NOTES: 30 Days of OTP - Day 11 - wearing kirugumi (animal suits). Angst warning!
The More Loving One
Steve knows he's in trouble when the flight signallers freeze as he strolls across the tarmac. Or tries to stroll. It's difficult to walk casually in a giant yellow animal suit.
He just doesn't realise how much trouble he's in at that point.
"On second thought," Tony says beside him, "we probably could have timed this better. Amusing as your humiliation is, it's probably not worth causing a major air traffic snarl-up."
"If I don't kill you, Fury will."
"You can try," Tony says offhandedly. "And Fury's been wishing me dead for the last few years, with no luck yet. He can add it to my tab."
The problem is that it's not Fury waiting for them when they reach the helicarrier control room.
Even Tony pauses as Maria looks up from her tablet and sees them. Her gaze takes in Steve, top to toe and back up to his face again, and he fights a brief struggle between trying to grin it off like Stark would, and apologising as his instincts are telling him he should.
Tony plunges in, reckless to the last. "Had an unexpected promotion, Lieutenant? Or should it be Commander?"
"What the hell is this?"
Steve doesn't flinch at the edge in her voice, although he wants to. The suit is suddenly very hot inside. And itchy. He has to clear his throat to speak. "A lost bet."
"I see."
Steve's afraid she does. Her mouth is thin and white – Maria in full fury. He understands why - what would have been funny with Fury is decidedly unfunny with Maria.
"You have ten minutes to change into something commensurate with the job that SHIELD employs you to do, Captain," she tells him and her gaze is steely. "Or you get off my ship. Your choice."
Tony gapes at the ultimatum. "Or what? You'll throw him off the helicarrier?"
"If I have to." Maria isn't looking at Tony. "Well, Captain?"
In answer, Steve slips the suit's headpiece off, and fumbles with the zip at the back. He sees Tony's roll of the eyes, but the other man steps behind him to yank the zip down. Steve steps out of the suit, his neck hot, his heart pounding as he meets Maria's gaze.
"I apologise, Commander."
Her lips tighten for a moment before she turns away. "Captain, I believe you have an appointment with Agent Sitwell in Conference One. Stark, Dr. Halaway is already in the labs, awaiting your instruction. Don't let me delay you further."
Stark opens his mouth to object at being dismissed. Steve grabs his arm and jerks his head towards the door, not caring who sees or what they think as he scoops up the costume and drags it off the bridge, practically towing Tony away.
"So, what?" Stark demands as the doors slide shut behind them. "You discover your girlfriend has the whip hand and all of a sudden you're cowed?"
"It's not the—What does 'whip hand'—Actually, no, don't tell me."
"This doesn't fulfil the terms of the bet, you know."
"You can ask for another forfeit," Steve snaps, increasing his stride, and not caring if he outpaces Stark.
At least the other man has the sense not to follow him to the locker room, where he shoves the suit into the locker and hauls out the exchange of clothing – the uniform of a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative rather than his civvies.
Stupid to let yourself be goaded into wearing the suit... But how was he to know Maria would be on duty today, in command of the helicarrier?
It's one thing to play a prank like that with to a commander with twenty years of experience – a man who's proven himself in politics and in power; it's another thing entirely with someone filling a temporary role, someone whose authority isn't so absolute.
Especially when that someone is a woman.
And when that woman is Maria...
Steve changes quickly, trying not to see Maria's expression as he tugs on his shirt and pulls off his trousers – that moment of disbelief that kindled into white-lipped outrage before it all shut down. She's been in retreat since the night in Vegas. Damage control, Steve thought at first. He thought the distance would pass, that she'd come back eventually. She hasn't.
He doesn't mean to close the locker door quite so hard, but the slam echoes through the room.
"Temper temper," drawls an unwelcome voice at the end of the row.
"Agent Thorpe." The last man Steve wants to see at this moment. "Got something to say?"
"What were you thinking?"
"It was a joke—"
"Wrong answer." Thorpe leans against the lockers, his arms folded across his chest. "What could possibly be funny about turning up to the helicarrier in a giant Pikachu suit?"
"I didn't know Maria was in charge today."
"And that matters? The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. should be respected, no matter who's in the role."
"Have you come to gloat?" Steve demands, because this man rubs him the wrong way, and all he can think is that things have been going downhill between him and Maria ever since Thorpe turned up. He can feel her slipping through his fingers, and he doesn't like it.
He doesn't like Thorpe.
But the other man's expression is pitying rather than triumphant as he regards Steve. "No. Just to say that I thought you were smarter than that."
Steve thinks he'd prefer gloating.
–
Nobody mentions the animal suit during the mission briefing, although from the looks, it seems that everyone's heard of it. A few are amused. One of the ops guys gives him the thumbs up.
Jasper doesn't say anything, but he's a little cooler during the briefing and very composed. Steve wouldn't be surprised to find Thorpe's pity and disdain reflected in the senior agent's thoughts. It's not about Maria, it's about authority in at S.H.I.E.L.D. And it's one thing for Tony Stark to do as he pleases; it's another thing entirely for Captain America.
Steve tries to banish it from his mind, but it weighs him down all through the briefing, through the mission prep, and as they begin to head out to the flight deck to the Quinjet that's going to take them out. He drops back beside Jasper. "I need five minutes before the mission."
Jasper looks up from the tablet. "She'll be on the flight deck to see us off," is all he says. "You can tender your apologies there."
And Steve has to be content with that.
But when they get to the flight deck, there's the crews loading up the Quinjet, and the pilots performing the pre-flight check, but no Maria.
Steve finds excuses to linger on the deck rather than going into the Quinjet, but it's nearly flight time when the doors open and Maria strides in, tucking her tablet under her arm, as though she'd been reading it as she walked.
"Captain."
"Commander." He wants to say something about the temporary promotion, but he's got limited time and people are staring. "It was a bet with Stark. I didn't think—"
"People generally don't around Stark." She's not looking at him – she's looking at the Quinjet. "We should probably class that as his superpower."
"I'm sorry," he says. It's all he has, and it feels inadequate to what he wants to say – what he needs to say. "Maria—"
"I need you to hear me out," she says, and now her voice is the too-quiet one that she gets when she's nervous and hiding it. And Steve feels his whole body go tight and tense, like there's a fight brewing – and there is. "I want us to take a break from...us. For a couple of weeks. Maybe a month."
"You want to take...time out from us." Is that his voice, so flat and angry?
"We don't see each other outside of work—"
"We weren't anyway." That escapes Steve before he can rein it in, the hot buzzing sensation in his belly moving to his chest. Then he closes his mouth around anything else he might say.
Maria is holding herself very still and very stiff. "At the end of the month, we re-evaluate."
As though this relationship is a project that isn't going very well – a mission that's in the crash-and-burn stages, and which she's deciding whether or not to pull out her resources or to try to salvage what's left. As though Steve's an inconvenience that she can put aside at will.
Maybe he is.
It burns his throat, his chest, his lungs.
Steve waits for the more, and when more doesn't materialise, checks. "Is that it?"
"Yes."
"Is this about the...the suit?"
"No." She pokers up. "I've been thinking about this for a while. The suit is just...bad timing. And bad judgement." Then, very carefully, she adds, "You're free to see other women if you want."
As though that makes a difference! Although, it hits Steve like a punch from the Hulk. "Will you be seeing Thorpe?"
"Is that what you think of me?"
"You could answer the question."
"No," she says. "Not personally."
"Impersonally, then?" And maybe it's cruel, but she's too good at that, too – at keeping a man at arm's length when he wants to hold her close.
There've been moments since that night out with Clint, Natasha and the other agents – and particularly since the night in Vegas – when Steve feels a little like Maria Hill's dirty little secret. Sleeping with a fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is perfectly acceptable, but fucking an Avenger? No, Maria Hill wouldn't do that.
And it makes Steve want to push her, to force her to acknowledge him as her in public.
"Commander?" That's Jasper, standing by the Quinjet, waiting.
"Five minutes," Maria says.
And it occurs to Steve that she pushed this confrontation to here and now – in public and limited by time - so he couldn't do anything. So he couldn't argue, couldn't object, couldn't even kiss her goodbye. That this is her way of wielding the knife so it's a fast cut. No mess, no fuss, one break-up.
He suddenly hates that term. Break-up. It feels…wrong. Sharp and shattered. Uncomfortable. And too permanent.
But what choice does he have?
"All right," he says, and knows he sounds ungracious. "You get your month, Maria. And then we'll renegotiate."
Maria doesn't flinch, but there's a moment when she looks...bruised. "I'm sorry, Steve."
"Yeah, well, so am I." He turns away and, for a split-second, contemplates turning back and kissing her – enfolding her lips with his, unmistakeable heat and intent and determination. Making a mockery of her careful distance and her determined cool.
It passes.
"Captain?" He turns as hope sparks momentarily, then gutters and dies. She's all agent and commander, blue eyes, proud mouth, not a hair out of place. "Good luck on the mission."
And she turns on her heel and walks away without looking back.
How would we feel if stars were to burn
with a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be
Let the more loving one be me.
fin