your own face smiling back from the grip of Steve's gun.

You reach out and take the gun gingerly from Steve's hand, transfixed. He lets you take it, brushing a piece of hair from your face before. As you admire the grip, Steve lets his fingers drift to the metal chain of his tags that lie around your neck.

"A bunch of fellas back in the War had their gals back at home," Steve says quietly, smiling down at the sweetheart grip in your hand. "I...I didn't have anyone to take with me into the fight," he says leaning his forehead to yours. "Now I do."