Steve ran.

It was the only thing he could do since Stark had made a snarky comment about having to yet again replace a punching bag in the Tower's gym. He had at least upgraded the treadmill, since Steve had indicated that the machine couldn't allow him to really run at his full pace. And since New York was the city that never slept, it was nearly impossible for Captain America to run in the streets, no matter how early he got up. There was always someone willing and wanting to stop him to take a picture or ask questions.

And as of the past few days, Steve definitely did not want to stop and talk to anyone.

It had been four days since he had seen or spoken to Brooklyn. Needless to say, Steve was not handling it well.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, he hadn't handled anything well.

Ever since Bruce had informed them about the pheromone production Brooklyn was doing, and how it was affecting Steve, he had felt like he was off step. The world was moving at one pace, and he was moving at another, and no matter what he tried to do, he couldn't match it. Worse of all, his reaction to the news had been less than desirable to Brooklyn, apparently, with as quickly as she had shut down, and by extension, shut him out.

He hadn't meant to react like that. But the thoughts going through his head had made him a little less than comforting to his girlfriend. His girlfriend. She was still his. He refused to admit to anything less. He refused to let her slip through his fingers again. He would not survive it again. He was sure of that, at least.

Of course, now he was also questioning how much her pheromones did affect their relationship. At the very least, he was sure that he would not have gone so heavy at the beginning. He wouldn't have moved so fast, and then put on the breaks the way he had. He would have courted her, wooed her, gently, slowly, until he knew he had her full trust and heart.

....and now he had to question when he started to lie to himself. He knew damn well that there was no way he would have let Brooklyn walk the streets of New York without some brand of his ownership on her. Even now, knowing she was out there, somewhere, without his protection was eating at him.

If she would just talk to him...

He had never intended for her to go dark on him. He had not wanted to end their relationship. He had not wanted her to walk away from him like she had. Seeing how blank she had schooled her face when he had confirmed that maybe taking the time apart was a good idea... honestly, he had thought they were discussing the idea, not the actual implementation.

It wasn't until she had said she needed to go, that he had realized just how much of his foot had gone down his throat, that he had been sure he now knew what he knee tasted like. Seeing her frantically shoving items into her bag, before sitting on the bed and putting on her shoes, while parroting almost everything he was saying, with an almost high pitched chirpy voice, had scared him. He had tried to back track, to make her stay, if only so they could hash the specifics out. He had not intended her to leave his arms feeling like he was giving in to whatever... whatever she thought was going on.

Yes, finding out that Brooklyn was basically a walking talking lighting rod for male sexual activity was a bit startling, and a little bit more than alarming, but as he had time to think about it, looking back in the time he knew her, he began to realize that a lot of things made sense. All the men who approached her, out of the blue, they were drawn to someone that their hormones were telling them was the perfect mate. From the men at the club, to the man at that roadside Denny's, to the men at the grocery store, to that annoying neighbor who still hadn't clued into the fact that Brooklyn was Steve's, all of them, right down to the men at the Gala. To the way Morozov had felt free to touch her on Friday night. All of it, was explainable when you put the pheromones into the equation.

In the end, the banked pain in Brooklyn's eyes, when she refused to put her hands on him, to move him from the doorway.....

He slapped his hand on the controls of the treadmill, making it stop, as he gripped the rails, his head lowered. He sucked air in and out of his lungs, not sure if it was the recent running or the fear in him that was pressing down on his chest.

Steve inhaled a deep breath, holding it, using the pressure from the air in his lungs to pull himself together. Nothing would be accomplished if he reacted out of fear. He had done that with Brooklyn, once before, and it had not gone well. He needed to plan. He needed to make sure that when these two weeks were up, there would be doubt left in her that he wanted to be with her, of his own free will.

That he was still hers. That she was still his.

He was worried, beyond that really, that this was something that was going to shake the foundations of everything they had been building together. He was willing to admit that since coming back together in the end of august, after the first time they were separated, she had given in ridiculously easily. It had seemed that the ten days apart had made her come to some conclusion in regards to her choice of taking ownership of him. Of claiming him. Of making him hers. It had worked out for him, without a whole lot of work on his part, when she had made that declaration, in the spare bedroom at Sam's house.

He hadn't had to put in any real effort to woo her, to convince her to take a chance on him. And he, like the idiot she liked to call him, had not questioned it. He had just thanked his good fortune, and went with it. Brooklyn had been there, and he had wanted her, and so he had taken her. In every sense of the word. And finding out that the suppressors had finally left her system, and she was responding to him the way a woman should, had been a heady feeling. Nothing, except her own inexperience, was holding them back from being a couple.

And like a dip shit, he hadn't looked any deeper into it. Because he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted to know what had caused her about face on the matter. All that had mattered to him was that she was there, and she was his. He, Steve Rogers, the once skinny kid from Brooklyn who had spent more time covered in bruises and black eyes than not, had an absolute goddess of a woman begging for him to teach her everything she didn't know. So, yeah, he would confess that he let it go to his head, and inflate his ego.

He was well aware of how Bucky was going to view their relationship, when they finally brought his friend home. He was more than prepared to take the beating that he had coming to him, from Bucky. He had broken a major rule among friends. Do not touch a female family member. Sister's were off limits, even if that rule wasn't as enforced as it could be. But daughters? Daughters were sacred. You never touched your best friend's daughter. Ever. And Steve had broken that rule, not caring.

Because the minute he realized she wasn't Bucky's girl, but his daughter, he had wanted her. And without Bucky there to remind him of the moral code between friends, he had taken her. He had claimed her. He had wormed his way into her life, with the express purpose of making her his woman.

He was more than prepared to stand up to his friend, to claim Brooklyn as his woman, as his love, as his wife. He was prepared to defy his best friend, just to keep her by his side. As far as he was concerned, she was his future, and while it would hurt to not have Bucky accept that or even reject it, he was ready to go as far as he needed to not let Brooklyn disappear from his life.

Not this time.

But two weeks, even planned, without contact, was unacceptable. As often as he had messaged her, and called her, he was expecting something from her. Even a message telling him to eat shit and die. God knew, he probably deserved it.

He never should have let the shock get to him. He knew how fragile Brooklyn's personal self worth was. How often had she been ready to throw herself away, if it made things easier for the people around her. Case in point, after killing Morozov's son, her first instinct had been to hand herself over, if only to keep the peace between the Italians and the Russians. He had to beg her to not do it, using every pleading argument he could think of, to make her pay attention to what he was saying. He had given her permission to do what she needed to, to make sure that Stelluto and Morozov would not come after her, after them.

And his Babydoll had done that. She had dressed herself in chains and diamonds and pure white silk, with a dress that draped and showed more than it hid, really. If she had moved wrong, everything from her neck to her ankles would have been exposed. She presented herself as the willing sacrifice to the effort for peace, and walked into the gala on Friday night, and played the part of the submissive woman for men who weren't even worth the dirt gathering under her high heels. Among the women dressed in bright colors and dark jewel tones, the white dress had stood out. He had spotted her right away, the second he had walked into the Gala with the rest of the Avengers. His hands had twitched with the need to feel how her skin felt under the silk, to test if it was just as soft as he remembered. The need to find out what she was wearing under such a scandalously draped dress. The urge to wrap his fingers up in the chains, and pull her into his body.

But he remembered what he needed to do. He needed to stay away, for as long as possible. She had her part to play, and so did he. He kept his eyes on her, as much as possible, all evening. Every time she moved, that dress parted up to her hip. Bare skin, decorated only by the chains covered in diamonds draping over her thigh. All through dinner, he watched, one hand clenched into a fist under the table, while Morozov all but pawed at the silk of her dress with his dirty, grimy fingers. More than once he felt his body tense as he tried to control the urge to stand up, go over there, pull her away from the table, and claim her for all the room to see. To kiss her, and announce to anyone who cared, that she was his woman. His.

HIS.

And he would have challenged every other male in the room to prove him wrong.

She should have been on his arm, that night. She should have not been more than a foot from him, the entire night. She should have been so close, that all he had do do was reach out without looking, to encounter her, to hold her.

Steve shook his head, pushing back the jealousy that he had felt that night.

It had been hard, very hard, to stay in place, to not go over to her at any point through the night.

And then Morozov flipped her dress skirt open to the hip, grabbing her thigh. And she stood there, like a statue while the Russian groped her. That had been the final straw for him. He had started towards her, only to have Nat grab his arm, pulling him back. She had hissed that Brooklyn had to finish what she had come there to do. Nat had assumed that Brooklyn was simply playing the part until she could make her move, in the privacy of the night.

Steve had taken a deep breath, steadied himself, and told himself he could wait. He could wait until he could bend her over his knee for allowing another man to touch what was his. He could wait until she was under him, so he would be able to impress the import of her knowing that as long as she was his woman, no other man was allowed to touch her. Especially while he had to stand and watch, unable to do anything to stop it.

Stark had gone over, while she was at one of the many bars dotted around the room. He had seen the moment when something Stark said set her off. That subtle freezing of her back, the way it straightened. He had seen it enough. Something from her past had come to the forefront of her mind. He was curious as hell what Stark could have said or done, but given the man's lack of polite behaviour, his method of speech, and his tenability to observe even the simplest forms of manners when it came to people, he shouldn't have been surprised. She shook it off, before what looked like arguing and acting insulted by Stark. That had pleased him. It soothed his male pride to know that what could have been one of two other men in the room that she might have been attracted to, if only for his usefulness to her, was being rejected.

Thor was too busy in another part of the room, bragging about the many battles he had been in to notice Brooklyn. Although, Steve was more than certain that if she had walked up to him, smiled, and put her hand on his arm, the Norse God would have followed her anywhere. So, there was that to avoid, if Steve could help it.

In the end, before anything got too heated, Steve had nudged Nat towards the bar, with the express purpose of driving Stark away from his girl. He had to stand, and watch as the redhead intervened. As she somehow convinced Stark to leave Brooklyn alone. How, he didn't know, and he didn't care. In fact he felt a certain deep satisfaction in knowing that whatever interest in Brooklyn that Stark had, it was superficial. Because he was damn certain, that if the tables had been reversed, and he was poaching Brooklyn from Stark, nothing would have made him leave her side. He would have ignored anyone trying to get between them. The draw to her was so strong, he would not have cared if he had to push Nat out of the way, physically.

Thankfully, that was not the case.

Waiting for her to leave the table again, was torture. He had reached his limit, finally. Watching her all evening, play the submissive woman, had been biting at him. It had been raising his blood. Because while he watched her act, he was reminded just how damn well she could be submissive. How perfect she looked, when her eyes were big and wide, and begging for his cock. How it felt to have her give herself to him, to lead her through the steps until they fell apart in each other's arms. How she tasted when she gave herself over to the pleasure that swept her up. Only he knew how she looked shattering underneath him, over him.

It was a point of pride for him, that he, Steve Rogers, had been the only man privy to the secrets that belonged to Brooklyn Barnes. Inside and out, she belonged to him, and him alone.

It was with this in mind that had him forcing his way through the crowd after her, when she left the table. When she paused at one of the auction tables in the back, where the less flashy items were being bid on, he finally saw his chance to at least touch her, if only her hand. She had been talking to the attendant, about something, when she straightened, and turned her head. Spotting him, she made a sound, and darted around the table and into a door off the side of the room.

Knowing she was cornered, and that they might have more than a little privacy before she came to his quarters later that night, he drove himself to follow, bursting into the room, her squeak of alarm as she backed away from him satisfying on more than one level.

That hadn't stopped him from airing his anger at her. At the way she was dressed, at the company she was keeping that night. How she was all but blowing her cover, if Stark had noticed her, had gone up to talk to her.

Her explanations for her actions, the why's of her being with Stelluto, with Morozov, that she was simply doing what he had expected of her. That he had left things vague, that she was taking this opportunity to remove the two older men who seemed to think she was a pawn in their game of power, had been soothing. But that damned dress... That goddamned dress that he had been so tempted to rip from her...

That was until she held her hands as if to ward him off, backing away from him and denying his right to touch her. He had already been infuriated by that, but to hear the whole reason she wore that dress wasn't to tempt him, or to tease him, or to inflame him, but to make herself up as bait for a man that disgusted him at his core. That the reason she refused to let him touch her, was because of her fear that she knew if he did, the men she was still dangling by a threat would know, and take her from him. Perhaps forever. That the men she had poisoned, had plans for her beyond simply making her a slave again.

She had soothed him, and he would freely admit to pressing her hands to his body. When he had pressed her hand to his face, it had sent a shock of calm through him. As if every cell in his body had been drying out, and she was the glass of water needed to make it stop. Turning his lips to her palm, he had tried to make it as silent as possible, when he mouthed, breathed, 'I love you, and you are everything'.

He had pressed the hand she was using to keep space between their bodies to his chest, needing her to feel his heart, the heart she owned, while taking comfort in the fact that she was still his. She was there, and by the end of the night the men at her table would no longer be a threat to her.

He would admit that there was a certain... appeal... in seeing her in chains. The collar around her neck did give him certain ideas that were less than appropriate for public consumption. Even as he brushed his hands over her shoulders when she went to check her appearance, he could imagine keeping her like that. Chained, collared, but only to him. His chains, his collar, his ownership...

Steve shook his head, getting back on the treadmill after hitting the start button. As he powered through his paces, he tried to keep his breathing measured.

He had let her go back out there, after accepting that small measure of submission from her. He had watched for another hour, until Morozov stood and stumbled away. Brooklyn left not long after that, Junior escorting her from the table. He had started to relax at that point. Brooklyn was going to be in his quarters when he got there. Junior would keep her safe until then. For all his worries about the men around her constantly seeking to steal her from him, he knew Junior was one of the good men in her life that cared about her. The relationship between them was almost like siblings. At least from what he had seen. Junior cared about Brooklyn like she was the little sister he had never had. He had welcomed her into his family, teasing her whenever he could.

Steve knew she was safe with Junior.

It took him a few more hours before he finally stepped into the elevator, giving the order to take him to his private quarters, entering the security code. When he walked into the living room area, right off the door, the first thing he saw was a long black coat, a white fur stole, a wrapped book, and her pair of strappy heels. The heels were almost tossed aside, a testament to how little Brooklyn had liked the shoes.

He had closed his eyes, taken a deep steadying breath, before turning to walk into the bedroom. She had stood there, back lit by the city lights behind her, leaning against the window. After making himself comfortable, and extracting first an explanation for why she hadn't let him touch her then a pretty apology from those delectable lips, he had finally been able to rip that goddamned dress off of her, all but shredding the fine silk in his attempt at removing the obsticale that blocked him from touching her skin.

He left the chains of diamonds on her, though. He felt it fitting that on a night when she had removed the men who sought to keep her bound, that the only man who she wanted to bind herself to would fuck her in them. The chains around her hands, her arm, her thighs, the chains that draped from the collar on her neck all over her chest, back, and shoulders.... Those could stay. Soon enough, he would bind her with something stronger than diamonds and silver...

He had been ruminating on a fitting punishment for her. She had to know it was coming. He would never raise a hand to her, no, not like that. A spanking here, a swat there.... that was fun and playful in bed, a touch of roughness to heighten the pleasure before orgasm. To make the skin more sensitive. Looking over her shoulder at the window, he had remembered his promise the day before, that he planned to fuck her against the cool glass. Instead, he was going to amend that promise.

Bringing the chair into the bedroom, adjusting the light, before pulling her onto his lap, her bare back pressed against his still clothed front, he had opened her legs until they were hooked over the arms of the chair. Open to him. At his mercy to control.

It hadn't taken her long to cotton on to what he was doing, when he ordered JARVIS to change the opacity of the window they were staged in front of. The lights shining down on them, a pool of bright light catching the edges of every diamond as she writhed on his lap, while he drove her higher.

He had told her he didn't' care who watched. He wanted the city to watch him claim her.

And with every breath he took, the tingle at the back of his throat grew...

He cursed, nearly loosing his footing on the treadmill, hitting the button to make it stop moving, as he stepped off, bending down, his heart pounding.

Not from the run, but from the realization that Banner had been correct. He had been affected by the pheromones sent off by Brooklyn for months. How often had he felt that tingle at the back of his throat, right before they had sex? How often had he felt it, and been moved to take her? In fact... hadn't that been one of the first things he noticed about her? Her underlying natural scent? In that club, when she had breathed on him, he had felt his interest skyrocket, in a way he had never felt with a woman before.

The growing obsession, even from the second he had laid eyes on her, the jealousy when he had thought she had been Bucky's, the single minded intensity with which he had pursued her when she had informed him that he wasn't Bucky's, the way he had pushed away all the rules and morals regarding a friend's family members, all of it.... it was the pheromones.

And he had been dosing himself, over and over, and over, every time he touched her, or kissed her, or made love to her.

He stood up straight, going over to the treadmill, grabbing his phone, checking for any notifications he might have missed. A text. A phone call.

Nothing.

He wanted to throw the phone across the gym. To see it shatter into tiny shards. But he couldn't. Because, as of right now, it was the only connection he had to Brooklyn.

And this was so much worse than it had been in August.

At least then, he hadn't known what it felt like to be hers. To have been chosen, out of all the men in the world to be hand picked by her. To feel what it was like to hold her, night after night, while she breathed in her sleep against him. To know what she tasted like, what if felt like to have her come apart at the seams against his fingers, his tongue, his body, his cock. To know with absolute certainty he had been the only man to ever see her like that, to feel her like that.

But her face... the way her face had gone white and almost blank, like she was trying to get herself under control when he had confirmed that maybe waiting the two weeks to make sure that the pheromones weren't in his system anymore... that was when he had known he had made a mistake. He never should have agreed to the separation. He would lose her. He knew she was still unsure of where things with them lay. For all her brash and bold declarations of her ownership over him, there were time when he saw how unsure of him she still was. How many times had she made comments that he would be better off with another woman, a better woman? How often had he had to treasure her that she was as much his as he was hers?

How often did he catch her looking into space as if thinking of a future that didn't include him?

He felt like he was going to start gasping for breath, like the air was being sucked out of the room.

What if that future was coming true, now?

What if she decided that 'for his own good', it was best if she kept as far away from him as possible? What if his actions, or lack of actions rather, led her to believe that it was all for the best that they found out now, before they moved any further. A woman could walk away from a man as easy as a man from a woman. She could very well decide that he wasn't worth the trouble. That for all her declarations of his belonging to her, that he wasn't worth the work. That he wasn't worthy of her.

She had been raised to be a Queen. A ruler of a world that had never materialized. He had taken down the last effort to raise that kingdom. Maybe she felt some deep seated resentment that he was responsible for her being put into a world that would never recognize her god given right of sovereignty. What if she eventually came to the logical conclusion that he was responsible for her entire life having fallen apart. After all, it was through his actions of taking down HYDRA and stopping Project Insight that she had lost her father and had been thrust into a world she was unfamiliar with, alone with her sister, with only the adopted care of a mafia family to guide her.

She may not have known about the pheromones, and maybe she didn't want to use them against him, but would she take this opportunity to shed herself of a man who was wholly responsible for the destruction of everything she had ever known. Was she really that good of an actress?

And would he be able to let her go if she tried to walk away, again?

"No." He hissed, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the blank phone screen, answering his own question. "Absolutely fucking not. Not now, not ever. You're mine, Babydoll. I dare you to fight me on this."

Pheromones or not, she was his. And by god, he was going to make sure she knew that. He loved her. He had made her his, as much as she claimed him as hers.
And it was about time that his Babydoll learned that he was not someone she would be able to just put aside. She owned his heart now. And with that came certain responsibilities.

The first of which was the knowledge that come hell or high water, their lives were intertwined.

The second was that in spoiling him for any woman on earth, it was her responsibility to fulfil the rest of their promises together. Like, say, marrying him and making sure she stayed put. No more running.

"No more running, Babydoll." He nodded, smiling to himself. "And as soon as I get my hands on you, no sitting for a while, either."

********************

He was in his office, trying to work on some paperwork. While the Avengers had not opted to go down to DC, seeing as the facility Sam had given them the heads up about was not active, or occupied, there was still a lot of work left over that they were responsible for. Or rather, Steve was responsible for, seeing as he was the one who had taken the call from Sam, and alerted the rest of the team about it. As such, he was voted responsible for the resulting paperwork.

Seeing as his current love and social life was on hold for a bit, he had agreed. Unfortunately, his attention was not fully on the paperwork. He was feeling a little... resentful, towards Sam.

Not for anything the man had done, not really. More... that he had seen and talked to Brooklyn, and Steve had not. She had refused to take his calls, or return his messages, but was more than willing to drive to Washington DC to talk to Sam. And apparently go on a side excursion to investigate the state of the former facility that she and her family had been held at before the fall of HYDRA. But she was too busy to talk to him, the man who had been sharing her bed and her life for the past four months.

He had been on the phone with Sam almost as soon as he realized that Brooklyn was not going to inform him of when she got to the Marino's safely. He had called his friend, in a panic, mainly because watching as she had left him, the way she had, after the pheromone bomb Banner had dropped on them, his first thought was that she was in shock. That his girl didn't know what to do. Also, the fact that she had been sending his phone calls to voicemail had been a major clue.

Sam had listened, before expressing shock. And when Steve had told him how he had reacted, Sam had more than a few harsh words to say. Mainly regarding his inability to say what needed to be said, when it needed to be said. The first thing, Sam had pointed out, was that Steve had needed to express that, while the separation was needed if only to make those around them feel safer about it, he was still totally invested in the relationship he had with Brooklyn. No changes were needed. Pheromones or no pheromones, making sure she understood that after the two weeks, he would still be hers was paramount. Instead, he had let her pack her things and leave. The fact that she had been so hesitant to touch him, when the night before she had barely taken her hands off of him was testament to that. That she had almost tasted like desperation and sorrow, when he had kissed her in the small entry foyer to his quarters was proof of that.

She was letting go.

It was as if he could feel the threads that bound them, the ropes of emotion he had spent all these months binding her up in, slowly starting to snap.

He was ashamed to say that when Sam had called him in regards to the HYDRA facility in DC, he may have lost his temper. Finding out that Brooklyn was more than okay contacting Sam, and spending time with Sam, while he, Steve, was slowly going out of his ever loving mind because he was worried about the status of their relationship, may have tipped him over the edge. Just a bit. He had demanded that Sam put her on the phone, begging the other man to inform her that he needed to hear her voice, even for just a moment.

Sam had minced words. Telling Steve he had fucked up, that he had moved to slowly. Instead of telling Brooklyn how he was feeling, he had wanted to wait, to see if she would tell him she was in love with him first. And now, instead of having that out of the way and settled, he was dealing with a girlfriend who was quite possibly considering ending things, just when they might finally be on the same page.

Just as he was sighing and rubbing his face, trying to muster up the interest to return to the paperwork, his phone went off. Without looking at it, he picked it up and answered. "Hello?"
"Rogers." Brooklyn's voice was music to his ears, and a balm to his frazzled nerves.

"Babydoll." he breathed, closing his eyes tight. Then what she said hit him. Rogers. They were back to that. Goddammit. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath and tried again. "Babydoll, I've been worried sick."
"I'm fine. I'm calling to tell you I'm having Kitty send some samples of the suppressants to you. I figure Banner might be able to... I don't know, make an inoculation or something using it as a base." She was firm, businesslike. No real emotion.

"What? The suppressants? Where...." he sucked in a breath, feeling his heart stop and fissures of ice start to form in his blood. "That's why you wanted to go to the facility. You were looking for the suppressants."

"i found them, too." She sounded almost satisfied. "I figure, if nothing else... any way, Kitty said she would send them by courier. Straight to the Tower. You should get them tomorrow."

"If nothing else, what?" He asked, pushing the rest aside. His heart had started pounding in his chest. "If nothing else, what are you going to do, Brooklyn. Tell me."

She sighed on the other end of the phone. "If nothing else, I could buy myself at least six months. By that time Banner should be able to figure out how to control my pheromones."
"Six months..." His mouth went dry, as his panic sky rocketed. "You plan on taking the suppressants. You can't do that, Brooklyn. You know you can't."

"It might be for the best." She said emotionless. He closed his eyes, his own words coming back to haunt him.

"Look, lets just... Let's just meet, okay? We can talk this out... figure out a better solution than you poisoning yourself with that... that shit..." He breathed, begging her.

"No." She shot that down. "First, you said two weeks. Banner said two weeks. So, two weeks it is. Besides, it would defeat the purpose of those two weeks, if you just... were exposed again."

"Goddammit, Brooklyn! I don't care about the two weeks! I care about the fact that I feel like I'm losing you!" He snarled, his panic making him snap. Shit. He threw his head on the back of the chair he was sitting it. Yeah, that was going to make her meet with him now.

"I do." She snapped. Then she sighed. "Besides, I'm leaving New York for a bit. Those girls still need to be taken home. And seeing as what's going on right now... it's the best time for it, really."

He noted she didn't reassure him about not losing her. "You'll come back, right? You're just going to take the girls home?"

"Of course. Juliana can't leave school right now." Brooklyn went muffled, as it sounded like she covered her phone, before coming back to speak to him. "It'll be fine, you'll see."
"I'm still yours?" He asked, feeling the ice spreading. "Am I still yours? Do I still belong to you?"

"I've got to go, Rogers." She responded, her voice going polite. "Look for the courier, alright?"

"Brooklyn! Please!" He begged, trying anything, anything, to keep her on the line. "I am still yours. Always."

She was breathing on the other end, and he could have sworn he heard a hitch in her breath, before it steadied. "I'll talk to you later, Rogers. Take care of yourself, okay?"

He took a deep breath. He had a feeling it was now, or never. God knew, he had a lot of practice at saying the important things at the last minute.

"Babydoll, I -" But he was too late. She had already hung up.

She hadn't confirmed he was still hers. She was letting go.

Less than two weeks. He had less than two weeks to figure out how to turn this around.

Standing up, he set the phone on the desk, before leaving the office, intent on looking for Bruce.

He had an order for the doctor now. Use the suppressants to figure out how to block the pheromones, before Brooklyn cut herself off from him completely.

Because if he had considered himself lucky before, he knew damn well his luck wasn't good enough to keep her if she was immune to his physical touches. If she was emotionally cut off, he was going to lose her, for good. And that was one thing he was going to fight with every fiber of his being.

She was his. He was hers. That's all there was to that. And he wasn't going to let anyone stop them from being together.

Not even Brooklyn.

A/N: Quick chapter. Just to catch you up on what's going on in Steve's head. Like I said, stick with me. It's gonna get a bit worse, before it gets better. I promise! vote and comment!