Steve Vs Conscience
"You lied to me"
Liz...
"You lied to me, Steve Rogers. How can I be with someone who has done nothing but lie to me since the very first moment?"
Her face is broken and red; her tears won't stop falling out of her eyes, her eyes that portray anguish, betrayal, heartbreak, and hatred.
I can't move. I can't reach her. Can't comfort her. I can't talk. I can't ask her to listen. I can't try to explain. I can't fix this.
I can't do anything but watch her eyes harden and her fingers clench, and her heart turns to steel, her walls building up. Kicking me out.
"I hate you, Steve Rogers. I wish you'd never come out of the ice."
She walks away, without looking back. Taking my heart with me.
She transforms into Bucky. Cold, lifeless Bucky, bleeding out in front of me, a gunshot through his heart and Tony Stark standing above him, the red and gold suit in pristine shape, but the man wearing it the opposite. He looks as dead as his sister, but his eyes hold a thirst for vengeance, a thirst for revenge. A deadly satisfaction. He looks at me; with no expression, no recognition of the friends we are, the partners we became. He looks at me before walking away too, following his sister.
I'm left alone. I have no one else. I have nothing else. My heart walked away from me and my soul is dying on the ground.
I have nothing left.
I'm dead.
I shoot up in bed, the action causing the heavy blanket draped against me to go flying across the room, landing with a thump on the floor. The air conditioner provides no comfort for my sweat-soaked self, and I ferociously rub at my face to get rid of the perspiration. My throat feels clogged up and my lungs burn, making me contemplate the chances of my asthma returning at full force.
I haven't had a dream this bad in a very long time. Not since the last time Sam came to me and told me that they couldn't find Bucky. Not since I learned that Bucky killed Liz's parents. Not since the last time Liz talked about them to me; the last time since I lied straight to her face.
The thought of her makes my chest ache once more and I rapidly dart my eyes back to the bed in my panic-filled haze.
The large elephant on my chest finally leaves me when I catch sight of Liz, slumbering peacefully beside me, her long hair creating a brown cocoon around her, obstructing the words on my t-shirt she wears to sleep, the t-shirt that envelopes her, making her look smaller than she actually is. Her hands rest under her cheek and the fact that only she can smile in her sleep brings a small smile to my face.
She's here. She hasn't left. She's here, and she's with me. She's okay. I'm okay. Seeing her gets rid of the panic in my chest and the burning in my lungs, but it doesn't ease the desperation or the anguish I feel at how real the dream seemed.
I crawl to the edge of the bed and pick the blanket up off the ground, draping it over the two of us as I slowly rest myself back into the bed. I tug Liz closer to me, and bury my head in her hair, the familiar scent of strawberries instantly soothing me, bringing me a much-welcomed calm.
"Steve," She mumbles into my shirt and I sigh guiltily for waking her up. She left for work at six in the morning today and had emergency after emergency and only came back home at 2 am.
She tilts her head to look up at me, and although the room is bathed in a soft blue, I watch fascinated (everything about this women is fascinating; from the way she rapidly blinks for a minute after she wakes to get used to her surroundings to the way she yawns right after) as she gets accustomed to the dim lighting of our large room (large for me, probably not for her, who has lived in much larger).
"Hey," I whisper, even though she's awake and there's no one else in the loft.
"What's wrong?" she squints up at me slightly, and my heart bursts in a way not known possible at the way this woman knows me so well.
I shake my head, despite pulling her closer than she already is (it isn't possible) until she's practically lying on top of me.
"It's nothing. Just a bad dream," I tell her, knowing that she's not nodding in sympathy but rather understanding.
"Wanna talk about it?" She cups my jaw and runs her thumb across the very light stubble growing there.
Yes. Yes, I do.
"No, it was nothing. You're here. It's all that matters." I brush the hair out of her face to see her eyes brighten, and dip my head down so that our foreheads brush together and we're only a breath apart.
"I love you, Steve Rogers,"
It's not the first time she's said this to me, but damn, my heart stops beating every time she does.
"I love you Elizabeth Stark. I don't remember the last time I've loved anyone as much as I love you."
Her lips softly capture mine and the kiss evaporates the remains of the burning in my lungs, the panic in my brain, and the fear in my heart. All that is left is the love I have for the woman in front of me, and the soft calling of sleep.
Without saying anything (I have discovered that a sleepy Liz, is usually a quiet Liz), Liz snuggles into my chest, grabbing a fistful of my plain shirt, before her breaths even out, and I'm left with the lightness in my heart, guilt in my conscience, and fear and despair everywhere else.
Because I know how close my dream is going to be to reality. I'm hiding a secret from the women I love, a secret that could potentially destroy her, and I should probably tell her. I should wake her up and tell her, tell her about her parents, about Bucky, about everything.
If I do, I'll lose Bucky. While it may be possible to convince Liz of Buck's innocence, the task of convincing Tony will be well near impossible. He'll go after Bucky, and I can't have that. I can't lose him. Not again.
And so I allow my eyes to close, mentally juggling between Liz and the life I have built for myself in the past five years or Bucky and the life before the ice, my life.
And so I allow myself to scumbag into sleep knowing that one way or the other, I'm going to lose either one of them or both.
Soon.
Tony
I fiddle around with the headpiece, contemplating whether I will have enough time to rip it apart, look for errors and put it back together. Not that the university will care anyway; with the funds I'm giving them, they won't even remember the presentation. But I have a reputation to live up to and I plan to keep that until the day I die.
The elevator dings someone's arrival and I feel myself perk up when I hear the clicking of heels, hoping to whatever divinity is up there that it's Pepper, deciding not to cancel on the presentation and us. I feel my heart slightly deflate, but myself perk up (like a fucking dog) a little more when it's not Pep, but my sister, wearing one of those professional dresses Pepper loves to wear (but Liz hates) and a pair of ridiculously tall heels.
"Hey ya, Tony." She swings herself onto the marble counter after giving me a peck on the cheek.
"What? No morning sex with Rogers?" I force the bile that appears in my throat when my mouth gets ahead of my brain. I may not ramble as she does, but I do also lack a filter.
She blushes, but swats my arm in retaliation, rolling her eyes at me as she answers the question, "Steve went to for a mission in Lagos or something. And I happen to know for a fact that you have the leftover muffins that Lucille made when she visited us and gave us a thank you gift for supporting her restaurant which didn't need any supporting at all because it's such a successful restaurant. I mean even they're water tastes divine. Maybe they put something in the water. I'll have to ask her next time. But if she's putting things in the water, chances are that she won't tell me, right? Cause you know, super-secret chef and all." She's started munching on the last chocolate muffin that chef Lucille had gifted us with last week. I wipe off the chocolate chip stain on her cheek, and she smiles her thanks.
I fiddle around with the headpiece once more and wonder if the slight scratch mark I see when I bring it close to my face will affect the overall effectiveness of BARF.
"It's the best thing you have ever come up with Tony. After the suit of course. And the arc reactor, that was phenomenal. Oh and obviously Jarvis. He's the very best thing you've ever created. But BARF's pretty high on the list too." I've stopped wondering how she could possibly read my mind so well and instead focused on being grateful for the fact that she can.
"It's just that I've never been so..." I look at her, not wanting to admit it out loud, knowing that she will understand and do it for me.
"...personally and emotionally out there before." She finishes for me.
I see her take in a deep breath before admitting, "So have I."
I know. She's a ball of sunshine who gives everything she has to people. Everything except for the small increment of pain inside of her and the darkness she had to trudge through in the past. Elizabeth Stark may give others her hard work, dedication, light, and warmth, but she'll never give them her darkness. That part of her is closed into a tightly woven ball and stuffed in the corner of her mind and heart where it is dying to come out. She does no good to herself or others by keeping it locked in.
"They'd be proud Tony." She says softly and quietly, muffin finished and legs swinging reminding me so much of a time when she was six and everything was simple and good.
"Of both of us." I remind her.
The kitchen goes quiet for a moment, before she softly whispers into the silence, "If I used BARF than I wish that I wasn't asleep when they left."
She was nursing off a hangover for the first time that morning because of the party she went to the night before, she doesn't even remember my dad coming to pick her up or my mom putting her to bed. The last words she said to them was "bye, don't wait up, I'll probably stay over at Charlie's."
And since we're playing the 'what ifs and I wish' game for the very first time in our lives, I contribute, "I wish I took the plane home instead of staying behind because of a childish grudge I had on dad."
"I wish we spent more time together as a family."
"I wish he wasn't a genius"
"I wish I had a time machine."
"I wish I could just stop wishing and move on." I sigh as I finish the sentence and rest my head on the back of my chair.
"Then lets." My eyes snap open at Liz's odd request because out of the two of us, she was the one obsessed on finding about their deaths, and holding onto mom and dad with all she had left.
At my shocked expression, she jumps off the counter, trembling on her heels (still ridiculously long. Why do women need to be five extra inches tall anyway?) before telling me with a small smile, "I'm just so tired of holding onto what happened years ago. I feel like it's the only thing keeping me, keeping the two of us from moving on. We have something really great going for us now and we can't fully appreciate it because what happened to mom and dad is still looming in our heads. We don't have to let them go but we need to let their deaths go. They're gone Tony, nothing is going to change that."
I know. God, I know. If anything could have changed that, I would have immediately thought of it and killed myself trying to make it happen. But life and death is one aspect that is completely out of my control. It's better that way.
But I'm curious, "What changed your mind."
"Well, it was Steve, actually. He was the first person other than you that I told about mom and dad. How I felt about mom and dad. He found a way to get it through to me that what happened to them was an accident, and I have no reason to be guilty because I couldn't have saved them even if I tried. My powers can't stop an accident that no one knew was going to happen. I guess its easy taking advice from someone who is practically an expert at getting a grip on reality and moving on."
For the first time, I thank whatever God is up there for Steve Rogers. Because as much as I loathe to admit it, he helped my sister in ways I hadn't known possible, in ways that I couldn't, and I am deeply indebted to the man for that itself.
"Sir, Mr. Hogan tells you to, and I quote, hurry your ass up before I call Rhodey." Jarvis' voice surrounds the room and I ignore the pang I feel when I know that a couple of months ago, it would have been Pepper he was threatening me with instead of Rhodes.
Liz seems to understand my distress, "Hey, you two are meant for each other. Just because you're taking a break doesn't mean it's over. You'll find your way to each other, you always do. Might I remind you of the 265 resignation letters we found in Peppers cupboard when we helped her clean it out so that she could move in with you? Well, I cleaned it out. You two were too busy going at it like rabbits to help, but you know...not a helpful or appropriate post temporary break up topic."
"Mr. Stark—"
I groan, "Ya, I'm coming, J. Tell Happs to keep it in his pants."
My sister giggles, before walking out of the Stark Tower with me. I spot Rick, her driver, parked behind my limo, and give her a kiss on her cheek as a goodbye.
"Go save lives and make me look bad," I tell her.
She stops her pursue to her car and spins around to face me, one eyebrow raised, a cheeky grin paired with a glint in her eyes, reminding me that I haven't completely forgotten how Beth (you know, my biological sister and Liz's actual mom who died before she even became an official mother) looks like.
"Go save students and make me look dumb."
Liz
"You know, for someone whose boyfriend just took off on a plane to the other side of the world, you look awfully happy." Charlie rests her arms against her desk, wiggling her eyebrows in a manner that makes me smile wider than I already am.
"You make it sound like he packed his bags and ran away or something." I mock accusingly tell her, and relish in her laugh, healthy and bright, now that she's back to full strength since she fell off a five-story building courtesy of Wanda Maximoff. Not that I'm still bitter about that or anything.
"What if he has?" Charlie's eyes are wide in mock shock and I fling my closed purse at her, and she, who has been dealing with me for years, ducks gracefully, not one hair out of place when she comes back up.
"Shut up Char." I make sure she sees my eye rolling, before I walk into my office, ready to shrug off the persona of CEO for the one that I love most, Doctor Stark.
I walk down the busy halls of the hospital, my eyes focused on the chart in front of me, holding a list of names of patients that need tending.
When I reach the fifth floor, I make an immediate beeline to the main office, handing the chart to Sylvia, who, despite being seven months pregnant for the second time, doesn't look a day over twenty.
"Darling, you're the boss; you're supposed to assign the jobs." She sends me a scolding look that I'm pretty sure her eight-year-old son at home receives when he treks into the house with his muddy boots.
Snatching my white coat off the hanger, I place it on, telling her behind my back, "And since I'm the boss, I say that you should assign the jobs."
I'm out the door before she can respond and I make my way into room 322, smiling at six-year-old Jack and his parents.
"Hi there." I focus all my attention on the young boy since I already spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Mulchan on the phone this morning and know all I need to know in order to operate on Jackson's arm.
After a few adorable sniffles, he manages to greet me back, "Hi."
"Do you remember me, Jack?" I ask him, crouching down so the two of us are at eye level.
He nods bashfully, all dark hair and bright eyes, reminding me so much of Tony when he was younger.
"Okay, so we're going to get your arm fixed so that it doesn't hurt anymore. But I'm going to need you to come into the other room with me, and your mommy and daddy are going to have to stay here. Can we do that?"
The boy's been given a small anesthesia shot, enough so that the pain isn't unbearable, but not altogether gone. However, at the mentioning of his parents not being there, Jack's face crumples up and tears began to swarm his eye. I look around the room and rack my head for any type of indication or reassurance to make him feel better and to get him to come with me.
It's then that I notice his shirt.
"Do you like Captain America, Jack?" I ask him, pointing at the shirt that displays Steve's shield, all blue and red and star.
He seems confused by the question but nods nevertheless, wiping his eyes with his chubby hands.
I lean in closer, mock whispering to him, "Do you want me to tell you a secret?"
His eyes widen and he leans closer to me too, curiosity brimming his green eyes.
"I actually know Captain America." In the corner of my eye, I see his parents, who undoubtedly read the magazines, which have Steve and my face plastered all over it, chuckle.
But Jack's face turns star struck and I internally fist pump at getting his attention.
"Really?"
I smile and hold out my hand, "Ya. And I'll tell you all about it. But we can't tell your mum and dad, it's supposed to be a secret."
He hesitates for a moment, looking between his parents and me, but eventually, he places his good hand in mine, and we slowly walk out of the room.
I start my story.
"Before Captain America was Captain America, he was Steve Rogers. And Steve Rogers didn't have big muscles, or a costume or a fancy shield. He was just a little boy, just like you."
He looks at me weirdly, "But Liz, how did he beat bad guys if he was just a little kid!"
I carefully pick him up and place him on the kid-friendly operating table, bright blue with little dinosaurs on it.
"He wanted to save the world. He wanted to do the right thing. He didn't need to be strong or fast to do that. He just needed a big heart, and a lot of determination."
I tie the mask behind my neck, but I don't put it on just yet, I keep Jack occupied just as Prescott injects him with the anesthesia that he doesn't notice over his conversation with me and the pain in his arm that is slowly starting to hurt just a little more.
"That means I can be Captain America," He drowsily says, the pain medication starting to take effect.
"Yes you can," I place the mask over my mouth, just as he closes his eyes.
"I love Captain America," He mumbles incoherently, just before he falls asleep and the nurses and surgeons come rushing into the room, ready to fix his broken arm.
So do I kiddo, so do I.