An Emery & Chris story
*a Chris Evans fan fic*
Chris and Emery have a little discussion about where to keep her Christmas presents in their new Boston home
Word Count 1655
Leaning in the door frame, arms crossed, he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying what he’s thinking. Any little thing seems to set her off recently, and he’s too tired for another go. It’s his own damn fault anyway, because he told her to choose any color she wanted. And the smile on her face is so damn cute, he already knows she’s going to get her way. Like she always does, and this time, he can’t hold back the laugh at his own thought.
“But kitten, it’s like, Army-khaki brown? That’s not a color for a nursery; I mean if it’s a little girl don’t we want pink and-”
Emery spins on her heels and the light catches her hair just right, like a halo of flames around her head. She squints her eyes at him, responding. “Christopher Robert Evans, don’t you dare finish that sexist remark.” Teacher voice, he thinks, and not the sexy one… “And it’s not khaki, it’s called taupe, and I like it. It goes perfect with my Christmas presents, perfect for the baby’s room!”
He coughs to bide his time and give her a moment to settle down. He moves to her and bracing his hands on her forearms, he tugs them away from her rounded hips and pregnant belly and drops them to her sides for a less threatening pose. “Don’t get defensive with me; I know what that color it’s called. I dated an interior designer, you know…” he winks at her playfully.
Sticking her tongue out at him, she chides him, poking him squarely in his solid chest. “You don’t have to remind me; I know. You bring it up every time we redecorate, you ass,” she chuckles. “Keep memories of your ex-girlfriends out of our baby’s bedroom, alright. Or that new accountant we need? I know just the guy; he also just moved up here from-”
“STOP. Stop. I can dish it out, but I can’t take it. No more talk of exes, ever. I promise.” He puts his hands up in defeat and holds his out for a pinkie swear. He laughs when she links her tiny finger with his, tugging him to her lips for a quick, chaste kiss. “But really, babe, this isn’t what I had in mind when I framed these and gave them to you.”
He stares up at the ‘vintage’ Captain America posters on the wall, in the style of old movie playbills. When packing his old place in LA, he found lots of memorabilia he knew she would love and cherish, and he had framed these, thinking she would put them in the shared office in their new Boston home. He never imagined she would plan the design of the baby’s nursery around them, picking out colors from the photos as accents.
“I know, but they’re just so beautiful. I mean I guess we can move them to the office, or down in the den they’d look nice too. But I just like the style,” she shrugs her shoulders. “We don’t have to make a decision today, but-”
Chris sweeps his arm around the room, the cherry wood furniture, shiny and new. His robust laugh echoes in the room. “Babe, your ‘nesting’ kicked in. Everything we picked out and ordered is already delivered and in place. You’d really agree to changing the room?” He smiles at the faint blush on her cheeks, drawing attention to her cute freckles. Damn, she’s gonna get her way- but then the faint smell of fresh paint assaults his nose. His tone changes. “Wait- who painted? You aren’t supposed to be painting.”
She gets sheepish and moves to the dresser, folding some of the baby clothes already given to them. She smiles at the collection of little clothing, many of onsies marked with shields and sayings like ‘My Daddy is a superhero!’
“Emery? Dammit, please tell me you didn’t paint. We talked about not doing stupid things while I’m away working.” Now he’s the one standing in the center of the room, hands on his hips. He feels the beginning of a headache. They’d already had one little scare early on in the pregnancy and he was not willing to risk anything. His tone drops, full of concern. “Babe, you know I can’t lose you; you have to be safe.”
Turning to him, she quietly calms him. “Relax, babe. I didn’t do anything.” Her smile lights up the room when he moves closer and begins folding the the tiny clothes also. They look so tiny in his strong, firm hands. “Uncle Scott came and helped, and I haven’t stayed in the house. I’ve slept at your mom’s. I don’t wanna spend a night here until we can be in the house together. He didn’t like the color either; he told me you’d hate it. But he did have a suggestion if you absolutely hated it.”
“Yea, he’s dated interior decorators too,” he pauses at her raucous laughter to his joke. His eyes sweep over the shelves of Captain America bears he’s collected from fans over the years, and army toys from the forties, painted with shields. Throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling briefly, he has to admit although it wasn’t where he pictured sitting and rocking their child to sleep, it was a beautifully done room. “What? What’s his idea?”
Shrugging her shoulders, “It’s partly your fault, you know. Every time I’ve tried to bring up the design, you say ‘after this’ or ‘after that.’” She tugs his arm and pulls him over to sit on the plush couch under the window. “I made it this far. We’re good, honey.” Placing their hands over her belly she smiles at Chris with his teary eyes. “We’re gonna be okay. I just know it. You gotta start bonding. You’re gonna be a dad, and meet THIS little one, even if I end up sitting on my ass for weeks…” Chris wipes away a tear, fortified by his wife’s positivity. “I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, and I still don’t wanna know, but I know one thing. Little One is a fighter. Just like both of us; strong and hard as nails. And with a name like Grant Lang Evans?”
Her hopeful question hangs in the air…
“No. No. I give in to all your little whims. Even getting In and Out burgers and shakes at three am when I’ve got jet lag coming back from Singapore. But no,” laughing and shaking his head, “If it’s a boy, that is not his name. Do you have any idea how ‘fangirl’ crazy that sounds?”
She giggles, leaning her head against his strong bicep, tracing her fingers over his newest tat under the old ‘Loyalty’ one. “I do like this tat,” she tells him. “I wasn’t sure at first…but it’s growing on me… Jelly bean, it’s tradition in my family for the oldest daughter to use the middle names of both her grandfathers for the firstborn son. I can’t help those names also happen to be tied to two of my favorite characters.” She giggles and rolls her eyes. “But honey, Relax. It’s not gonna be a boy. I just feel it.”
Kissing the top of her head, he contentedly sighs. “Well, then, I guess we better narrow down a girl’s name then, ‘cause you’re always right.”
“Yup!” she giggles, “And life would be so much easier if you would always remember that!”
Her sweet lilt is music to his years and he laughs, jostling her by his side. “I’ll try to remember that, if you promise me one thing, kitten.”
Stifling a yawn, she giggles, “I don’t promise you anything in advance. That gets me in trouble every time…” She pauses at the memory of such a moment, which resulted in their pregnancy. “What? What are you trying to sneak?” Her fingers brush down his arm taking his large hand in hers, brushing her thumb against the padded muscle in his palm.
“Promise me you’ll never lose that sweet Southern accent, no matter how long we live here in ‘yankee territory.’ And stop calling it that, too,” he chuckles. Tickled by her touch, he gently extracts her hand from hers, moving to tuck his arm around her and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to wrap her up. “Nap time?”
“Uh, uh. Once a Southern belle, always a Southern belle…” She yawns, unable to avoid it this time. “Will you stay here with me?”
“Of course, baby. Always by your side… Till the end of the line,” he adds, needing a nap himself.
Moments pass in a companionable silence, before he whispers, “Emery? Are you still awake?”
“Hmm?” she hums, the sound of happiness evident in even the simplest noise.
“I still don’t know about the color and posters, but what was Scott’s idea?” His warm breath blows against the wispy curls on her forehead.
She giggles. “With the brown, he thought giraffes or monkeys? He doesn’t want to have to paint again. And he was really glad the furniture was already built. He had visions of sitting for hours and trying to put it together. He’s so excited for another little one to love and he-.”
“Yea, we’re not naming the baby Scott either. He can keep dreaming.” Chris sighs, resting his head against hers. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here. Just three more weeks, babe, and this job’s a wrap… But it’s good Scott is around when I’m not and it’s-”
“Honey, honey. Shhh. I’m really tired. Can you just ‘Shhh?”
“Whatever you say, boss,” he whispers against her head. “Tell Scott he won’t have to paint. The bears? The shields? They look great.” But he knows before he even finishes his last words that she is sound asleep against his side, her pregnancy zapping her more than they had anticipated.
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