"That was too risky," Steve said to you as the Quinjet touched down back at the Avengers compound and everyone got up, and you rolled your eyes at him.
"Yeah, but I couldn't just let the mission leader die like that," you scoffed, "that's far worse."
The mission that you and the Avengers were sent on involved retrieving intel for SHIELD from a HYDRA base in Iceland. On your way ou, there had been a heavy downpour of bullets, making it near impossible to escape alive if it weren't for Steve's shield and your powers. And when you saw a bullet speeding towards the two of you just as you sprinted out the exit doors from an agent that had escaped who had been trailing behind you, you knew that if you simply stood there and did nothing, Steve would be shot in the chest.
There was no way you would let yourself live with the guilt that your teammate died because of your careless mistakes and foolish decisions.
So you ended up getting shot in the stomach when you jumped in front and took the hit that was meant for him.
"Still, it was too risky, Y/N," he sighed, rubbing his forehead before wrapping an arm across your shoulders and helping you inside.
"I know," you mumbled as he laid you back on the couch and tended to your wound, securing the new bandages around your abdomen. Steve looked down at you in concern when he saw you squeeze your eyes shut against the tears that were clawing their way up through your body, clenching your jaw in an attempt to conceal the screams threatening to escape from your throat and for a brief moment, squeezed your hand in his before promptly pulling away.
He gazed down at you worriedly again and you paused for a moment before resuming your speaking. "I just had to. I had to do it, Steve. There was no other way."
"No, you shouldn't have," he said in a suddenly stern voice, and you looked up at him in confusion.
"Yes, I should've."
"What were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that? Do you know how risky that was?" he questioned, crossing his arms over his chest and giving you a hard look ,and you felt chills run your spine upon seeing his eyes cloud over with darkness.
"I know," you replied, causing him to sigh loudly again, "I knew what I was doing, Steve. I did what I had to do."
"You obviously didn't know what you were doing, Y/N. You obviously didn't understand any of the risks before throwing yourself out there like that."
"Care to elaborate?" you rolled your eyes at his raised tone, "What risks exactly, hm?"
"You could've gotten shot point-blank if you had been even a second later. You could've died! Did you even think to consider any of those factors beforehand?"
"No, because I was too busy thinking about the fact that if I didn't jump in front of you to save you, then that would be the end of Captain America," you fired back, glaring up at Steve. "And you can't even be the least bit thankful that you're still alive because of what I did?"
"You don't understand, Y/N!" he exclaimed.
"What is there for me to understand?" you let out a sigh of exasperation, throwing your hands up in the air. "If I didn't do anything, you'd be dead. Simple as that."
"You got hurt," he pointed out. "You got hurt badly, but things could've been so much worse if things had taken a different turn."
"No shit, Sherlock," you snapped as you got up, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in your side when you did so. "It's quite bold of you to assume that I don't know that taking a bullet isn't really the most painless thing to happen to someone."
With that, you stormed off to the training room, not even bothering to look back and see his reaction.
...
You angrily ripped up the tape for your hands and wrapped them tightly around your palms, without caring about how you could injure yourself further by pushing yourself through sparring. It didn't matter, anyways. Who was going to tell you to stop? Steve? Ha ha, no.
Without even saying a quick 'hello' to anyone in the gym, you dragged one of the heavily loaded punching bags over and hooked it up to the chain, readjusting your tape and tightening them as you got into position.
You didn't say anything as you continued to take all your anger out on the punching bag, the sounds of your fists smacking against it echoing loudly across the training room. It was swinging back and forth wildly from the impacts of your punches, and it went on like that for who knew how long until the bag snapped and fell landing with a thump, and you looked down to see your knuckles beginning to bruise and bleed again. It was a miracle that it hadn't broken.
"Jeez, Y/N," Clint set his water bottle down on the floor and wiped his forehead with a towel before making his way over to you as you slumped down against the wall, sitting down next to you. "You alright? Aren't you supposed to be resting right now...in that kind of condition?"
"I'm fine. Never been better, Barton," you breathed out, taking a long sip from your water bottle and quickly wiping your mouth when you were done. "Never been better. Bruce gave me the pain meds, so I'll be fine."
"Why'd you storm in here in such a huff?" He tilted his head in confusion at the angry aura radiating from you. "Are you alright?"
"Steve," you explained, "he's always telling me what to do. Didn't even have the decency to thank me for saving his life when I took that bullet for him---"
"You did what?"
"I took a bullet for him," you repeated.
"Why? When?"
"You were there on the mission, Clint. I took the bullet for him. Jumped in front of him before he could meet his demise. HYDRA bastard tried to take him down and there was no other option at the moment, so I did what I had to do."
"So you're saying that he's getting mad at you for saving his life?"
"I don't know," you shook your head in disbelief, sliding a hand down your face and closing your eyes as you tilted your head up towards the ceiling, "I don't know why he's so pissed off at me."
"Maybe he cares?" the archer offered, shrugging his shoulders.
"Or maybe he's being overlycontrolling," you rolled your eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. "Seriously, though. Can't you just thank me for literally, saving your life? If it weren't for me, he wouldn't be here, and what do I get from him? Criticism."
"Y/N...since when did you start caring about every little thing he said and reacting so much to what he does...?"
"I don't----" you thought for a moment.
A few seconds passed in awkward silence.
Why were you even caring about what Steve thought? He didn't mean anything to you. The two of you were just friends. If anything, he was a close friend, and would only ever be a close friend, to you.
But then again, no one else on the team was able to crack a smile out of you or make you laugh more times than he did. Nobody could comfort you when they found you sobbing in the middle of the night and hold you and tell you everything was going to be okay better than he did.
You weren't supposed to let this happen to yourself, and now you felt utterly stupid for allowing your feelings to take control of everything.
Neither were you supposed to let yourself overthink every little interaction between the two of you.
"No," you hissed, letting out a string of colorful curses under your breath, eyes widening when you finally came to the realization of how you really felt. "No way."
"Oh my god, you like him," Clint gaped, putting a hand over his mouth as he tried to hide the grin spreading across his face. "No wonder you're so worked up over the little fight."
"Shut up, before you end up like the charred corpses of those HYDRA soldiers left behind in the burning base," you warned. "
"You better talk to him soon," he reminded you as the two of you stood up. "Holding grudges against your best friend can really hurt if you're doing so for a while. Please. Do us all a favor and talk to him."
"Steve's still mad at me," you pointed out. "I don't think he's going to wanna talk to me. What he sees is someone who screwed up and almost got themselves killed. He's not going to wanna talk to me anymore. For a while, that is."
"Y/N. Haven't you ever considered that maybe he's just really worried about you?"
"Pfft, he wouldn't," you scoffed, letting out a few fake coughs. "Don't think he is."
You took a long sip of your water before waving a quick goodbye to Clint and leaving to go take a shower.
Why did you care about Steve so much, anyways? All he did was criticize you for being, quote unquote, "reckless in your decision-making" and "someone who always throws themselves into fights when they know the outcome isn't going to play out well".
Yet you still found a part of yourself worrying about him, and that was the part of you that came out when you saw the bullet flying towards him and when you jumped in front of him to save his life.