"Hey?"
I am standing in a club, it's one of those old fashioned ones, auburn lights, serene but old timey music. It's nice. People are dancing like there is no tomorrow, the twirl of skirts and dresses and the stomps of men's dress shoes. I grow nervous. This is a club. Where you dance. My feet don't translate.
I look down at my attire. I am wearing a blue suit, white dress shirt, and black shoes. I am confused until someone grabs me by my jaw and lays their lips on my own. I can taste the sweet taste of cherry vodka. Its sweet and my lips linger longer than necessary resulting in the chase of her lips when she pulls away. She smiles at me.
"Are okay? You look a little lost," She says to me and concern crosses her face when she meets my gaze. My legs can't help weaken at the sight. I want to say something but my voice is nothing but a null void. Nothing comes out, I am too shocked. I can't believe she is here with me, in my arms. My mouth doesn't want to function though. So I settle for a smile and a small nod. She smiles in response before kissing my cheek and looking out onto the dance floor. "You ready?"
I shake my head but something comes hurling out of my throat, a great difference from previous state," I…I-I don't know how."
Didn't say it was an improvement.
She does a little twirl in my arms before connected our bodies back together. She smiles sweetly before whispering in my ear," So let me teach you."
She grabs me by my hand and drags me to the dance floor, she has the band play something slow. She guides my arms to specific parts on her body before placing her own hands on my shoulders. First, we begin with a sway and I stop being shocked by the moment and actually try to enjoy it. Leaning my head against her own, I revel in the feel of her skin on my own. How I missed this. With her. The feel of her skin, the beat of her heart echoing through my ears, her hands touching me, the rush of her blood through her veins. She was real. And in my arms once more. It's more than I could ever ask for. Especially when she makes full of her promise and begins to teach me a couple of moves. It's serene and beautiful. I can't decide what I love more. The way she laughs when I spin myself or the way her smile brightens when I apologize for stepping on her feet. The glow in her eyes makes me actually believe that she is alive.
Until she begins to fade. She fades from my arms, tears flowing from her eyes. The scene has changed and it's dark and I am on that cliff again, watching as her faded form enters the truck. I try, so desperately, to stop it, but I am not fast enough. Something so close but so far away. I can't stop it when she starts the truck. I can't stop it when she puts the truck in full throttle. I yell her name. Scream it. Cry it until my throat burns.
But finally when the truck is a hairs length away.
It falls.
And he wakes.
He jolts up from the floor, breath forcing itself from his lungs, and perspiration running along his forehead and upper body. Just a dream. No, more like a nightmare. He tries to regain his stolen breath and tries to relax before lying back down. It's taking a toll on him, a terrible one. One part of torture, give the mind what it wants before ripping it away from them in the most gruesome way. It tears at him, kind of, reminding him of how incapable he was. It resides in him like a ghost. And the main thing about ghosts is that they haunt you. And it causes him pain.
And that's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt.
So he doesn't go to asleep. He can't.
And he doesn't know if she knows that he knows she's there, standing on the other side of the containment field, staring at him. She has been for the last couple of nights. And even though he hates to admit it, he focuses on the beat of her heart throughout the rest of the night, filling him with a satisfying amount of content.
She helps him sleep every now and then, unknowingly.
…
Minutes of isolation turn into hours, hours turn into days, and days turn into weeks. He grows lost. As he stares at the white walls, the white floor, the white furniture, the white ceiling he begins to lose himself in it all. He begins to question things. Questions everything, the special and even small moments that turned his mundane life into such a significant but lost story. Life, and its unexpected moments, deluding the most intelligent of beings and wisest of people. So many possibilities but also restricted by the imagination. Moments are what bring us here. It's the special ones, that one's that change your mindset and your outlook on life. It forms people, shapes them, molds them into what they are supposed to become. If they actually get to their final form eludes me. But once you have your shape, or if you at least have the mold for your future form you are a given a path. A path just for you, accommodating for your being, giving you a sole purpose. Finding this path depends on whether or not you put any effort to look for it, because it doesn't come easy. But what does? It is oblivious to even the most sharpest of eyes but also obvious to the most blind. It's torture. Torture being lost in a fog of your own mistakes.
"Steve?"
That's why God made people to help you find your way.
He doesn't look up, doesn't want to either. Talking felt useless, thinking felt incompetent, dreaming turned into nightmares, strong limbs turned sore, breathing was just another minute of suffering, his hope died with Peggy, and pain? It used to hurt more.
"Hey, Steve? How you doin'?" Jane kneels in front of him, Darcy, T'Challa, Bucky, Thor, and Sam beside her. All he can see though are their colorful shoes against the white floors. Color. "We brought you something. Fury approved when he saw it…"
"We would've brought it whether he approved or not," Darcy comments, the light in the darkest moments. Steve's lip turns up slightly but that's it. It may be humor but it is not enough to bring him back.
"We would've made it possible, my friends," Thor says, the hope when there is none. He walks out of the room for a minute and from Steve's peripheral vision he can see blonde hair swishing back and forth. Thor makes his way back in, something large in his hands. "An easel for your foundation."
He sets it down next to him, a simple easel, but for some reason Steve found more meaning behind it.
"A canvas for your creations," Darcy says as she heaves the big white canvas onto the easel. She rocks back and forth, the canvas clearly being a little too big for her small hands. Jane helps her balance it.
"Brushes for your structure," Sam states, pulling a pack of twenty different types of brushes from his back pocket before setting it on the side pocket of the easel.
"And paint for the limitless," Jane and T'Challa heave large paint cans into the room, red, blue, black, brown, green, yellow, and every single color of the rainbow. The white walls and décor seems to bring out or emphasize the color of the art supplies. It actually makes him feel like it's less of a prison. It isn't. Well, it isn't supposed to be. It's containment until they can get him under control or decide on what to do with him and they're loads of possibilities. Brainwash him, erase his memories, lock him in a hole in Southern Egypt, or let him go. But none of it, absolutely none of those possible outcomes will erase his actions, what he did, what he went through, no, it will only make his life slightly easier but there will always be that little feeling of emptiness. Yeah, empty, that wasn't something he was used to. It would take something phenomenal to fill him back up.
"I wish we could stay but there is this time limit and," Jane leans in closer before whispering," Fury is being a bitch."
"Fury is being a bitch!" Darcy shouts at no one in particular, beginning to make her way out of the containment room but not until she turns back to him, a certain unfamiliar softness returning to her eyes. "Uh, get…get better."
She and Jane make their way out followed by Thor who smiles at him. He knows he wants to hug him but the guards roaming in the hallways wouldn't allow. So he settles for a big smile which he puts all of his emotions in. T'Challa does the quite the opposite. He walks up to Steve, pats him on the shoulder, with a bright smile and as he walks out he flicks off the guards watching him walk away. Bucky lingers for a bit, shifting on the balls of his feet, gaze locked on the floor, thoughts working in his head like gears in a clock. Then he reaches behind him, and pulls out a book before setting it at his feet. It was burned, slightly charred on the edges, but it's also old and faded with age. It's the book Steve's mother had given him before she had died.
"'Till the end of the line," He mutters before walking out. At that Steve's head rises, clear indignation of the unshed tears behind his eyes. He breathes out a strangled breath as his calloused but worn fingers ghost over the book.
"Till the end of the line." The hoarse reply reached Bucky's ear and a smile stretched across his lips.
… (1st POV)
There is supposed to be a trial, in front of the World Council on what they wish to do to me. I don't want anything to do with it. Standing in front of a bunch people, judging you is a little unsettling. But I don't care. I have been judged my whole life, you kind of get used to it. Get used to the beatings and colorful words used to describe you in the ugliest way. It hurts but as time grows longer the pain begins to fade. It fades and the only thing left is a dull ache that nags at you and you would rather have the full brute force of the pain than the unsettling dullness that whatever you have is there but it's also not. And that it what drags you to the brink of insanity. But, maybe, just maybe, insanity is the only way to survive. It scares me kind of, is this what my step-father went through when he was my age? Did he do something to me to make me think this way? Or am I just this evil? Can't be, I am the heir to HYDRA, and HYDRA taught people to believe themselves something they aren't. And I wonder, looking at my reflection in the pristine, white, clean floors, dipping my fingers into the big bucket of red paint before swiping it across my face, coloring it like his. The paint is cold and it reminds me that I am alive after so many weeks of feeling like a useless corpse.
Once it is done I look to my reflection.
To my utter surprise I don't look like him. I look quite the opposite. I can't describe it but it feels alive and free, like wolves through the Appalachians. Free and wild. With no need to hurry or take my time I get the pale of water sitting beside the paint can and scrub my face, washing off the red of my step-father and coming to the conclusion that I am not him.
But I have yet to reach the farthest possibilities of myself.
"Hey! Where you going, buddy?" Someone laughs.
I look up slightly, eye catching something in my peripheral vision. Some kid, about sixteen or fifteen, glasses, brown hair was stumbling through the hall, nose bleeding like crazy. His hair was disheveled and he looked slightly scared. His shirt which used to be tucked in was now wrinkled and dirty with his blood. The cause of it walking towards my cell now.
"Hey, little spider, show us something," Two guards, SHIELD issued guns tight in their grips. "Come on, show us what you got."
"Ca-Can you-you…please, lea-ve me alone?" He asked, more like stuttered. He didn't belong here, I knew for sure. He was too young. Maybe a visitor or something? Highly likely. I didn't want to interfere until I saw one of the guards lay their hands on his brown head of hair, gathering it in his large fingers before yanking his head back harshly. With my sensitive hearing I heard a slight tear of the scalp. That was all I needed.
"Hey," I demand their attention, still sitting cross-legged in my little spot, still staring at the marks I made on the white floors. Their heads turn to me," Leave 'em alone."
"And, what are you going to do, make us?" One of them asks and I shake my head.
"No," I mutter, finger tracing little patterns on the white tiles," I am going to break every single one of your fingers if you keep doing it though.
They paused for a minute, looked at each other with a smile before turning to me. I regard them with a blank stare.
"How are you going to get past this force field? Huh? Just cause you are the first of your kind doesn't mean anything. I can still kick your arse," His British accent was thick and threatening. It would've meant something to any normal man. But I am not any normality but quite the opposite. The guards look at me with a bright smile before kicking the kid in the side of his leg. He winced but didn't get enough time to recover until the other man kicked him in the gut. It's rhythmic and they get so lost in it they forget me and turn to the kid with glasses. Something ignites me and I rise from my sitting position. I look at him and I see me. I see all those times I got beaten in a hallway with hundreds of people watching but not doing a thing. I see my face. I see my frail body. I see those innocent eyes with a fire of rage in them. I see those purple and blue marks on his skin and it reminds me of my own.
And I learn, if I am anything like my step-father or what he raised me to be, it was the part that wanted vengeance.
I place my hands on the force field and then the other, patiently waiting for their time. My fingers force themselves through, gaining loads of leverage before shoving it apart, making ample room for my body to fit through, it hurts my weary and sore muscles but I don't care. This kid, is more important than my own wellbeing. He deserves more. And I wish to give it to him. I tear through the containment field and once I do I run straight towards the two soldiers, sufficiently tackling one. The other one, too distracted by my onslaught to register what is going on. My hands move fast and quickly, one pinning him down and the other, with a death grip on his clenched fist.
"H-H-Ho-How?" The man stuttered and I regard him with a blank stare. He looks absolutely horrified as I begin to work on his fingers, as they snap and twist into painful and agonizing directions. He screams and I know that he has absentmindedly alerted other guards in the area. It doesn't matter though. I am in the process of getting some vengeance but yet there was one left. I turn towards the other. He is shocked and speechless but I become as such when something from behind him forces him into the wall adjacent. He isn't quite knocked out but has a serious migraine.
That isn't enough.
Not enough to satisfy the anger. I approach him, intent not written on my face whatsoever. I am too far gone and I don't realize it until I am pummeling the guys face in, my fist grows bloody and my face betrays some emotion. Voices sing in my head, triumphantly.
But those voices are cut off when someone tackles me and the next thing I see is black.
. . . . .
"Steven Grant Rogers, you are accused of multiple accounts of attempted murder, larceny, the murder of multiple Hydra agents, threats, accusations against your director in a manner that is not spoken upon, and damage to government property. Do you object to any of these accusations?" The World Council, presented to me in all of their holographic glory. Agents and also agents in training attended this trial, some were learning how the criminal system worked in SHIELD. It was weird, being known as a test subject for students who needed to learn the ins and outs of a corrupt system but damn, if they wanted to learn I was surely going to give something to learn about. No matter how chained up I was. They had placed titanium handcuffs on me, locked my feet together but allowed enough movement to walk, placed a chain between the two limbs to keep me constricted, and a black jumpsuit with the SHIELD logo. I felt presentable, even though my position was lax and uncaring. There was a great amount of boredom to my face, a little attitude to my face, and respect in my posture. Fury regarded me with a blank stare at his position at the head of the oval shaped table, where high-ranking SHIELD agents accompanied him on either sides, witnesses and innocents found their place in booths on either side of the grand table. I, on the opposite side of Fury at the head of the table, was accompanied by five soldiers, one in the back and two on each side. It was uncomfortable with a man this close to me but I just shifted my weight to my other foot. Very uncomfortable. What else was also uncomfortable was the way everyone was staring at me including, Jane, Darcy, Thor, Bucky, T'Challa, Sam, the Parker kid I met in the hallway, who were seated in the right booths. Tony, Bruce, Betty, Pepper, and Bobbi sat in the left booths. It was ironic, really. And in the middle sat Maria, Natasha, Clint, and some other anonymous agents. It stung me for a bit to see Clint and Natasha seated so closely but the sight of the empty chair next to her sent a chill down my spine. I know who was supposed to sit there and killed me not to see them there. But the time of mourning has passed and it's time to face my judgement, but I can't help but feel that faded feeling of loss.
"I do not," I say quietly, the sight of her not there killing my slightly heated vibe. And it's the fact that she should be there and I shouldn't be here is what weakens my spirit. Weeks of trying to not feel like a useless corpse gone, the feeling washing over me again like a cold shower.
"Can you provide any reasonable excuses for your actions?" The World Council asks and I decipher what to say but as I look for the answer she catches my eye. Her face is stoic but even I can hear the intake of breath. It's the first time she's looked me in the eye in weeks and the sight is as glorious as the first time I saw them. It makes me forget about the past month with her, the betraying and the lies but it questions my answer. There's a difference between truth and what is right. I find myself desperately looking for that difference.
I look up to the World Council, "No, I can't."
That was a lie, most of the people here knew it, but the World Council didn't.
They all look at me, skeptically, and my posture sags slightly. There was no point. I was found guilty. I am guilty. Even if I did plead non-guilty I would be telling a tale so old that God had made it a sin. I feel guilty but I don't regret it. All of my actions had a purpose that I just refuse to speak out. Everyone else seemed to disagree with that, murmurs began to erupt from around the large room. Condescending judgment. They scorn me and I can't, I don't blame them. I'm clearly on trial, judgment is the only thing that should roam this room. I don't look for it in their eyes though, I don't look them in their eyes at all.
There was no point.
The World Council, Fury, and Coulson share glances before looking back to me," Can you attest for your actions in the hallway? Beating those agents to near death?"
I breathed in, guilt written over my face, unlike other things I couldn't hide it," No, I possibly cannot."
They paused at my answer and glanced at each other once more," You have sent both men to the infirmary. Do you care to send your apologies?"
My eyes travel up but my head does not follow, I respond lowly,"…No."
Murmur erupts again and someone yells 'Outrageous!'. I shake my head and resume my gaze back to the ground. Fury attempts to quiet them down but fails miserably. The Council shakes their head in disappointment and SHIELD agents in training begin to write furiously in their notepads.
"How? How in the world did you break out of that cell?" Everyone paused at that question and looked back at me. The anticipation grows in me and I rock on the heels of me feet, slightly nervous. They can't understand, something whispers in my ear and I turn slightly, listening for more but nothing else comes. My voice of reason faded when I met my maker. And how I wish I could take it back but it gives me a slight chance, a chance to find my own words.
"…I guess it couldn't hold me back," There is more meaning to these words, more meaning than what was said. They know it, I know it. It was a statement of what was to come.
The Council seems to be at impasse and glare at each other with something cold in their eyes. Councilmen Yin looked at me directly, the silence of the room growing demeaning," And why, exactly, did you hurt these men?"
My eyes shoot to the Parker kid before refocusing back to a specific part on the floor. My brows furrow and I try to remember exactly what I felt at that moment. It was the same feeling I felt after I let Peggy slip between my fingers. "They were hurting him…"
"Can you speak louder, Mr. Rogers?"
"They were hurting him!" I roar and slam my clenched fist against the table and the occupants flinch harshly, I regret it and shy away. I am growing angry and I can't seem to direct it. Too much is running through my head. This trial, my emptiness, the traitor that was my first, and the lover that died for it all but didn't get a single damn piece of recognition for it. It makes my blood boil, it makes my muscles burn for the desire of vengeance in its purest form, it makes my eyes teary from what we lost, what I lost. And for some reason I am the only one who cares. The only one that mourns her. And it's beginning to piss me off.
"Will…Mr. Peter Parker come up to the witness stand?" Peter, his name, walked up to the stand, swore with his hand on the Bible, before taking his seat. I shoot him a quick look and back up slightly. From now on then, I put no more effort into what I say. "Will you please recite what happened in the hallway of the prisoner corridors?"
Prisoner, that is what I was now.
"Uh, I was going on a tour throughout the campus. SHIELD had wanted me to attend this college and I had accepted, part of the trip here was a tour. I had gotten lost and wandered in the prison hallways. How I got in? I don't know but when I did Agents Birmingham and Fife were trying to start a brawl with me. It seems I was quite the sight on television a couple of nights ago with an incident with a spider. They wanted their shot at me and Mr. Rogers, here stepped in and helped. How he got out of his cage is a mystery to me but what he says is the truth," He finished and I refuse to acknowledge his words. I was there, I know what happened but just cause I am a 'prisoner' I can't be trusted. I had nothing against Peter Parker, nothing at all, I actually like his spirit. I just don't like this. The situation is killing me.
"Seems to correlate with Mr. Rogers' statement," Councilmen Yin stated with a nod and I rolled my eyes," All who agree Rogers is guilty say aye."
Seventy five percent of the jury said aye and I flinch as if someone has smacked me.
"What are you doing?!" Someone from the audience shouts enough to attract my attention. I know that voice. "He was clearly defending this innocent kid against two of your egotistical, narcissistic agents! Steve Rogers is one of the greatest guys I know and his intentions are pure and good! You are just too blind by your ignorance to see it! He's doing the right thing, here, yet you accuse him to be guilty. He's not and if he was anything it would be a freaking guardian."
Bucky's words made my heart a little warmer.
"Yeah, I have to agree with prosthetics. Rogers, even though colorful, was just protecting the guy. Rules be damned," My eyes shoot up to Tony, the voice behind the words. And it surprises me, it actually almost knocks me off my feet cause he is actually defending me.
"Yep, what kind of common sense is it not to help an innocent acquaintance in need, huh?" Bruce asks and my eyes shoot to him also.
"I also agree. I would take any chance to help someone out!" Thor's voice boomed.
"Same here," Clint, surprisingly commented.
"What they said," Natasha states.
"Even though I still want to go to this school, I have to agree with the A-Team," Even the Parker kid cuts in.
The Council seems taken off guard and I smile. Thor, Bruce, Bucky, and Tony are all escorted out the room for disturbing it. And Natasha, Peter, and Clint are given a warning. It seems I have sparked a little defiance in the room and something ignites. The crowd roars with disagreement. Fury and Coulson try to tame them but they just rise.
"Seeing as you had motive behind your actions you will not be confided to your cell. Your sentence is too serve 1680 hours of SHIELD community service, monitored by one of the high court SHIELD agents. This court is dismissed," Councilmen Yin said with frustration and the guards begin to drag me back to my cell.
"I will not forgot this, Councilmen, remember this."
I can feel their gazes burning holes through my back and I smile wickedly.
…
They gave me a ball.
A freaking ball and I question whether or not they see me as a prisoner or a future bitch. Community service for ten weeks? They obviously have some sort of an agenda. It's SHIELD, wouldn't be them if they didn't have an agenda. Maybe it has something to do with the big thunder dome in the gym, the one they hadn't used and only finished building a week ago. Maybe it has to do with all the meetings Coulson and Fury have been having with the World Council. Maybe it has to do with the package Peggy was delivering until…the, uh, incident. I shake my head, still haven't gotten over that. I could've done more, could've been more but it wasn't enough. Sighing, I lean my forehead against the wall and begin to bounce the tennis ball on the floor, concentrating on that moment. I don't want to, honestly, but something was truly off in that moment. There is something there but I can't find it. All the trucks are SHIELD issued, bodies on the ground had SHIELD issued gear on, guns were SHIELD also, something about the location, the fact that the SHIELD soldiers were riddled not only with debris but bullet holes. Before I can think of anything familiar my gaze was brought back to that truck, tipping over the cliff, and my fingertips grazing the edge of it, before it fell…Into oblivion-
"Mr. Rogers?"
The ball finds its way into my grasp and my gaze shoots up towards a man, wearing a suit, holding a clipboard, and looking all the more like a lawyer. Next to him, is her. The traitor, the lover, whatever you want to call her. She stood there, stoic, emotionless gaze locked on me. I raise my eyebrow a little and turn my attention towards them.
"I am Walter Higgins, public affairs consultant to the World Council," He says to me in a firm voice before readjusting his glasses. I regarded him with a colorless smile.
"Steve Rogers, but you know that don't you," I say," I would shake your hand but if you can't see the force field here…"
"I got it, Mr. Rogers," He said with a smile. I shake my head and turn away, back to the objects scattered across my cell. It's a shame, really. "I am here to discuss the rules of your sentence."
"Ten weeks, yeah, I got it-"
"No, Mr. Rogers," The man sighs and looks away, triggering my look of confusion as I stalk towards the border which separates me from freedom," It is agreed that you are to serve ten weeks of community service…Under SHIELD's orders."
"What? You can't do that!" I take a step forwards but the containment field pushes me back, literally. Seems they made a few adjustments. "They can't hold me as their slave."
Walter shakes his head," They can, commissioned by the government itself. I am sorry, Mr. Rogers, you are to listen and obey every command, every tasks they give you, and if you try to defy…Punishment."
"Punishment?" My voice rang with a darker tone that echoed without the room. I shoot Natasha a look and she looks away, I narrow my eyes before turning back to Walter.
"Yes, punishment, and you are to be monitored and taking orders from Mrs. Romanoff," Walter motions towards Natasha and I jerk forward. He flinches back but Natasha doesn't, she rolls her eyes and does something to the field separating us. A small hole opens up and she forces my wrist through it, her touch burns but I wait to be engulfed in flames. She slaps something on my wrist and I pull it back before the hole closes.
"Step five feet away from the field," She demands coldly and I push my body forward but instead it goes backwards and small amounts of electricity shoot through me.
It is coming from the bracelet.
I laugh humorlessly," You bi-"
"Stop talking," My mouth shuts automatically and my jaws clench with fury," Mr. Higgins you can go now…Your work here is done."
Walter looks at me before walking off.
I honestly feel sorry for the guy, forced to deal with me and all the other inmates the World Council deems unworthy and worthless slaves. Yeah, went from prisoner to slave in an hour. New record.
"SHIELD has a new project called the Avengers Initiative. Tests will be given to see if you are fit for the program. Fury wants you to be in it. Not a yes or no question. And yes, training will be ensued, starting from tomorrow until two weeks from now. You will pursue the rest of your missing assignments or in the process of. Your classes will be monitored by me or other SHIELD agents. You act out, rebel, or try to run that little bracelet will send enough electricity through you that it could black out the whole building. Got it?" I narrow my eyes. "Any questions?"
She knew I couldn't talk.
"Great," She smiled sarcastically. She tapped a button on her own bracelet releasing from my own bodily functional confines. I moved my mouth a little and watched as she began to walk away.
I grab my ball and begin to bounce it on the ground again.
. . . . .
The Morning…
"I am not doing this."
"Yes, you are."
My arms twitch up.
"Over my dead body."
"Don't make this complicated."
"Too late for that."
Natasha purses her lips and glares daggers at me with her eyes. It's unsettling but I stand tall. We have been going at this for hours and I have yet to work a muscle. She doesn't want to use the controller on me but I can see a small part in her eyes that say otherwise. We are ignoring it, that huge, fat ass elephant in the room. I don't want to talk about it and neither does she but I want to get rid of it. I want breathe my own air without feeling suffocated. She seems content with it though but I see the cracks through the wall she has built up. I don't like to assume Natasha's feelings because majority of the time I am wrong. I thought she gave a damn about me, thought she at least saw me before I became the talk of the town. But no, out of all the people…
She still can't see me.
She claimed to, at the party, but damn, I should've known that was a lie to get closer to me. She didn't see me. It was a lie. She hadn't known I had existed before she was tasked to watch over me. To her I was a fucking mission, nothing else. Nothing at all.
It makes me feel empty again, that gap that I had sown together over the course of the few weeks Peggy had been gone, torn apart. I feel raw and cold and empty and gone. I have that mantra in my head again, telling me it's useless, the defiance is useless, everything I am is useless. There is no point in standing. I sigh and shake my head. I am done. I jump up on the salmon ladder and begin to go up. It's easy, really easy, and I can't help but move into it.
"What gave you the change of heart?" She asks me, crossing her arms. She can't see what I see when I look at her, what I think, what I know. And if she did? She would understand everything but she can't and the world doesn't work like that. It isn't that easy. It never was. Whatever gave me the delusion is erased from my memory.
I don't respond.
Just keep going.
. . . . .
"You rely on instinct…"
I dodge another blow before ducking under their arm, hitting them in a pressure point, before rising and back-fisting their face, knocking them out. Next one that comes up I leg sweep before backhanding him also. Sidestepping, I do a backflip and kick the guy in the face midair, he goes down with a thud but not before he does someone else comes up behind me. I elbow him in the face, duck, dodge a sweep, kick him in the thigh, weakening him, before I finally finish it and punch him dead in the face.
"That's good but you don't seem to trust your body, every time you throw or land a punch you falter in the assault…"
Shut up, please, for God's sakes. I run through my mind. She was right though, every time I through a hit I hesitate and it takes away power. Now that I know that, thank you so much for that, I falter a lot more. I throw a punch but I hesitate and someone takes advantage and weakens my arm in the process. I whine a little but keep on my feet.
"You get distracted easily, don't let judgement falter you…"
Easy for you to say, there is a mantra in my head now. It's annoying and it does distract me. Someone punches me in the face.
"You are still getting distracted, your body movement is out of sync, stop thinking and just trust yourself…"
I fail, I am getting hit from every side. I get hit inside of my leg, next my face, then my chest, next abs, and it becomes an onslaught of powerful hits. Bruises already begin to form, senses begin to strain for some sort of insight, muscles spasm with unused power, and I begin to fall. The breath is knocked out of me and I land on my knees, trying to catch stolen breath.
"Yield," Natasha demands the SHIELD agents and they stop their onslaught. I don't look up, my eyes trained on a focal point on the floor that becomes more interesting than the blood staining my clothes. The agents disperse with a wave of Natasha's hand I wait for her approach. Hearing the clicking pf heels against marble floors alerts me and the sound of even breathing. She grabs my chin and forces me to look up at her. I believe she is analyzing the black eye or the busted lip, but no. She is looking not for what is wrong physically but mentally. I can tell by the way her eyes only lay wake to my own. She isn't trying to break me. No.
You can't break something that is already broken.
She is looking for that point, where I met Heaven and Hell and decided it was done. How such a strong man like myself is cracking so easily. There is still a fire in my eyes, no doubt of that, but something else is missing. I have grown tired of such meaningless fighting, it's time I face the music.
"Treadmill," She says, moving her fingers smoothly from my chin and backing away. She takes no mercy upon my beaten body and I nod along. Jumping to my feet, I make my way towards the treadmill, my muscles pulsing with aching pain. She sets it at a pace I am familiar with, something fast for a normal man but slow for someone like me. I breathe calmly as I go, it's nice and smooth. I like it. Over a good amount of time the speed grows faster and everything is all good and smooth until flashes cross my mind. Flashes of memories of running. And it takes me a moment to realize that I am re-experiencing that moment I am trying to save Peggy. My pace grows faster than the treadmill and my sight sets on something else.
"Steve…"
Her voice is ringing through my ears, her testament that there was no other way, no other possible way to save thousands of lives.
"Steve," Natasha questions and takes a step closer.
I can see the truck, I swear it, and my pace goes faster. I know I can go faster. I know I can do better.
"I am so sorry."
My hand reaches out and I can feel the cool metal near my fingers but before I know it, I am going too fast for the treadmill to handle. My foot catches and I slip, my head landing on the handle with a hard thud. I groan, "Peggy."
Natasha rushes next to me and analyzes the gash on my forehead. Then it all sets, I grow angry and rip away from her touch. "I…I wasn't fast enough…I wasn't enough."
My hands find the broken treadmill before I throw it against the adjacent wall.
. . . . .
First day and I already snapped. When did I become so pathetic? I roll my eyes as Natasha sets the number on the containment field to officially lock it. This tension between us so thick that I would have to cut it with a chainsaw just to get through it. My anger towards her has died down so significantly that I couldn't give two shits if she slapped me. Yeah, she betrayed me, she lied to me, but why should I care anymore? She has shown no signs of emotion towards me, no cracks in the cold-blooded killer façade. And if she doesn't care, why should I? And that's the thing, I can't help but care. Someone great once said forgive but don't forget. I try to live by those words but life doesn't make it easy. She doesn't make it easy. She was angry with me, I could tell every time she gritted her teeth when I did something 'bad'. It shouldn't even be classified as bad when it's just rebellious. Earlier when I was chewing on the bitch bracelet she gave me she electrocuted me with more than necessary electricity. And as she began to walk away I remembered that there is a point in life where enough is enough.
"No."
She keeps walking away.
"No! You can't walk away! You have absolutely no right to do this, to act this way towards me!" I yell at her, leaning myself against the containment field. She falters in her next step. It's time. I break the silence with a roar of my pain. This, this is about more than the bullshit she put me through today. "Everything in my life has turned out to be a lie, you and Fury practically planned to kill me, you made me kill an innocent women, and she…"
The tears I worked so hard to bury come back up again, burning against the back of my eyes.
"We lost something in the process," My voice cracked and I look away from her. It's all coming back to me, all those emotions and tears that I buried along with her figurative body. All these weeks of progress turned worthless when this moment hits. "…She was your friend too."
My voice is broken and I slide against the field, down to the floor.
"Even though you hid it you liked her too. She was like a sister to you," Tears begin to roll down my cheeks and my voice breaks with every word," I don't understand…Why aren't you hurting like I am? This pain…it's worse than any wound or any torture. And pain? Pain demands to be felt…How can you not feel it? Cause I feel it…Every single damn minute."
I run my hands through my hair as the tears begin to rain. Banging my fist against the floor I choke out a sob. All those held up emotions break through like a dam. I can feel it rippling through me like waves, crashing through my being over and over again in stronger currents. Next thing I know the force field is going down and hands wrap around my arms, pulling me back against a warm front. My eyes shoot up to see Natasha, her mask off and raw emotions replacing it. She's hurt but tears don't break through like mine. She's sniffling a bit but that's all and somehow that's enough. I find myself moving into her embrace, crying my heart out into her shoulder. Peggy's gone and there's nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could've done but maybe, just maybe I can finally find peace in what she left me. Maybe. And the answer may be right underneath me. As she weaves her small fingers through my hair I look up at her.
"I miss her too."
Sorry for the wait, I have been terribly busy lately and inspiration wasn't coming as easy. Thanks for being patient. Sorry for any mistakes and for the first time in a long time I am asking for some reviews. This story, I believe has four or five more chapters left so if any of you have requests please PM or just put it in the review section.
Thank you all for sticking with me.
