In Your Eyes // Steve Rogers

10

The single thing being introduced to it did was cause me to become excessively jumpy. I flinched at loud noises, I yelped when the nurses snuck in. I was on high alert constantly. I despised being afraid. I spent my entire life being afraid of what I could do. I refused to let fear take over my life once more.

Sam had experience with preparing for unplanned attacks, as he was in the army. I recruited him for aid. It was a mutual benefit. He helped me become comfortable with my ability to devise a plan while under attack. I helped him to become confident with his hand-to-hand combat abilities, rather than relying on his wings and guns.

So, Steve's comatose weeks were beneficial. They weren't particularly enjoyed by anyone, but he would wake to his friends feeling stronger and more capable than before. We were ready to stand by his side against whatever came next.

What did come next was Steve's return to us. It came out of nowhere, as the nurse's predicted.

Music was playing, the Troubleman soundtrack, by Sam's request. He always played it when he visited. More importantly, he always allowed me to lay on his lap when he kept me company. I could only handle the rock pillow offered by the hospital for so long.

Head in Sam's lap, feet on Steve's bed, I flipped through internet pages on my cell phone, searching for a job that required my peculiar skill set. I didn't know what exactly was to come after Steve woke. I knew if he needed me, I'd be there. I wasn't entirely sure he would enjoy my company the rest of the time. In case, I left other options open.

"Clara?"

My thumb halted from scrolling. I felt my eyebrows scrunch. Slowly, I brought my phone away from my face, allowing my eyes to reach the hospital bed.

My ears heard correctly: Steve spoke to me. His eyes took their time to open, as they were adjusting to the bright florescent lights above. The first place those blue beauties fell to was right on me. A tired smile brought the corners of his lips to raise.

"Steve," I breathed. I scooted my chair closer. I slid my fingers into his palm.

"That's a first," he managed to say.

I furrowed my brow.

"You calling me Steve."

"I think you're almost death gives me reason," I smiled. I tilted my head. "Unless you don't want me to, because I'm all right with calling you--"

"Clara?" he interrupted, "Can I just hold your hand and appreciate you for a moment?"

I paused, dropping my head to let my cheeks cool. "If you must," I said.

His grip on my fingers tightened. Those tired eyes stared into my own, thankful someone he knew was there to welcome him back.

"I'm proud of you, Clara," he said quietly.

"I haven't done anything," I said.

"What you did at the Potomac wasn't something you attempted before. But you did it, because we needed you to. The world needed you to try. And you did it," praised Steve.

"Oh, stop," I mumbled, "I couldn't have done it without your belief in me."

"And I look forward to seeing what else my faith in you will achieve."

I paused. "Is that your way of saying we're going to see each other after this?"

"That's my way of saying we're hopefully going to be seeing each other a lot after this," corrected Steve, offering me a kind smile, "Besides, I still have to take you on that date."