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"Hey, you holdin' up okay?" Steve leaned against the door frame of Sam's bedroom, though you were its only occupant for the moment.

His expression was soft, but you could hear the strain in his voice as he spoke to you, and you knew exactly why it was there. You had caught him off guard with your confession before Natasha had interrupted earlier, and somehow you didn't see how he could even stand there and look at you knowing that you loved him. It hurt you even more to look at him, not knowing whether or not he had any returned feelings for you.

"I'm dandy." You replied sarcastically, your usual, impatient nature getting the best of you.

Of course you were not holding up okay. What kind of question was that, anyways? First, he had completely avoided the fact that you had told him you loved him. Then, you had suited up as instructed to by a suspicious Natasha and then allowed her to drag you out into a street fight against fifty some Hydra goons.

It wouldn't have been bad—if you had a proper combat suit. However, Fury had never assigned you to hand to hand combat missions before; you had always worked using your technology. Without it, you were just a pilot with a strong punch. This didn't make you weak, but it was a setback in situations like the street fight. Even though Fury was dead, you still lived by his guidelines: never fight without intentions of winning.

Winning the fight wasn't your objective, nor was it Steve's. You just wanted to disarm Hydra long enough to retrieve Bucky. However, that wasn't a good enough reason for Natasha to get involved, so she took it upon herself to throw you right in the middle of a war—a war between The Winter Soldier and Steve Rogers.

Steve sighed as he walked further into the room, "I know that it wasn't right—what Natasha did. She shouldn't have forced you to fight when that's not what you're specialized in. You could've gotten seriously injured." He said, sitting at the foot of the bed.

You leaned back against the headboard, your eyes narrowing at him. His dirty face had been scrubbed clean, his messy helmet hair now tamed. He was the definition of perfection.

"Well, Rogers, you're not wrong." You huffed out, looking down at your leg.

Sam had came in and propped it up on a pillow after your shower. He was no doctor, but he said he knew a broken ankle when he saw one. The only issue was, you couldn't be admitted into a hospital—not now. Not now he was looking—not now that The Winter Soldier had your scent.

"Can you stop pouting for five minutes?" Steve forced a chuckle as he shifted on the bed, looking at you. "You're lucky to have gotten away with only a broken ankle."

"I don't really see why you care what happens to me, but alright. I'll buy it." You swallowed, looking at him harshly.

You didn't mean to be hard on him, but telling Steve that you loved him was the hardest thing you ever had to admit. And it made things worse that he still hadn't mentioned it.

His expression changed again, his blue eyes turning a shade darker, his smile fading.

"Buy what?"

"This. This sudden concern about my well-being. I'm really not even a part of this team, I don't think I ever was. I'm just your pilot." You said, trying to remain emotionless, as if somehow pretending you had no heart would make the aching there go away.

"You are a part of the team, (Y/N). Why would you say something like that? What makes you think I don't care about your well-being?" Steve asked seriously, his brows furrowed.

"Gee, I don't know, Steve. It could have something to do with what I told you earlier, unless you've forgotten already." You exhaled, watching him closely.

"Take the hostility down a notch, will you? I've always cared about your well-being. That's part of the reason why I'm trying to forget what you said earlier." The muscle in his jaw flexed as he sucked in a breath through his nose.

"Really? Because you never have shown it. I am always the one checking on you, making sure you're doing okay. Sometimes I feel as if I'm invisible to you." You said, immediately regretting it.

Steve knew how it felt to be invisible. Until he was given the serum, it was no secret that no one other than Bucky ever acknowledged him.

"Because it's easier that way!" Steve stood up, throwing his hands in the air.

"What's easier?" You asked loudly.

"Keeping you safe. Convincing myself that I could never allow myself to love you like I want to. It's easier if I avoid it. It's better for the both of us that way." His voice grew quieter, as if he was distancing himself.

You were at a loss of words. Steve wanted to love you? That made no sense, especially since you'd always thought he had feelings for Natasha.

"Wh-what?" You asked as he paced a little, finally forcing himself to look at you again.

"Forget it. Just-just let it go." He swallowed after staring at you in thought, turning to leave the room.

"No," you replied firmly, trying to stand up, though your ankle prevented you from doing so.

"Sit down, (Y/N). Don't hurt yourself." Steve turned back to you.

Ever since he had found out the truth about Bucky, he had been so different. So cold. It broke your heart.

"Can't you see that I'm already hurt, Rogers? Is it really that difficult to get that through your thick skull?" You asked, leaning against the bedside for support.

He stood idle in the doorway, his blue eyes threatening to leave yours. He knew this wasn't your ankle you were talking about now. You were hurt. He had hurt you.

"It's easier this way," Steve replied, clenching his jaw.

"Then leave." You said back; it wasn't what you wanted but you were starting to feel as if it was the thing he needed to hear.

Everything in him was telling him to walk out of that room—to go on as if you had never told him of your feelings and vice versa. Something was telling him that staying in that room for a second longer would only cause him more pain. But did he listen to that voice?

Steve moved away from the door, straight towards you, only to grab the sides of your face in his calloused hands. He tilted your head up to look at him, those sky blue eyes of hi, hiding so much behind them.

"Please, never tell me to leave. No matter how mad at me you are, don't tell me to leave." He pleaded with you, the outer layers of his facade beginning to crack.

"All I ever wanted was for you to know the truth. . .how I felt. And you know now, so—"

"Listen, this isn't one-sided. You aren't the only one with these feelings." He said, nearly whispering. "But you've got more to lose than I do. And I don't want to put you at risk."

"I'm not some damsel in distress, Steve."

"I never said you were, but you've got your family to think about here. I'm not saying I don't reciprocate your feelings; I'm just saying that for now, while Bucky is under Hydra's compulsion. . .if he knows I care about you, then you can be used as leverage. Or worse." He said, his hands still holding your face gently.

"But that's not your call to make. If I was scared of the risks, I never would have told you how I felt. Why can't you just do the same?" You asked, your hands reaching to push his hands away from your face.

He wasn't budging, though, and before you could stop him, he was leaning down, catching you in an unexpected kiss.

You knew this was in no way going to solve your problems. This wasn't going to make him change his mind, nor would it change yours. Your feelings were still all over the place, as were his, and you couldn't help but wonder why he was toying with you this way—if that was what he was doing. He just hadn't been himself, and you knew it had less to do with you and everything to do with Bucky resurfacing in his life. You just didn't know a lot of things, but what you did know, though, was that you never wanted that moment to end.

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Sorry for such slow updates on this!
— Mar