Archive of Our Own ^beta

Claire would’ve been hard-pressed to find a less menacing-looking bioweapon than the one currently curled up on her sofa. 

She’d been gone only a few minutes, but clearly that was all it took for Steve to take a trip to dreamland. With a sigh, she sat her drink down and gingerly tip-toed over to take a seat at the end of the couch, mere centimeters away from the slumbering Steve’s head. To her surprise, he didn’t stir at all.

Usually, Steve was a pretty light sleeper. No matter how serene he may have looked while napping, it generally took very little to wake him. After what he’d been through at the Antarctic base, after the horrors inflicted upon him after being knocked unconscious in that frigid snowfield… Keeping one’s guard up was an understandable defense mechanism, no matter how much Steve tried to pretend that he was over the myriad of trauma that he’d experienced.

She leaned her head down closer to Steve’s own, hovering there for a moment as she listened to his breathing, which was punctuated by the occasional snore. For once, he was out like a light—and that presented her a rare opportunity. 

Carefully, Claire placed her hand on Steve’s hair before gently stroking it. He looked so peaceful… So peaceful that I could almost forget what a pain in the ass he can be at times, she mused as a faint grin snuck across her face.

“I’m not a cat, Claire.”

Claire nearly leapt out of her own skin.

“S-Steve, what the—?” She hastily pulled her hand away and sat upright on the sofa.

“Meow,” Steve teased. “I was awake the whole time, you know,” he added through a yawn, though he made no effort to sit up.

Arms crossed, Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Don’t lie—you were dead to the world until a second ago.”

“I was just resting my eyes a little.”

“You were snoring.”

“Look, your sofa is really comfortable, okay?” With a sigh, Steve relented. “...Fine, I might’ve dozed off for a second or two. Maybe.” He continued to lay on his side as if he were glued to the sofa—clearly, he wasn’t kidding about how comfortable he found it.

Claire gave a short, half-suppressed laugh. “Whatever you say, sleepyhead.” The fact that he was able to relax enough around her for even a momentary nap was a good enough reason to hold back on the playful teasing. For now. “Either way, sorry I woke you up, Steve.”

“It’s no big deal,” he said before running a quick hand through his bangs. “Just didn’t expect you there doing… that. Not that it felt bad, though…”

“Oh? I thought you said that you weren’t a cat?”

Steve tilted his head up toward Claire. “All I’m saying is that it felt kinda nice. And, come on—I’m obviously more of a ‘dog’ type of guy, anyway.”

Really? In what universe is being stubborn, a magnet for mishaps, and the owner of a bottomless stomach not cat-like behavior? Claire decided to keep that little observation to herself and instead responded to Steve’s admission with renewed gliding motions through his hair. After an only momentary grumble of half-hearted protest from Steve, the two settled into a tranquil silence as Claire played with his auburn locks.

Auburn… Except…

Her hand came to a stop, drawing Steve’s attention to its absence.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Oh, he was not going to like this.

“Nothing serious, I just… never noticed that you had a few gray strands before.”

That was enough to jolt him up.

“‘Nothing serious’...? ‘Nothing serious?!’” Steve cradled his head in his hand as if he’d been dealt the worst news of his life. “Please tell me you’re joking.” When all he received in reply was a sheepish, apologetic shrug, he fell right back into the depths of despair.

“Hey, cheer up,” Claire said with a gentle pat on his shoulder. “It’s only a handful of grays mixed in there. Stress does crazy things to the body, and t-Veronica is on an entirely different level than the average person’s stress.”

“Goddammit, I’m gonna go find whatever remains of Alexia and nuke her again myself!”

That was easier said than done when Alexia had practically been vaporized along with her entire miserable base, but the sentiment was loud and clear regardless. Claire felt a little guilty that she’d brought up the gray hairs at all if it upset Steve that much, but she had to admit that the mental image of Steve busting out a rocket launcher—or the linear launcher itself—on a few specks of Alexia dust was a welcome one.

Claire cleared her throat to hide her amusement. “Relax—it’s not like you’re going to wake up tomorrow with a full head of gray hair. And besides,” she added, “even if you did, there’d be nothing wrong with that. It might make you look… distinguished.” 

“...Claire, I’m 17.”

Steve forced himself up off the sofa and ambled over to the wall, pressing his head against it in resignation as Claire stood up to follow.

“It’s over for me. Over before it even began…”

That seemed a tad dramatic, but Claire knew she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to stare back at some silver strands in the mirror—especially not at her age. Even so, freaking out about it wasn’t going to help. She sidled up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning her weight against him.

“Keep this up, and you’re gonna give me gray hairs next,” she laughed.

“Well, at least we’ll match, I guess...”

Claire gave his shoulders a playful squeeze. “Don’t let that be your excuse to worry me all the time.”

“Who, me?” Freeing himself of Claire’s grasp, Steve turned around to face her. “What, did you already forget? I’m a ‘distinguished’ gentleman now.”

That was most certainly not true, but it brought a smile to Claire’s face nonetheless. Nothing like a little humor to handle one’s troubles, something they both knew all too well from their time at Rockfort Island. And this was, thankfully, a trouble several magnitudes less serious.

“Hmm,” she hummed, staring back at Steve with her hands on her hips. “Nope, you look the same as ever to me—like a moody teenager.” At that, she caught Steve let out a much-needed breath of relief before he quickly pivoted to an expression of feigned annoyance.

“Geez… You could’ve left out the ‘moody’ part, you know.”

It would be a long, long time yet before Steve could ever be described as “distinguished.” But Claire was more than fine with that—so long as she didn’t start finding stray grays in her own hair any time soon.