"Okay Brooklyn, it's time for bed!"

Through precious and hooded eyes, your tired daughter blinked up at you sleepily. They were the same eyes as her father's, blue and sparkling. You smiled down at her as you rocked her back and forth, swaying on the balls of your feet. She yawned, her mouth moving as if she was chewing on something for a moment. Her blinking began to slow.

"Can you say 'goodnight', Brooklyn?" You cooed in hushed tones. "Say, 'Goodnight Mommy'?"

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself Sweetheart."

Steve's voice whispered through the darkness of the nursery. He was leaning over the crib, laying out a few blankets and straightening the corners so that they were completely flat.

"She's only six months old." He continued. "Most kids don't start to talk for another six months at least."

You continued to rock Brooklyn from side to side, bracing the back of her head with your hand.

"Well she's not like most kids, are you Brooklyn? You're a little super kid." You replied, causing Steve to chuckle slightly.

"Alright, the crib's ready." He called out.

You made your way over to where Steve stood, reaching over the rail of the crib to place Brooklyn down on top of the blankets. The rail was just tall enough that you had to stand on the tips of your toes, to reach the bottom. Steve's hands came to rest on the side of your waist as you did to steady you.

"We love you Brooklyn." You said, standing back up normally. "Sweet dreams, little angel."

You followed Steve out of the nursery, both tip toeing out of the room so as not to wake her up. Steve pulled the door shut slowly, turning the handle carefully and quietly. You both stood there a moment, waiting to see if she would cry. This had become a sort of tradition of yours over the past six months. It was only about maybe once a week that Brooklyn actually did cry at night when you tried to put her to bed, she was a fairly heavy sleeper. Apparently, she loved her bed just as much as she loved being in either of her parent's arms. You couldn't fault her for that.

When no sound came and you were both sure Brooklyn was asleep, you began to head towards the living room. You plopped down onto the couch sideways, so that your legs were spread out across the surface, and your back was leaning against the arm rest. Steve followed you to the couch, bending down to lift up your legs. He sighed as he sat down where they had just been, letting your legs fall into his lap. His head lolled back onto the couch and he shut his eyes.

"You tired?"

Steve reopened his eyes, his head turning to look at you. One arm was draped along the top of the couch, the other resting on top of your legs.

"A little." He admitted. "It's been a long week."

You nodded, your feet fidgeting slightly, the friction of your socks against the couch kept them warm. Steve's eyes narrowed at you slightly.

"What?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head quickly, shifting your gaze to your knees.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong."

Steve laughed lowly.

"You are the world's worst liar, Sweetheart." He said, bringing your eyes back to his.

"What's wrong?" He asked, again.

His hand was on your knee, his thumb brushing there in lazy circles. You doubted he even realized he was doing it. It was like it was instinctual, a habit as subconscious as blinking and breathing.

"Nothing's wrong." You answered, truthfully. "I got Peter to agree to baby sit Brooklyn on Saturday and asked Tony if we could take one of his boats out. I was going to surprise you, I thought you might like a day outside. Fresh sea air, relaxing by the water, you know? But if you're too tired, we'll just do it some other time, it's no big deal. You should catch up on sleep."

Steve grinned at you happily, his eyes looking more awake and alert then they had moments ago.

"No I'm not too tired at all, a boat day sounds perfect." He said excitedly, only for his smile to falter slightly. "Could we not get your mom to look after Brooklyn instead?"

This time you were the one laughing.

"Peter's great with her, Steve. He's her Godfather, they should be spending time together." You pointed out. "Besides, Mom baby sits her all the time. It's not fair to ask her as much as we do."

This conversation wasn't new to either of you. Steve was never really fond of the idea of leaving Brooklyn alone with Peter, but then again, he never really liked leaving her alone with anyone. He was extremely protective of his daughter, an important quality to see in a father for sure, but sometimes it was just a tiny bit too much. Your mom had apparently proven herself as being capable of taking care of Brooklyn in Steve's eyes, having raised you, but Steve was still hesitant around leaving her with Peter, since he hadn't spent a lot of time with children before. Steve had nothing to worry about. Peter was amazing with Brooklyn, a complete natural. His favorite past time was to try to get Brooklyn to laugh, a hobby you thought was born out of his determination to become Brooklyn's favorite fun Uncle. Brooklyn had lots of 'Uncles' and 'Aunts', none blood-related, not that that stopped them from showering her with love and affection. You thought she had to be the most loved baby on the planet, given how many people wanted to spoil her rotten.

"I know, I know." Steve conceded. "I just love her so much."

You smiled at him, reaching out towards his hand on the ledge of the couch and lacing your fingers with his.

"I know you do." You said, squeezing his hand gently.

He smiled back at you.

"I can't believe how big she's already gotten." He admitted. "She's growing up so fast."

"I know." You nodded in a mock serious voice. "Pretty soon she'll be putting on lipstick, wearing high heels, and going on dates."

"Ha. Ha." Steve huffed out each syllable, in a monotone fake laugh.

You shook your head, sighing dramatically.

"I'm disappointed in you Steve." You teased. "I was sure you were going to say something about her not being allowed to talk to a boy until she was sixteen."

"Eighteen, at the earliest." He corrected in a manner that told you he was only partially kidding.

You rolled your eyes.

"Can you blame me?" He shrugged, unfazed. "Men suck."

You laughed again, staring at the man next to you. Your eyes glossed over slightly as you examined each feature and as you did, you felt that tug on your heart. The tug that only happened when you looked at him. The tug on that thread attached there, connecting your heart to his.

"That's what I told myself." You mumbled.

Steve's eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Huh?"

"That's what I told myself." You repeated. "That night we met in the bar. I was sitting there thinking about how angry I was with James and how much men suck. Then you pulled out the stool beside mine and asked if you could sit down next to me."

"I'm surprised you let me." He replied, grinning softly.

"How could I not? I mean have you seen yourself?" You teased, nudging his leg with your heel.

"I am quite the ladies man." He nodded, earning another nudge from you.

"Yea well, you didn't turn out so bad in the end." You shrugged. "At least you don't suck as much as the rest."

"I certainly hope not." Steve said, moving his hand from your leg to clutch the spot on his chest just above his heart. "You did say yes to my proposal. Just think, you'll be walking down that aisle in a white dress and saying 'I do' in a few months time."

You watched as he continued to smile at you, his eyes lit up with the kind of happiness you only saw when he looked at you or when he looked at Brooklyn. There was another tug on your heart, as if he had pulled out on it while he touched his own.

"You're lucky I said yes after you only gave me the shortened version of the proposal." You joked.

"You only have yourself to blame for that." He argued. "Someone had to be standing and refused to sit back down on her hospital bed."

His hand fell back from his chest and onto your leg. He squeezed around your knee, knowing it was the spot where you were the most ticklish. You held in a laugh, squirming in your seat and pushing his hand off your knee. He moved it a few inches down to rest on your shin.

"What were you going to say? In the unabridged version?" You asked, putting air quotes around the word unabridged.

"I'm not telling you that." Steve shook his head, stretching out his legs out on the coffee table lazily.

"Steve!" You whined.

"(Y/n)!" He mimicked.

His refusal to tell you only had you more curious, so you gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

"Please? I want to know!"

You watched as the corner of his lips turned into a slight smirk and shook his head for a second time.

"Nope."

You should have known that wouldn't work. Ever since Brooklyn was born even your best puppy dog eyes couldn't even come close to hers. Steve had seemed to build up some sort of tolerance to them now, making yours completely ineffective.

"Why not?" You huffed.

"I told you I was keeping the long version saved for a rainy day. And look." He said, pointing up to the grey painted ceiling of our apartment. "Not a cloud in the sky."

"I don't know." You grinned glancing up. "Looks like clouds to me."

"You're clearly not looking properly. Here let me help."

His hands landed on your ankles and he pulled on your legs, dragging you towards him as your back slid down the arm rest of the couch until you were laying flat and you were staring at the ceiling. Your view was soon blocked by Steve's head peering over you.

"How about now?" He asked, leaning down and pressing his lips softly to yours before you could answer.

"It looks like it's clearing up." You smiled, his nose brushing up against yours.

Steve made a noise that sounded something like "hmmph" and connected his lips with yours for a second time, more earnest and much deeper than the one before. His hand traced up from your shin, over your knee, past your leg and your waist, eventually finding its way into your hair. You were glad it did because the kiss had you feeling slightly untethered from reality. It was the kind of kiss that made made you lose yourself in another person. It was the kind of kiss that made you forget your own name. It felt like his hand in your hair was the only thing keeping you from slipping away entirely.

By the time he pulled away, you were both breathing heavily.

"How about now?" He asked again, looking at your dazed and desire-filled eyes with a satisfying smirk.

"Total sunshine." You replied, breathily. "Daisies and butterflies. Maybe even a rainbow."

"Maybe?" He raised an eyebrow.

"That's not nearly enough." He muttered, his lips crashing back onto yours. His kiss confirmed that he felt everything that you felt for him. That no amount of time spent with you would ever be enough for him, or enough for you. No kiss would ever completely satisfy when it had to end, because you would always immediately need another.

The truth was, you hadn't need to answer at all for Steve to know the truth. Things with you and Steve had been clear skies for a while now and both of you knew it. That didn't mean that things would be like this forever and judging from Steve's words he knew that as well. No person was perfect and no relationship was perfect. You loved that he never expected that from you. You loved that he never asked for perfection, he just asked for you. All of you. The good and the bad, the messed up and the broken, the compassionate and the giving. He accepted you for who you were and never asked you to change, or to pretend like you were fine when you weren't. Just like you never asked for him to change who he was, for him to stop being the hero, or putting his life at risk as much as it worried you. There was no telling what the future would hold other than the fact that there would be both ups and downs. But you still had the promise, the security of knowing that in those 'downs', in those moments where the sky was cloudy and the rain came pouring down, that he would be there for you and you would be there for him. That was the promise you held onto, the promise that had kept you together throughout the rollercoaster that had been your life since Steve had pulled up a bar stool and invaded it.

There had been days where you had felt brave and hopeful, allowing yourself to be open and vulnerable. There had also been days that were dark, days that you promised yourself you would never give anyone the chance to break the walls of your fragile and already injured heart. But that's how the journey of putting the pieces of yourself back together again runs its course. Healing doesn't happen linearly. There are good days, there are bad days. There are days where you might not even feel anything at all. The path from a broken soul to one that is whole is long and winding, with zig-zagging curves and loops. It is completely unpredictable. Trying to control it would be like trying stop the tide from going out to sea. There are no short cuts, no secret paths or underground tunnels to get you through to the other side, to glue what's been broken back together. That glue would only be a temporary fix and in your moments of weakness it would come crumbling apart, more broken than before. Healing takes conviction and it takes patience. Healing takes faith in yourself as much as it does faith in those around you. Most of all, healing takes time. Time to carefully sew each fragmented piece back together. Some stitches you might make yourself, some might be mended by others. But if you can hold on long enough, if you fight hard enough for the strength of your heart, you'll find those stitches can withstand any weather. Thunderstorms, heat waves, blizzards, and of course, rainbows.