Just Steve

E P I L O G U E

"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.