Chapter Text
Hey, kid, are you okay in there?” Steve’s worried (and muffled) voice makes its way from the other side of the door. “Max?” He knocks once, then twice.
“Shit,” Max whispers, dropping the unfavorable item to the floor, landing not so soundly with a cluttering thud. Max, legs sprawled across the cold ceramic of the floor, is too exhausted and drained to reply as she futilely chokes back a sob. Steve, sensibly, takes this as a firm “no.”
He leans awkwardly against the door, off-white paint chipping off around the corners, and pauses for an idle moment before heading to Donald’s office, demanding that his shift be cut off early; Donald complies (albeit in a somewhat annoyed manner); Jeff usually covers for him, anyway.
It takes a while before Steve can coax Max out of the dingy bathroom, but when she does, she hugs him—nearly suffocatingly so—her hands clasped around his waist as she tries to silence the cries that shake through her rather violently. He isn’t used to seeing her like this: her usual abrasive (yet playful) demeanor was replaced by that of a small, quaint girl; and Max was neither of those things.
Inside his car, they sit in a stiff, but strangely auspicious silence. Steve hands her the water bottle and candy bar he picked out for her before they left.
Despite her seemingly somewhat relaxed stature, Steve is careful when wording his questions, making sure to avoid the obvious ones. (To which she replies tersely using only one-word answers.)
After some time, he notices her untense ever so slightly in the passenger’s seat next to him. “I screwed up. Badly." Max breathes out, finally.
A confused Steve—although happy to see her start up again—nods uncertainly, waiting for her to elaborate. He holds his breath, waiting for an elaboration. “Kid, what happ—?”
She sips her water bottle in between hiccups, before gingerly conceiving a pale pink-and-white stick out of her pocket, and pure understanding washes over Steve's features.
Well, shit.
He runs a hand through his outgrown hair trying to tame it, which does nothing but dishevel it even more as he tries to process it all; Max was going to be a mother. She was still the same charismatic, wild thirteen-year-old girl in his eyes, and if anything, he had to admit that he felt like something of a parental figure to her. The poor girl had been through so much—too much, even, and now the weight of caring for another life lies dormant on her future. She was barely even out of high school, damn it.
But “oh.” and “shit.” are the only two words it seems that he’s capable of saying, even when a string of questions lay heavy on his tongue, but he knows that’s not what Max needs right now. She needs comfort, support. reassurance. Instead, he reaches over and gives her a firm, comforting hug that seems to last for an eternity. (But neither of them complain.)
With a shaky hand, she pockets the stick. “I'm really scared,” she mumbles into his shirt, which is now partially damp with tears and snot. In any other situation, it’d be sort of gross, but right now, Steve doesn’t mind in the slightest.
“Yeah, kid. "I know,” Steve says, moving his palm in slow, consistent circles against her back, “But I also know for a fact that you’re tough as hell and you’re gonna be okay.”
They stay like that for a moment, knowing Max needs all the love and comfort she can get at the moment. She looks up at him with glassy eyes as she whispers a faint “thank you”, which he probably wouldn’t have heard if it wasn’t for her being so close.
“Yeah, of course, kiddo. so. How does ice cream sound?”
She smiles (for what might’ve been the first time that day), “great.”