All I Need's a Whisper|Steve Rogers x Reader|6

"...new details from the bombing at the Golden Nightingale Tuesday night continue to emerge as police uncover more evidence from the scene. All available officers are on task and all resources are being utilized to uncover the motive behind this heinous act and to bring peace to the families of those affected by this tragedy. Domestic terrorism is being investigated as the source of this-"

Steve clicked off the news broadcast and dragged a hand down his face, letting out a low sigh before standing to stretch his cramped legs. Hospital chairs were not made for men like him, he thought, wiggling his toes to try to get some feeling back into them. He rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck, smiling when he heard a satisfying pop! before returning to his seat at [Name]'s bedside. Despite the protests from staff, he'd refused to leave her and he had plenty enough reasons not to, at least in his mind.

"[Name]!" Steve forced himself to his feet, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the smoke that burned his eyes, and all but threw himself onto her once he reached her side. She mumbled something unintelligible and sank into him, her body going limp in his arms, and that was when Steve noticed the alarming amount of blood covering her face. He cursed, but apparently, the worst wasn't over. Another blast ripped through the building and Steve curled his body over [Name], his broad shoulders and back taking the brunt of the hit, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. It was then that Steve heard the most unexpected sound...his cell phone.

Wedged between the surprisingly sturdy bar and the chunks of debris that had fallen on them, Steve fished the small device from his pocket and nearly smashed the screen when he jammed his thumb down on the flashing ANSWER button. "What!" he snapped.

"Get her out of there."

"Natasha?" he asked, dumbfounded. Of all the times-were they watching? Steve could almost see the redheaded SHIELD agent and half wondered if she weren't parked outside right now. "Natasha, I don't mean to be rude-" he grunted, shifting his large body just enough to keep a piece of ceiling from crushing [Name].

"You have to move now, Rogers, before any civilian medical units make it to the scene. Her car has already been swept and it's clean, get in it and go. Drive north on I-180 and take the D.C exit. There's a SHIELD hospital twenty minutes after that."

Steve rolled his eyes and pinned the phone between his head and shoulder, using his back and free arm to maneuver him and [Name] to freedom, and carefully started to move Finally free, he picked [Name] up bridal style and hugged her to his chest, quickly steadying his footing on the ruins of what had once been a building. He could see [Name]'s car, parked down the street, but he couldn't bring himself to move. "Natasha, there are civilians."

"If there's any hope for them, they'll be taken care of, just get moving, Rogers. You don't want to be still be there when they come back to see if she's dead."

Steve snapped himself from the memory when [Name] started to stir, all of his attention instantly devoted to her. "[Name]?"

"Hey, Cap," she answered, her voice hoarse and scratchy, but Steve had never heard a more beautiful sound. She was awake.  "What happened?"

"There was a bombing," he answered, already reaching for the glass of water on the table and carefully, slowly, lifting it to her lips. "At the Nightingale."

She frowned at him and a bolt of fear shot through him. Did she not remember? He'd heard a few of the doctors say she might not remember the event, that her memory might be a little foggy, but Steve had hoped they were just preparing for the worst. "How many people died?"

"[Name]..."

"How many?" she insisted, her voice breaking and Steve realized she was attempting to yell at him. He tried to give her more water but she clamped her lips shut, staring at him with such intensity that it was hard to believe she hadn't just been asleep for almost twenty-four hours. "Steve."

"Last count was twenty-six. There are still a lot of people in the ICU, though," he answered, watching with a frown as she rolled her head away from him to stare out of the window.

"Patrick?" she asked. Steve didn't answer. A small, choked sob and Steve learned how a single sound could break his heart. "He was so proud of that nightclub. He'd wanted it for years."

"[Name], I'm sorry," he whispered, already staring at her when she looked back at him. There were no tears, but Steve knew that look in her eyes. He'd lost friends before, too.

"How long have I been here?"

"Just shy of a day," he answered and she nodded. "The doctors said the blow to your head likely knocked you out, caused a concussion and possibly some swelling around the brain, but your last scan showed everything was normal. You had a nasty cut on your forehead and now you have sixteen stitches. Those were the only major injuries, along with a host of scrapes and bruises, but it's my understanding they planned to let you go once you woke up."

"Good," she said, clearing her throat and pushing herself up in the bed, so she sat against her pillows, and in that moment, she was again the SHIELD agent that Steve had met the morning he woke up. "Because we have work to do."

--
"I still don't see why I couldn't have gone home," you muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest and sinking lower into Steve's couch, the bundle of blankets he'd wrapped you in climbing higher around your chin.  After you were released from the hospital that morning, SHIELD dropped the two of you off at Steve's apartment and you hadn't been allowed to leave since. Steve left you to watch Netflix while he went to the store and the pharmacy, a trip that should have taken him at least an hour, but he somehow managed in exactly thirty-seven minutes, and then he'd stayed on the couch with you the rest of the day. With your SHIELD phone confiscated and no way to access the database without alerting security, you had no choice but to relent and show Steve the joys of binge watching Supernatural. "I have work to do."

"It's only for tonight. The doctor said you really shouldn't be left to sleep alone and SHIELD has released for the time being, remember?," Steve reminded you, coming over stand in front of you. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. You weren't a child and you had just spent the last day being 'monitored'. The same thing went for that bullshit with SHIELD. Released, you rolled your eyes at the idea, irked that they would keep you from a case that clearly involved you. Safety, they said. Let someone else figure out why you were a target and why, they said, but you didn't buy it. Something else was wrong and someone, probably Fury, didn't want you to know. "It's for your own good."

"I'm fine," you repeated, still glaring at him, but you accepted the glass of water and medications he gave you. "I don't need these."

"Just take them. They'll help."

"You're a bossy nurse."

"You're a terrible patient."

"You're a stickler for rules."

"And you're my mission," Steve reminded you, putting a hand on your head suddenly and looking down at you with the sweetest, most sincere smile you had ever seen. Somehow, you wished he were glaring at you instead. That you could say no to, but this? How could you deny a face like that! "At least for the night, so rest, for me, okay?"

"Fine, Rogers," you finally agreed and popping the pills and grimacing at the taste but following orders nonetheless. Steve smiled, content, and sat down beside you, flipping open the newspaper he'd brought with him. You scooted over to him and sank into his side, surprised by how badly your body actually did ache, and tried to ignoring the throbbing behind your eyes.Your stitches ached too, but Steve had already rubbed lidocaine ointment on them and that pain was starting to fade. How many times had you been hurt now? Ten? Sixteen? Twenty, even? "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing down at you but staying mostly focused on his reading. He curled his arm around your waist and carefully pulled you against him, his hand resting on your hip.

"Do you care to not tell my mother about this?" you asked him and he blinked, looking down at you before he laughed and nodded. You grinned and pulled your blanket up to your chin, trying to focus on the television, but your mind wandered back to the Nightingale, despite how you tried not to think about it. It was easy to smile when you looked at Steve, to maybe pretend that people weren't dead because of you, that Patrick wasn't dead because of you, but it didn't make it any less true. The explosions had been your fault, and you had to make up for it, but how to convince Steve to let you? "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" you asked him, "From the explosion, are you okay?"

"Ah, yeah, [Name], I'm fine," he nodded and gave you a quick smile, flashing his perfectly white teeth, but you frowned at him. Sure, he was a super soldier, but the two of you were front and center for a bomb!

"Steve," you said again, the warning tone in your voice daring him to lie to you again and this time he sighed and set his paper aside. Surprised, you straightened and watched him, half-afraid of what he was going to say. Had he been seriously hurt? Was there something wrong with him? He didn't look injured... "Steve, how badly are you hurt? How bad-"

"It's just some bruising," he quickly assured you, carefully wrapping his fingers around yours, so both of your held your glass of water, and gave you the same easy, soft smile you liked to see. "I swear it's only some bruising."

"Show me," you demanded, pulling back from him. Steve was hurt. Steve was hurt and it was because of you. You'd hurt him. "Show me," you repeated when he hesitated, staring hard at him until he finally stood, turned and lifted his shirt up to expose his back. Your breath caught in your throat. Ugly, deep purple bruises littered his back, from the base of his neck to the dip of his spine, and suddenly your throat burned and you wanted to cry. You set your glass aside and stood, ignoring your own aches, and reached out for him, letting your fingertips touch his warm, smooth skin. There was still swelling around his shoulder blades, the skin just puffy enough for you to tell, and you bit down on your lip to keep yourself from sobbing. "Oh, Steve..."

"They're only bruises, [Name], I promise it's not that bad," he said, looking down at you over his shoulder, a small smile on his lips. "Please don't cry."

You just shook your head and pressed your forehead against his back, half wondering if this behavior was real or just a side effect of your painkillers. You wrapped your arms around his stomach, knotting your fingers and suddenly squeezing him tightly. "It was my father," you whispered against his skin.

"What?" Steve turned in your arms and grabbed your shoulders, gently pushing you away from him. You looked up at him and sniffed, reaching up to wipe the dampness from your cheeks, before answering.
"On the phone, before the explosion, you remember?" you asked and he nodded, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. "It was my father on the phone. He called to warn me."

"Warn you?"

"To run," you murmured, holding his gaze and you swore you could see the gears turning in his eyes. You could almost hear what he was thinking, almost anticipate the questions he was going to ask you, but you didn't have any answers. You'd already asked yourself all the same questions. "He knew about the explosion, that it was going to happen, and he told me to run."

"How did he know?" Steve asked and you frowned a bit at him. Wasn't he going to say something like 'I thought your father was dead' or 'How did you know it was him?', but instead he asked a perfectly logical question and that somehow bothered you. Didn't it surprise him that your father was alive? That he had called you, warned you, cared that you might be killed! "[Name]?"

"I don't know," you shook your head, "We didn't exactly get to chat."

"How did you know it was him?" he asked, letting his hands slid down your arms to rest at your sides, fingers curling around the bones of your hip. "Did he say? [Name], did he say his name?"

"No," you shook your head, "But I know his voice, Steve. I'd know it anywhere. It was him."

"And you had no idea he was alive?" Steve asked and you shook your head again, letting him pull you against him and wrap his arms around you. Suddenly, you felt his hand run up and down your back, slow and with just enough pressure to make it feel good, so you relaxed, feeling your medication finally start to take effect. Drowsy, you leaned your weight into him, focusing on the movement of his hand.

"My dad's alive, Steve," you murmured, too tired to protest when he picked you up, but lucid enough to keep a hold of them when he tried to lay you back on the couch. You kept your arms tight around his neck, laughing a bit when he hesitantly let his body lay on yours, his elbows keeping him propped up so he didn't crush you completely, but it was close enough. His weight, the steadiness of his breath and the way he cautiously, slowly kissed your forehead made it possible for you to sleep. Most nights you treasured your solitude, but this wouldn't be one of those nights. "I have to find him."

"I know," Steve answered, shifting around so he could lay behind you on the couch, your back against his chest with his chin on your head, and he pulled the blanket up around you. You closed your eyes, trying to hold off sleep, but unable to fight the medication. Steve put his hand on your hip, rubbing his thumb in slow circles, and you cursed him for it. It wasn't helping you stay awake!

"Help me?" you asked him, hearing his answer just before sleep took you and you felt him press his lips to the back of your head.

"Even if you didn't ask."

-

"Ah, Agent [Surname]," the man at the desk stood to greet you, adjusting his tie as he did, and came around the desk to stand in front of you. Steve walked up behind you, apparently startling the man a bit because his attention instantly shifted. "Captain Rogers! Good afternoon."

"Afternoon," Steve greeted the man easily, hands in his coat pockets and that easy smile on his lips. He nodded and stepped around the man to go on his way, but the man stopped you, holding up a slightly shaking hand. He looked so nervous, you thought, wondered if maybe he was new. It wasn't often you actually had to use the front door.

"I'm sorry, but Agent [Surname] isn't allowed inside. Very strict orders from the Director," he explained and you smiled at him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Yep, definitely new. "Very strict orders."

"Relax," you laughed, "I'm just here with Captain Rogers to pick up his new suit. You heard it was done, right? Rumors has it it's pretty cool."

"I may have, um, seen a few of the designs pass through," the man nodded slowly, relaxing a bit when you didn't yell at him...or shoot him. You knew what kind of horror stories they told new hires about the agents, mostly that you all were quick draws who shot first and asked later, but that was all bull. Well, most of it was. "But I'm still not supposed to let you in. They even posted your picture on my desk, so I wouldn't forget."

"Overkill," you muttered to yourself before shaking your head. "Listen, I appreciate you doing your job so amazingly well-" you paused and checked his nametag, "Travis, but I'm sure Captain Rogers won't let me get into any mischief. You don't doubt the Captain's integrity, do you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," Travis shook his head instantly. "I have no doubts about Captain Rogers word, none, but..." he sort of trailed off, waving his hand helplessly, but it was that moment that Steve decided to step in. He put a hand on your shoulder and smiled down at Travis.

"Then you have my word that Agent [Surname] will not be out of my sight and I take full responsibility for her. If you're questioned at all, please let the Director know he can take it up with me," Steve told him, working a sort of charm you didn't know he had, and Travis finally gave him. After all, who didn't trust Captain America?

"Alright," he nodded and returned to his desk, tapping in the code to unlock the doors and then waving you two inside. You gave him a smile and a nod, Steve did the same, but as soon as you were behind the door, Steve frowned down at you.

"You're a bad influence and I do not approve of this," he said, but it was the same thing you'd heard on the drive over here.

"Relax, you did great," you patted him on the shoulder and walked ahead, leading the way down the long hall. It was nearly empty, only a few SHIELD personnel passing you before you stopped at the elevator door. "Alright, go on up to get fitted for you suit. I'll meet you back here in twenty minutes."

"What if I'm done before you?" Steve asked, stepping inside the elevator once it arrived. You shrugged.

"I don't know, grab a snack. Twenty minutes," you reminded him, pointing at him until the doors closed and then taking off down the hall. Thankfully, it seemed that Front Desk Travis was one of the only ones who knew you weren't supposed to be in the building, so no one stopped you on your way and you made it to the main computer room in less than a few minutes. "Martin?" you knocked on the door. "Martin!"

"You are not supposed to be here," a voice called back and you rolled your eyes. Apparently, Front Desk Travis was not the only one. "But come in anyway because I know you're going to!"

"Thank you," you stepped inside and closed the door behind you, thankful that Martin was alone and that the few other computer techs had went out to lunch. Just like every day. "I need you to do something for me."

"I'm under strict orders and you're on vacation."

"More like forced leave of absence," you grumbled, following Martin and standing behind his chair when he sat down. "I need you check something for me."

"Oh, no, no. Last time I checked something for you," he made sure to emphasize those words, "I was almost suspended for a month without pay and that was when you still worked here."

"I still work here now!"

"I'm not doing it."

"You owe me like ten favors."

"Yeah, favors, but not my job."

"What about Amanda?"

"What about her?"

"I covered for you!"

"That doesn't count! You offered."

"Martin, please," you said, holding the back of his chair and staring down at him. You knew it wasn't exactly fair of you to ask, or to drag him into this, but he was the only one who could, and would, do it. Martin had been hired into SHIELD the same time as you and you two had hit if off, bonding over the tv shows you both enjoyed, and yes, you'd dated for a time, and that was just another reason you shouldn't be doing this to him, but you needed his help. You couldn't access the database yourself, not with your credentials, or Fury would know you were here, and none of the other techs would do it for you. "Please just do this for me. I promise I won't ask you for anything else again."

"That's a lie," Martin muttered, rolling his eyes at you but logging into his computer anyway. A few quick strokes of his fingers and he was setting it up so his activity wouldn't be logged and his searches not saved. "I know about what happened, by the way. Natasha had me run the phone records alongside the security footage from the Nightingale. I know what you're looking for and what you plan to do."

"Hey, they ought to let you out in the field," you said, resisting the urge to flick him in the back of the head and instead just digging your nails into his chair. Martin always was too smart for his own good, never missing anything and picking up on everything, and it had been infuriating when the two of you dated. Damn him. "Is there anything on my father or not?"

"It looks like it," Martin nodded, "About a decade's worth of files, all archived and locked."

"Can you get in them?"

"Can I get in them, she asks," Martin scoffed at that and this time you did flick him in the head. He made an absurd sound in the back of his throat, sounding sort of like an offended five-year-old, but kept tapping away on his keyboard regardless. "Keep it up, missy. No one else is going to get you this info. You always were so physical."

"You enjoyed it," you teased, unable to help yourself. "Especially that time on your computer desk."

"[N-Name]!" Martin sputtered, casting you a sharp glare over his shoulder, his glass slipping a bit on his nose. He shoved them back up and looked away from you, a pink blush painted across his cheeks. "That was the worst of it! It took me three hours to reorganize the paperwork you knocked everywhere."

"Such are the consequences of passion," you replied, leaning forward and over his shoulder to watch the words and images that flashed across his screen. You recognized your father, pictures taken at different times in his life, and a few times you even recognized yourself, but the words were running too fast for you to catch. Martin was downloading everything onto a USB for you, something you appreciated, and making sure the files would be relocked and time stamped exactly as they had been. "What's the most current information? Can you tell?"

"Hmm," Martin hummed to himself, his eyes, that were much more talented than yours, scanning the screen as his fingers blurred across the keyboard. You watched the lights of the screen reflect off his glasses, momentarily admiring the intensity in his gaze. Martin, for all his geeky enthusiasm and OCD habits, was incredibly dedicated and more than a bit of a genius. "Looks like there's a file from last year, but there are a few notes from February of this year."

"That recently?" you blinked, glancing at him and then at the screen. "He's been active as recently as February?"

"Apparently," Martin nodded, "Active enough for SHIELD to notice, but from what I can tell, they've been watching him for a long while. Years, from the looks of it."

"Was he an agent?" you asked, your voice suddenly quiet and small. Could it be, that your father was an agent of SHIELD this entire time? All the times he was gone, all the late nights, all the moving...was it because of SHIELD? Your mother had once said he'd been a spy, but as you'd gotten older, you stopped believing her answers, but had that been the time she told the truth? "Martin, is my father an agent?"

"You sure you want that answer?" he asked, pushing back his chair to retrieve the USB from the port below his desk. He spun in his chair to face you, holding out the USB but not releasing it to you. Instead, he held it tight and looked you dead in the eye. You knew this stare. You used to hate it when he looked at you like this. He was questioning you, trying to silently judge if he thought you smart or crazy, trying to figure out if you had thought this through or were just being impulsive, but not even Martin had ever been able to figure you out. "Are you sure you want any of these answers? You've been avoiding this for years, [Name]. You ready to open this box?"

"Yeah, Martin," you nodded, taking the USB and tucking it into your pocket. "I have to be."

--

"He's an agent," you murmured, sitting at Steve's kitchen table, laptop in front of you and printouts of the more important information scattered about. You wore your pajamas, hair pulled out of your face, and stitches dressed and covered for bed, but your buzzed with too many thoughts for you to sleep. Steve lay on the couch, arm behind his head, actually sleeping, but you were still wide awake. How could he sleep? Yeah, it was 3am, but how could he sleep?! "All this time and we've been doing the same job. You sneaky bastard."

"[Name]," Steve's husky voice filled your ears a moment later and you looked over at him, pausing your obsessive reading for a moment. "Sleep."

"You can't boss me around anymore, nurse," you answered back, standing to go get something to drink from the fridge. There was too much to read, too much to know, and you'd stay up all damned night if that what it took. "Just go back to sleep. I'm fine."

"You've been staring at the computer since eight. Leave it for now," Steve insisted, rolling off the couch and walking over to you. He shoved a hand through his hair, attempting to fix it but only make it worse, before leaning against the doorframe to watch you. "Fine, then I'll stay up, too."

"That's silly. Why should both of us be exhausted tomorrow? One of has to be conscious enough to remember the day," you answered, pouring yourself some orange juice and turning to him, one hand poised on your hip. "Steve, it's okay, go back to sleep."

"You're bossy," he murmured, repeating your words from the other day, when he had insisted you rest on the couch. You smiled, suddenly very aware of how comfortably he'd become around you, at least in private. Outside, he still blushed a bit when you touched him too boldly, or unexpectedly, but in here, in his house, it was as if he'd known you for years. "[Name], if there's something to find, we'll find it, but it won't happen any-"

The phone one his coffee table started to vibrate, making you jump and Steve was instantly awake, moving so quickly to retrieve his shield that you thought for a moment he had teleported or something. The phone continued to ring, UNKNOWN flashing across the screen, and Steve moved to grab it.

"No," you stopped him and set down your orange juice, going to pick it up yourself. Steve was tense, but stayed still, shield at his side. You clicked 'answer' and lifted the phone to your ear. "Hello?"

"[Nickname]?" you froze, throat going dry and eyes widening, but somehow you knew. You'd known when the phone started to ring. "[Nickname]? You there?"

"Yeah," you choked out, holding a hand up to Steve when he started toward you. He stopped, waited. "I'm here."

"Good, then I need you to listen. You ready?" his voice was hushed, but gruff and low like you remembered and it was the same voice that you heard in your memories, that you heard whenever you look at his pictures. The same voice from the nightclub.

"Yeah," you nodded, despite how he couldn't see. Steve mouthed a question, his brow knotted in confusion. You put your hand over the phone. "It's him. It's my dad."