Warnings: (mentions of death of family members) (fluff)
Summary: An anonymous package gets dropped at your door, an evening of Steve reminiscing ensues.
Authors Note: This is my first time writing and posting anything. Obviously, it’s not the best but I really enjoyed writing it. (Thank you to my pals for proof reading and pushing me to just get on and write something). Any feedback is welcomed.
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The gentle crackle of jazz music coming from the record player filled the apartment. A reminder of days gone by that made Steve feel even more at home. He was sitting at the dining table, papers covering the surface as he studied a previous mission briefing. You were in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes from the beautiful dinner Steve had made. He always insisted on making dinner on a Sunday, a tradition you both loved.
You finished drying the plates, threw the dish towel over your shoulder and padded into the living area. Steve’s right thumb and index finger were now rubbing his forehead, a small frown forming. You smiled softly, the dedication he put into everything being one of the traits that made you fall for him.
“Do you want a cup of coffee hun?” You asked, removing the needle from the vinyl and flipping the disc over to play the rest of the record, knowing the music helped Steve concentrate.
“Please” he replied, eyes leaving the paper for a split second to look at you, a soft, lopsided smile forming on his lips.
It wasn’t long before you were making your way back towards the living area, two mugs in hand, a strong black Coffee for Steve and your own milky one.
Placing Steve’s mug on the table next to him his thank you was interrupted by a knock at the door. Both yours and Steve’s eyes darted from the door to each other, both shrugging indicating that neither of you were expecting anyone.
“I’ll go.” you announce, placing your mug next to Steve’s, leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek.
Expecting to see a figure in front of you as you opened the door, you frowned at the empty space that greeted you. You took a small step forward to peer out into the hallway to make sure there was nobody loitering on your floor, in doing so your foot made contact with something on the floor. Looking down you spotted a white, lidded box, the size of a large shoebox. Bending down to pick up the box you read the handwritten message on the fluorescent yellow post it note occupying the lid.
“I found these and thought you’d like to keep them 💙”
You gripped the box with both hands, closing the door with your foot as you made your way back to Steve. He was gathering all the paper back into the file as he watched you walk in, a confused look on your face.
“Everything ok Sweetheart?” Steve questioned, eyes on the box in your small hands. You looked up, face softening and handed him the box.
“Who gave it to you?” Steve quizzed.
“Nobody, they just left it on the mat”
Steve removed the lid cautiously, holding his breath; his military instincts taking over, hesitant that the box might contain something dangerous. Neither of you blinked as he did so, both releasing a sigh of relief as the contents was revealed.
The box was full, black and white photographs stacked to a centimeter from the top. The top layer perfectly displaying the different qualities of the collection contained in the box. Some in immaculate condition, others worn at the edges, ripped or sunbleached.
Steve’s large fingers delicately picked up the photograph lying at the top of the pile. You both chuckled at the two younger, yet familiar faces smiling back at you. Two teenage boys, polar opposites; one with slicked back dark hair, darker eyes, a chiseled jawline and a muscular physique, standing next to him a smaller boy; lighter, floppy hair, brighter eyes and a scrawny physique.
“You and Buck right?” you questioned, admiring Steve’s soft expression at the brief flashback.
“Yeah” he paused “my sixteenth birthday”. His face lit up. The same, slightly older, crinkles as the boy in the photograph surrounding his eyes. The wide, childlike smile unchanged.
Steve started searching through the box looking for some more familiar faces. As you watched him you suddenly realised the box of memories in front of him could surface a number of emotions in him, most of the people in the photographs long passed away. Friends and family members taken away, Steve’s chance to say goodbye stolen from him.
“Come on, let’s go sit down, have a real look at these” you smiled at Steve, taking the box from his hand. Steve grabbed your coffee mugs and you followed him to the living room. Placing the mugs on the small table in front of the couch Steve turned to you, reaching out and loosely holding your hand he sat down on the floor, back against the couch guiding you to sit between his legs back against his torso, the box on the floor between your legs.
You picked the fragile photographs up one by one, Steve stretching his long, muscular arms over your shoulders to point at the figures in them, telling you who each person was. The box contained photos of Steve at different stages of his life as well as some of just his family members. A mixture of photos he’d seen before and some brand new to him.
“That’s my cousin Eddie” Steve motioned “remember the one I told you about? He used to do the accents” he finished, letting out a soft laugh.
“Irish Eddie” you nodded, giggling with Steve as you recalled the story about Eddie impersonating one of his neighbours.
The next photo that caught your eye was of two older women, two older men, a middle aged man and a woman of the same age. The middle aged woman was cradling a small baby in her arms. Steve rested his chin on your shoulder as he admired the photo with you.
“I’ve never seen this one” Steve began, taking the photo from between your fingers “that looks like my parents” he stated, holding the photo up to get a closer look. As he did this you noticed some faded text on the reverse of the aged, crumpled photo.
“There's writing on the back” you observed.
Steve flipped the photo over, squinting his eyes he slowly read “Grandmas. Grandpas. Daddy, Mommy and Baby Stevie”
Steve stayed silent for a while, the memory of his Grandparents had faded from his mind a long time ago. He took in their appearance, compared the likeness between his paternal Father and his own Father. Admired the way his Mother’s eyes were kind like her own Mother’s. Watching him you smiled, realising this was probably the first time he’d seen any of them for a long time, leaving him with his thoughts you stood up slowly, heading to grab something from your bedroom. Returning to the living room Steve hadn’t moved, his eyes still on the family photograph. Looking up at you he announced
“It’s my Mom’s handwriting, she always curled her S’s like that when she wrote my name” he sniffed quietly.
You smiled, walking over to him and bending down to kiss the top of his head. You handed him a wooden picture frame, one that matched the ones in the apartment filled with pictures of you both.
“Thank you” he smiled softly in response, taking the back off the frame and flattening the ‘new’ photograph into it. Once he had secured the back you took it from his hands again, reorganising some of the frames on the large cabinet you placed it in the centre “Perfect” you smiled, mirrored by Steve as you returned to your seated position. He kissed your shoulder, a silent, repeated thank you.
You spent the next hour working your way through the box. Steve pointed out Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Friends and neighbours. You loved seeing pictures of your husband before he’d been injected with the serum, you knew deep down he still felt like his old self; insecure and worried - he told you that numerous times, that sometimes he forgot he was actually fit and healthy now.
The second to last photograph in the box was in the worst condition so far, battered at the edges, rips from where it had been folded, the paper it was printed on crumbling slightly. Steve choked a little as he realised what it was. His Mother stood in her wedding dress, his Father beaming with pride next to her; arm leaning delicately over her frame, his hand resting on her shoulder.
Steve looked at you, his blue eyes surrounded by puffy, red eyelids.
“Dad used to keep this in his wallet” he breathed, raising his body slightly to pull his own wallet out of his back pocket; copying his Father's gesture.
Steve wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back into his chest, hands resting on your stomach.
“I know they say a picture’s worth a thousand words but you can’t see what the shades of grey keep covered, amazing isn’t it, half the story of my life, right there in black and white” Steve emphasised. You placed your hands over his.
Kissing your cheek he stated “I can’t wait to see the next half in colour”.
