011.

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And he realized—maybe they were right. Maybe she didn't need careful. Maybe she just needed trust.
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The smell of coffee and warm butter filled the air as the early morning sun cast a golden glow over the sleek countertops.

Steve stood by the fridge, pulling out eggs and vegetables while glancing over his shoulder at Selene. She had followed him without hesitation, her bare feet light against the floor, the new book he had given her left behind on her nightstand.

He set the ingredients down and turned to her, offering a small, encouraging smile. "How do you feel about omelets?"

She blinked, looking at the food in front of her, then back at him. After a pause, she gave the smallest nod.

She didn't know what an omelet was, but assumed it was food.

Steve's grin widened. "Alright, let's do this together."

He moved with the same patience he always did, showing her how to crack the eggs, whisk them just right, season them properly.

She mimicked his movements, slower, more cautious, her fingers delicate yet precise. He guided her with soft-spoken instructions, never rushing, never overwhelming.

"You've got a good hand for this," he said as she poured the eggs into the pan, watching as they sizzled and bubbled. She glanced at him, as if trying to gauge if he was serious or condescending. But his expression held only honesty.

They worked in quiet harmony, the sound of the stove filling the space. And then Steve, hopeful as ever, decided to ease into conversation.

"So... what did you think of the show last night?" He kept his voice light, casual.

Selene was still focused on the pan, carefully folding the omelet as he had shown her. But her head tilted slightly, a subtle indication that she was listening.

"Or the movie from before? It was the first of the series," he continued, watching her for any reaction. "I was thinking... if you liked it, we could watch the rest together?"

He wasn't expecting an immediate answer, so when she gave a small nod, he nearly laughed out of sheer relief.

"Good," he said, his voice warm with something close to pride. "I think you'll like them. A great escape."

She set the spatula down and stepped back as he plated their breakfast. It was peaceful—this unspoken routine they were falling into. And maybe, just maybe, today she would speak again.

As they sat down at the counter, Steve tried again.

"The team's been busy lately," he mused, keeping his tone light. "Natasha's been helping train some new recruits for Shield. Tony's been messing around with some new AI thing—no surprise there. Thor... well, h you haven't met him yet. He's probably fighting something ridiculous in space."

Selene listened, as she always did. She still didn't respond, but she was present. And then, as if testing the waters, he asked, "Have you thought about decorating your room? Making it more comfortable?"

This time, he saw the hesitation. Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the fork she held, her eyes flickering with something he couldn't quite place.

She didn't know how. She didn't know what she liked. The concept of personal space had always been dictated to her—where she stayed, what she used, what she needed. Choosing something, personalizing something, felt... foreign.

Finally, she gave a small shake of her head. No.

Steve paused.

Not because he was disappointed, but because she had answered.

Not in words, but in a decision. A choice.

He accepted it with a quiet nod. "Alright."

And just like that, they continued eating, the silence between them comfortable. He didn't push, didn't pry. Because no was still something. And to him, that was enough for now.

______

The gym was bigger than she expected. Stark had spared no expense, filling the room with state-of-the-art equipment—rows of treadmills, racks of weights, punching bags, and even a sparring ring. It smelled of sweat and rubber, the faint hum of machines blending with the rhythmic thump-thump of fists against a heavy bag.

Selene stepped inside, following just behind Steve. She didn't hesitate, but her sharp eyes flickered over everything, absorbing it all.

"Figured it'd be good for you to start working out," Steve said, leading her toward the center. "You haven't been active in a while, and getting stronger—physically—can do wonders for the mind, too." His tone was gentle, but there was an underlying firmness to it. "It helps to let out energy, especially when there's too much of it up here." He tapped his temple with two fingers.

She glanced at him but said nothing.

Across the room, Natasha was doing pull-ups, her arms flexing effortlessly as she moved, while Clint sat on a bench press, adjusting weights. They both acknowledged Steve and Selene with quick glances but said nothing.

"Come on," Steve gestured toward the weights, but when Selene stepped toward them, he frowned. "Maybe not those just yet," he corrected, gently redirecting her to the treadmills.

Selene stared at him.

"Treadmill's a good start," he said, as if it were a compromise. "Gets the blood flowing, builds endurance." He stepped in front of the machine, pressing a few buttons. "This starts it, this adjusts the speed, and if you need to stop, just—"

Before he could finish, she stepped on and pressed the speed button. Faster. Then faster. And faster.

Steve's brows shot up. "Selene—"

Faster.

The belt moved quicker beneath her feet, and she adjusted effortlessly, pushing into a full blown run.

His stomach twisted. He stepped forward quickly, reaching over to slow it down. "Okay, let's not overdo it the first day."

Selene shot him a sharp look, her breathing steady despite the exertion.

Steve gave her a sheepish smile and settled for a light jog instead. It was still way slower than she wanted, but she tolerated it.

Across the room, Natasha and Clint had paused their workouts. They had been watching. And now they were walking over.

"You do know she's not made of glass, right?" Natasha asked casually, towel draped over her shoulders.

"More so pure beast and serum." Clint replied.

"She's fine, Steve," Natasha added, crossing her arms. "You're babying her."

Selene's figure held a perfect and poised position, the running coming as easy as breathing to her as she stared straight ahead.

Steve exhaled through his nose. "I'm just being careful."

"She doesn't need careful," Natasha said. "She was built for this."

Steve glanced at Selene, saw the way her jaw tightened—how she refused to look at them. He didn't want to push her too hard too soon. What if she got overwhelmed? What if something set her back?

"She's made progress," he said instead, voice low but firm.

Clint raised a brow. "Yeah?"

Steve nodded. "She spoke."

That got their attention.

Natasha and Clint exchanged glances, something unreadable passing between them.

Steve turned back to Selene. She was still running. Still focused.

And he realized—maybe they were right. Maybe she didn't need careful. Maybe she just needed trust.

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