Work Text:
Fall was here. The weather had gotten chillier and the trees were starting to change their color. Green faded to yellows, oranges, and browns.
Here was the season of warm drinks, pumpkins, apples, and chestnuts.
A time when it became cozier and the homes got warmer, when the people spent more time together.
It was also a hard time for Steve.
A time in which he reverted back to melancholia, to missing and longing for a time long past gone. A time he once knew so dearly but could never go back to.
With the anniversary of both his mother’s death and her birthday coming close he tended to pull back into a shell most couldn’t reach him in. Dearly missing the simpler times, only for the way they connected him to his family and what else had been lost with time.
It pained her to see him like that: silent, small, keeping to himself and letting the pain gnaw away at him. The Steve that never faltered and planted himself strong like a tree was gone in those instances, left was the young boy he had been before everything.
In an effort to help him find his footing again, to find something that pulled him out of this revery and brought him back some happiness to associate with the season she sat down together with Bucky. And so they made their plan.
When she stepped into their shared quarter's music softly played from the vintage gramophone in the corner. A big figure was perched on the sleek window seat, back facing the room as he stared outside and watched the city below them.
Steve had heard her entering the room but didn’t react. Instead, he kept staring ahead, aimlessly watching down on the buildings around the Tower. Beside him on the windowsill lay a small sketchbook, in his hand he mindlessly twirled a pen.
Slowly she approached him, her fingers brushed against his shoulder before she slipped her hand over, resting it there, softly squeezing his shoulder as she stepped closer to him. Her other hand slid over and around him until she held him against her. His head barely brushed her chest even with her leaning against his back and bracing her weight wide a weighted blanket around him. The soft and silky strands of his hair tickled her nose as she nuzzled against him.
Silence encompassed them that was peaceful albeit heavy as they remained unmoving. Steve sighed heavily and put the pen down. He turned in the embrace to look at her with his eyes misted over by sadness and grief. His mouth failed to quip upward in an attempt to smile. Seeing this sorrowful attempt made her heartache.
She wrapped her hands around his cheeks and softly raised his head. His skin was soft from the fresh shave, no hairs to prick her finger there. Nuzzling into her palm, he briefly closed his eyes. Just as she felt him place a small peck against her pulse point, she reciprocated, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead that made him rumble quietly.
“Would you mind helping me with something?” She asked him, breaking the silence. Steve opened his eyes, once more looking up at her. A hint of curiosity flashed in his eyes. He nodded while his hands landed on her hips, softly giving her a squeeze. As he rose to his feet he towered over her again.
Steve’s eyes trailed to the open sketchbook on the windowsill. It was as if the sketchbook had a magnetic pull on him, keeping him chained to the spot. The open pages were filled with sketches of a beautiful young woman. The resemblance was blatant. She had the same determined and strong eyes and that smile Y/N so loved to see on him. Steve spared the drawings one more look before he softly closed the book and turned back to her. His hands found hers, fingers interweaving before he gave them a squeeze and nodded toward the door. Leading him out of their room, they made their way into the kitchen.
On the island there were already some ingredients spread out, a printed-out recipe lay beside the scale, bowls, and pans. When they stood in front of it and Steve’s eyes scanned over all the ingredients his brows rose up.
“You want to bake?” He asked her, surprised, to which she nodded.
“I thought I’d try it out. Everyone keeps going on, about how it’s part of fall to bake pies,” she shrugged her shoulders, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Thought I’d give it a chance to experience these ‘Fall spirits’.”
Steve hummed, absentmindedly nodding. He agreed, even if his childhood hadn’t much of that either. The Great Depression and the lack of goods had prevented it.
“Help me? I never baked anything in my life.” She felt shy to reveal this, a hint of embarrassment swinging in her voice. She wasn’t secretive about her life previous to the Avengers. Her time in the Red Room could hardly be labeled as childhood, the horrible conditions had been nothing that would resemble any normal person’s life. And even if she had left that life behind her before she had even entered her twenties, the years as a fugitive and nomad hadn’t been much closer to a normal life.
Steve looked at her with softness when he agreed, “Of course.”
Immediately he started to roll up his sleeves, uncovering his strong arms up to his elbows. Then he tugged her towards the sink. Gentle he guided her in front of it, her hands resting on the stainless steel as he slotted himself behind her. His arms came around her middle, encircling her cozily and safely before they reached around for the faucet as he turned the water on. Next, he guided her hands under the water. Smiling to herself as she had gotten the hint, they washed their hands together. She could feel Steve press a kiss to the back of her head, causing her to hum softly.
All the actual steps to baking followed in a similar manner. Steve took her through all the steps patiently and with many affectionate words and loving touches. He let her read the recipe and guess what each step meant before he would steer her in the right direction, giving explanations for every question she had.
For most of the actual baking, he kept to his place behind her, preferring to have his arms wrapped around her middle and guiding her with his words, rather than with actions. He only helped her when she needed it and actively asked him to. With every step, she got rewarded with the soft press of his lips on her head, shoulder, and cheek.
“Apple pie?” He rumbled behind her as she pulled some apples out when they were done with the dough.
“Figured you and Bucky wouldn’t say no to demolishing it. I wanted to bake, not eat it.” She smiled mischievously up at him while Steve laughed quietly.
“I’m not going to say no to that.” Steve already had to pretty much eat her desserts for her anyway. She wasn’t much of a sweet tooth, never introduced to so much sugary sweetness. The Red Room had put them through strict diets and as a vigilante, always on the run, she hadn’t exactly had the luxury of going on shopping sprees and visiting cafés. She had lived off of the bare minimum, sometimes even a proper meal had been a luxury. After they had prepared the apple filling it came time to roll out the dough. When she handed Steve the rolling pin he looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Please?” At that, he cracked a smile and took it from her to tackle the dough. Not before he playfully tapped her ass with the rolling pin, however, making her shoot him a playful wink. One half of the dough was placed into the baking mold, while the other was reserved for the grid on top.
It was then that Steve started to quiet down again. Y/N glanced up at him and saw him standing there, unmoving and with deeply furrowed brows. She could see the wheels in his head turning but wasn’t sure if he was remembering something or slowly getting the hint.
Steve’s hand reached forward and landed on her arm, softly wrapping his fingers around her wrist and stopping her from cutting the rolled-out dough in stripes. She put the knife down and turned fully towards him then. He looked at her with a look in his eyes that made her breath hitch. She couldn’t describe it fully but she recognized the longing and the hint of sadness and grief that had returned.
“Steve,” gently she asked, stepping closer, concerned for her boyfriend.
“That,” he started, stopping again to fall silent as he looked at the stripes she had already cut, “It’s almost exactly the way my mother would cut the dough to make the grid.”
“Is it?” She inquired, silently urging him to continue. Steve hummed slowly, still fixated on the unfinished pie before them. Now she could see the longing clearly in his eyes.
“She had a special technique of braiding the stripes to make this pattern on top of it. No other pie I’ve ever seen had that.” He trailed off, thinking about it, remembering it, “When I was small she told me it was a secret family recipe. That there was no written down instruction on how to braid it. It was handed down by word in the family.”
And then as quiet as a mouse he whispered, “She died before she could teach me.” He sounded so small and broken at that moment that it nearly shattered her heart had there not been one important detail she knew.
“What if I told you that it wasn’t lost?” She loosened his hold on her wrist to intertwine her fingers with his. Steve’s eyes focused back on her. There was only one question hanging in the air. Unspoken as he didn’t dare to voice it out loud.
Y/N pulled him closer as she reached for the paper with the instructions on it. Pushing the paper towards him, she encouraged Steve to read it. It was a photocopy of a handwritten recipe.
Steve recognized the handwriting immediately. His eyes welled up with tears as his breathing started to shake.
“How?” He asked her, looking up again after a long drawn-out silence. Crooning softly and reaching towards him, she swiped her thumb over his cheek to catch a tear that spilled.
“Bucky and I wanted to find a way to cheer you up. Get you out of this funk.” With a soft smile, she looked at him. Choking on the gasp that left him he pulled her into his arms.
“I hounded the Smithsonian…a lot. They probably hate me now,” she chuckled briefly, “We also did some digging about what happened with all your things after you were presumed dead. Turns out most of the things went to Bucky’s sisters.
Becca had two boys, who she named after you two. And his other two sisters also had some children of their own. We managed to track down some of their descendants, who were kind enough to give us a copy of their family recipes.” Steve furrowed his brows. When he opened his mouth to object she shushed him.
“As I was saying. When they compiled the recipes for us they found something else… I have your mother's original and handwritten cookbook in our room.”
Steve gasped once more, his hold on her tightened. He left her no time to continue as his lips descended on hers and entangled her in a tumultuous kiss. It made her dizzy the way he kissed her. Her heart raced as she clung to him.
When the kiss slowly faded Steve leaned his forehead against her. His nose brushed against hers, softly nuzzling her. Sighing against her lips and squeezing her softly in his hold her heart still raced.
“I love you,” he told her, his voice raw from all the feelings.
“I love you too.”
Slowly she opened her eyes again to glance up at him. They stayed in the embrace a while longer, breathing the other in, nuzzling against each other until Steve glanced over her shoulder. There was newfound energy and happiness in him that made him pull back with a big grin on his face.
“Let’s finish this pie so we can eat it.”
It made her snicker and nod. Together they turned around, reading the instructions and carefully braiding the dough. Steve put the pie in the oven when they were done. While it baked they leaned against the counter, side by side, and watched it.
“Does it look like the ones your mother made?” She asked him after a while.
“It does,” and after a break, he added, “Maybe even better.”