Title: Frozen Watermelon Yoghurt

Paring: Hurt!Steve Rogers X Nurse!Reader

Warnings: cute Stebe. Just being too cute. Also hurt Stebe. And BFF Sam Wilson. Literally fluffier than a cloud but still has Steve in character because I freaking love stories where he's not perfect.

Spoilers: none? If you've seen CATWS. Which is a cinematic masterpiece and you have to see it if you haven't.

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Steven Grant Rogers was always in trouble. Whether it be by signing up to be the world's first super soldier, going off to war, having dalliances with death in the ice, or where he lay now. In a hospital bed, eyes closed, sleeping. It wasn't like you were a stalker or anything, or a very crazy fangirl of Captain America. No. You were a nurse, not quite fresh out. Two years in the business, and quite shocked when it came in your rota you had to care for the unconscious Mr. Rogers. Now would be the moment you would brag and say your grandmother knew him, but she didn't. You were just a kid from D. C., here by scholarship and borrowed dreams.

And yet, Mr. Rogers didn't wake.

His friend, an amicable man named Sam Wilson would always sit by him, reading a little book or doing a crossword when you came to do your rounds. It was always you; maybe your boss decided one nurse was enough contact the full time superhero needed.

"Eight o'clock, as always," Sam greeted you, nodding kindly. "Good morning, Nurse _______."

You stifle a giggle to your favourite visitor. "Good morning, Mr. Wilson. Any change in Mr. Rogers since my night round?"

Sam shakes his head, and lays down his book. "No change, nothing bad. And please, call me Sam, this is a hospital, not a courtroom."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sam," You nod, moving to check all the vitals on the computer, and start to do the nitty gritty things. "If you don't mind, maybe leaving for a minute, I need to -,"

"Say no more, say no more," Sam beams, joints popping as he stands. "I'll be right outside. You want coffee? A bagel? I'll grab coffee."

Before you can refuse, he's off.

"Now, to clean the wounds," you mutter to yourself, gazing on the man before you.

If it weren't for the neat stitches in his face, and the IVs, you would believe that Steve Rogers was sleeping before you. But he wasn't. And you weren't a fangirl. You were a professional, and you worked hard to become one.

"I wonder if you're always reckless, going on dangerous adventures," you tell him, not expecting a response as you're changing the fluids, and tucking him in the blankets again. "But history repeats itself, it would seem, Mr. Rogers."

The rest of that checkup you continue in silence, with the beeping of the monitor and Mr. Steven Roger's even breaths.

"I didn't know if you wanted sugar or not, so I grabbed a little sachet for you," Sam enters, two coffees in hand. "There you go, Nurse ______. Liquid morning juice."

You sigh, looking at the cup morosely. "Sam, I'm on duty, I really shouldn't -,"

He takes an exaggerated sip, nearly moaning in pleasure. "Mmmm, ambrosia."

You give in.

The routine continues - for another week. You're in periodically every four hours, sometimes missing the doctor when they come to consult Sam for Mr. Roger's closest family, for medical history. One day, it's three o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, and you're walking back to the room, having brought Mr. Rogers crushed ice from the cafeteria to try him with food through the mouth. Just as you're three steps away from the door, your pager goes off.

"What's wrong?" You rush in.

Blue eyes meet yours the same time as warm brown ones. "He's uh, awake. Steve's awake. Damn, that pager works real good."

You make your way to the end of the bed, hands behind back. "Good day, Mr. Rogers, I'm Nurse _______."

Sam motions to you. "This nurse is the one that's been slaving over your unconscious ass for a week," he introduces you. "And they have an iPod playlist solely dedicated just for the Jackson 5."

You click your tongue. "It's called having good taste, Sam."

He winks. "Yeah, it is."

You hand Mr. Rogers the crushed ice, while you take his pulse, assess his vitals. He frowns at the little paper cup, and bites his lip. "This is just ice?" He speaks. Your heart almost stops at his voice, but you try not to let him see you falter.

"Yes, it is, Mr. Rogers," you tell him. "Maybe when you're feeling a little better, I'll grab you something more tasteful."

It goes on like this. Banter, babble, smalltalk and helping Mr. Rogers in his tasks. Days pass, and Steve only improves; someone guesses it would be something to do with his superhero blood. The doctors take out his stitches, other nurses enter just to swoon and sigh and make talk over Mr. Rogers' bountiful muscles and deeds.

"Alright, everyone out!" You call out to all fifteen personnel who've crammed themselves in to hear a story Mr. Rogers was clearly reluctant to give. Sam rushes in, a thunder of footsteps, a deep frown on his pretty face.

"I leave for five minutes to go to the bathroom -,"

After a few moments, Mr. Rogers speaks up. "You didn't have to do that," he mumbles.

You frown, handing him a different paper cup and a yellow spoon. "Yes I did. Anyone would be uncomfortable talking about war stories if they've lived them." You gesture to the small cup. "It's watermelon, I, thought you'd like it. And uh, I'm here to tell you some good news."

Mr. Roger's eyes dart upward.

Sam stashes his book away.

"This is my last visit to see you." You preface, standing tall. Trying to keep it together. Of course you've developed feelings for him. He's a stubborn patient. You're an unrealistic dreamer. "You're being released, tomorrow morning."

Sam nudges his shoulder. "That's great! I'll text Nat."

You move over to check on the monitor.

"Nurse _______," he starts, the usual confused frown on his face, "Won't you be the one to release me?"

You shake your head. "No, we have doctors for that thing. I'm just a nurse, sir."

He made a noise that begged to differ.

"I'm sure you're itching to go to your home by now." You tell him, and gesture to the paper cup. "Hey, don't let it melt, mister. I spent eight and a half dollars on that frozen watermelon yogurt."

The off-pink yogurt slides in the cup as he takes a mouthful.

"Good?" You ask, monitoring his heart rate.

Steve's face has turned to yours when he answers. "Much better than crushed ice."

It's been almost a month since the secrets were leaked from S. H. I. E. L. D., weeks since you last saw him. The hospital is not the same without Captain America. You're not pestered by the other nurses on the status of the good captain, you don't see a blonde crop of hair everyday. Even when someone else is placed in that room, an scrawny elderly man hooked up on nearly all known types of life support, you can't help but miss Mr. Rogers.

You miss him.

"Nurse ________?" A familiar voice calls out.

You turn, and catch yourself before you do something crazy like jump for joy. It's Captain America - Mr. Rogers. His face has healed almost completely, a lingering shadow of his broken nose remaining.

"Mr. Rogers! How can I help you?" You beam, walking to him.

"Please, call me Steve, Mr. Rogers was my father," he tells you. "I came to say hi. That was all, I didn't come for medical reasons." He nods, "I, I was wondering if I could take you out for frozen yogurt sometime? A way of saying thank you," he confesses.

"You don't have to, it's okay," You feel a blush rush over your features. "I mean, I, I would love to, sir - I mean, Steve," you gush. "My shift actually ends in ten minutes, would you like to -,"

Steve Rogers beams. "Sounds like a plan, Nurse _______."