Sorry for the double alert! I broke up the last chapter into two because it was so huge. I'm also sorry for the weird pacing of this chapter...a lot happens but I didn't want to break it up. Thank you for sticking with or starting this story! Mwah! -Scarlet
Chapter 17: The Day It Happened
I woke up before the alarm went off.
And I couldn't move my arm.
Slowly cracking an eye open, I found myself face-to-face with a sleeping Steve. His arm was limply draped over me, inhibiting movement of any kind. After a moment, his dark eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks and his eyes opened. A smile graced his lips.
"Good morning," he said in a gravelly voice.
"'Morning," I said, immediately aware of how disgusting I looked. With his hair tousled from sleep and his eyes hooded, he was practically godlike. I couldn't help but smile when his hand slid to my waist.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Really good," I said, trailing my hand up his arm. "You?"
His eyes drifted shut again. "Amazing."
Breakfast was a solemn affair. Steve had work and I had a flight to catch. It took a few minutes to convince him that I was fine with taking a cab to the airport. I didn't want him to inconvenience Sam again on my behalf. By the time eight o'clock rolled around, I felt nearly sick.
I sat on the couch while Steve got dressed for work. I had a few hours to pack before my flight, so that was the least of my worries. The flutter of nerves in my stomach had nothing to do with packing or flying for that matter. As I stood watching him pile his trusty bags by the door, a frown tugged at my lips.
Steve turned towards me with his hands in his pockets. "So…"
"So…," I repeated, unable to make eye contact.
"Thank you for agreeing to visit me," he said. I glanced up to find him looking at me with his brow furrowed.
I shook my head incredulously. "Thank you for flying me out."
I wanted to express just how much it meant to me without getting emotional, but the right words just didn't come. At a loss, I gave him a sad smile. "Really, thank you."
Steve stepped closer. "My pleasure," he said, pulling me into a hug.
I snaked my arms around him, hoping that somehow the earth's rotation would reverse so we could spend just one more day together.
"When will you be back in New York?" I mumbled into his t-shirt.
"I don't know," he finally said. His delayed response was telling. "But, trust me—if you need me, I'll be on the next flight."
I inched back so I could see his face. Though the definition of "need" was so uncomfortably broad, I felt a little reassured. I blinked a few times when my eyes started to sting.
"Steve…"
He tilted his head to the side, curious and a bit confused. Three words flashed into my mind and quickly faded.
"Thanks again," I said shakily.
Steve cupped my face with one hand and kissed me. He lingered after he pulled away, and his eyes traveled between mine earnestly. We're going to be alright, they said.
"Call me when you get home tonight," he said as he gathered up his things.
"Okay."
"Seeya, Kate."
"Bye."
The thud of the door closing echoed in my ears. I ran numb fingers over my face, feeling as though oxygen had fled the air.
"Fuck," I whispered into the empty room.
Even putting on a record didn't pull me out of my funk. I dumped the entire contents of my backpack on the bed to repack everything. As I did so, I toyed with the idea of going to the airport early. Buying snacks and a new book would definitely distract me…maybe.
When I grabbed my water bottle off the nightstand, I noticed something that hadn't been there before. Steve's sketchbook, a pencil stuck between its pages, sat there completely unguarded. I dropped whatever I was holding and scooped it up.
The leather-bound journal had a musky scent, and the pages were yellowed around the edges. The first page simply had "Steven Rogers" scribbled in the top right corner. It was written in cursive, like when you have to write something for school.
On the very first page, a cartoonish monkey stood in a spotlight surrounded by school desks. Its expression was embarrassed as it held a dripping paintbrush. There was a date in the corner: "October 23, 1937."
A chill went up my spine.
The monkey continued to feature in cartoons over the years—in a doctor's office, at a fair, walking down a street with skyscrapers bending to leer at it. Some sketches had large gaps of time between them. I stopped on one from 1943. Surrounded by clowns, the monkey was perched on a unicycle and held a star-studded shield.
On the next page, the pencil strokes were noticeably more vivid. The date was March 2, 2014. I felt my heart nearly stop in my chest. That was the day after Allie May…
This time, the monkey was barely visible, peering from just behind a door. Featured in the middle of the drawing was an elegant ballerina. It reminded me of that one scene from Fantasia 2000.
Crack!
My heart leaped into my throat and the sketchbook fell shut, forgotten. I rushed to the kitchen to investigate the sound. When everything seemed to be in order, I decided that my mind had played a trick on me. Before I turned back, the sliding door to the balcony caught my eye.
A long, thin fracture stretched across the glass door. I got closer to inspect the damage. A bird? My fingers followed the crack all the way to the lock, which was broken clean off.
"What the—"
Suddenly, someone grabbed my mouth from behind. Holy fuck.
Screaming behind the gloved hand, I grabbed their wrist out of instinct and pulled. A second arm wrapped itself around my torso and lifted me, effectively pinning my arms to my sides. I kicked the air in pure panic, trying my hardest to squirm out of the steely grip. They carried me across the living room and into the bedroom where they slammed me to the ground. The weight of their body felt like a ton of bricks on my back.
As soon as the hand left my mouth, I started begging for my life.
"Please don't hurt me!" I cried in a voice that was unfamiliar. "Please, please, please, please…"
The volume of the record player right above me suddenly maxed out. I winced when their weight shifted back onto me. I whimpered helplessly.
"Wh—What do you want? Please, please..."
The sound of zip ties accompanied a sharp pain in my wrists. My mind didn't even register the taste of the carpet when I opened my mouth to scream.
"Zamolchi," a male voice said.
Something cold pressed into the back of my neck, and I recognized the strange sharpness of a knife. A frightened whine escaped me.
"Shut up," the voice said in English.
In the silence that followed, I realized that my heartbeat was thundering wildly in my ears. A hand then closed around my bound wrists and heaved me upwards. I gasped when my back slammed into the knobs on the dresser; the impact even caused the needle to scratch across the record. After seeing that my ankles were restrained too, I looked up.
The man crouching in front of me was terrifying. His face was covered by a black mask; just his forehead and chin-length hair were visible. When he stood up, I realized with a twist in my gut just how massive he was.
"Stay right there," he said, jutting a gloved finger at me. As he turned away, I caught sight of the pistol on his hip and the rifle on his back.
He's out to kill.
My lungs heaved with shallow pants as I watched him scan the room. When he picked up my cell phone, I thought about screaming for help. A vision of myself with a bullet in my forehead kept me silent.
He started to type something into my phone. I didn't have to wonder for long before he held the screen in front of my eyes. He'd sent a text to Steve.
I need you to come home right now.
My breath hitched in my throat. He wants Steve. The man threw my phone back onto the bed. My mouth felt like sandpaper; I could only mumble, "Don't…please."
He continued to stare at me, his expression completely hidden by the mask.
"Don't hurt him," I said a bit louder.
I almost screamed when the man suddenly reached for me. He covered my mouth with a cold hand, and I squeezed my eyes shut in fear.
"Shh," he hissed, leaning close to my ear. The edge of the knife pressed into my cheek, and my eyes popped open. "Sit there and be quiet, kukolka."
I gasped when he pulled away. A hot trail of blood ran down my cheek as I sat there, frozen by fear.
Over the next few minutes, my mind reeled with bad ideas while the armed intruder paced in the living room. I hid in a corner behind the dresser and worked my wrists back and forth, attempting to loosen the zip tie there. I only succeeded in chafing my skin.
Leaning back against the wall, I tried to keep myself as calm as possible. But what if I'm kidnapped? I stared at the blue sky out the window directly across from me. What if I die today?
All the while, the music blared above me.
Kiss me once
And kiss me twice
And kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time—
Suddenly, a familiar, blonde head of hair appeared in the window. I sat up to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. His expression was strained as he clung to the metal windowsill. As soon as we made eye contact, I felt a rush of relief and dread. Tears welled in my eyes as he forced the window open and jumped through as gracefully as a cat.
"Shh!" I hissed.
His alarmed expression deepened as he crept over to me. He reached behind me and snapped the zip ties as if they were paper mache.
"He's still here," I whispered.
"Who?" Steve mouthed.
"He has guns," was all I could think to say.
His eyes widened as they darted towards the bedroom door. Sliding his shield from off his back, he slowly stood to his feet. When he started moving, I almost grabbed his pant leg to stop him.
A muffled gunshot suddenly rang out, followed by a cloud of dust. I screamed and covered my head as chunks of drywall fell on top of me. Several more shots rang out, which ricocheted loudly off of Steve's shield.
"Who are you?" I heard Steve shout.
I glanced up during the moments of silence that followed. Steve was crouching with his shield raised, just inside the bedroom door. He stole tentative glances over the rim.
"Come out and talk!"
The silence was deafening; I started to think that he'd run away. I watched Steve's profile from behind the dresser with bated breath.
Steve stumbled when a lightning-fast kick impacted with his shield. The intruder came flying into the room with his rifle raised. Recovering quickly, Steve bashed the gun with his shield, causing a harsh metal-on-metal sound to ring in my ears. A quick follow-up kick sent it flying across the room. Disarmed, the intruder balled his fists and threw a punch that connected with Steve's jaw. I drew a sharp breath as my eyes fell to the assault rifle now lying on the carpet.
Should I…?
Steve was rapidly gaining ground. Every time the intruder stepped back, he took two steps forward. He had the form of a professional boxer, while the other man was all raw aggression. By the time they were in the living room, I felt pretty confident that Steve would knock him out cold.
Then the knife came out. When Steve jolted backward to avoid getting stabbed, the intruder got his chance to run. He sprinted for the balcony and smashed his left shoulder through the glass. It shattered so loudly it sounded like an explosion. I barely registered Steve moving across the room before he was grabbing the back of the man's shirt.
"Leaving so soon?" he quipped.
I held my breath as the pair struggled on the balcony. I couldn't tell what was going on. As soon as I took a tentative step into the living room, the gunshot stopped me dead in my tracks.
As Steve crumbled to the ground, I saw the smoking pistol in the intruder's hand. He holstered it before swinging himself over the railing of the balcony.
"Steve!" I screamed and started to run.
I'd seen a few GSWs during my rotations in the ER. I could picture the pools of blood in the trauma room, hear the screams, and smell the death. As I crouched on the carpet next to Steve, I realized I could barely hear my own voice.
"Steve, Steve—God, no!" The ringing in my ears faded as I rifled through his clothing, struggling to find where he'd been shot. He was wincing, but his eyes were closed. "Steve, no, no…"
When I found the wound on the side of his abdomen, he groaned. Rather than the bloody mess I was expecting, it was a shockingly clean entry wound. I covered it with my cardigan and applied pressure, fearing a sudden gush of blood. I noted that there was no exit wound.
Steve's eyes then drifted open, and his hand covered mine. "He…got away," he stated with difficulty.
"How did you know someone was here?" I asked breathlessly.
"W—What?" Steve looked down at his side, where my hands were still applying pressure. He then looked back up at me, slightly dazed, and said, "You never use periods in texts."
Before I could respond, a sudden banging on the front door startled me.
"Rogers?" a voice called. Steve immediately struggled to sit up.
After a few thuds, the door flew open so quickly that it slammed into the wall. Natasha entered with duel pistols drawn. I tried to keep Steve reclined while she approached.
"Natasha, call Fury." A flash of pain appeared on Steve's face, and he stilled. "We need S.H.I.E.L.D. on…on high alert," he said with a grunt.
I glanced back to find a look of pure confusion on Natasha's face. "What happened here?" she asked in a strangely calm tone.
"Someone broke in," I began, shocked by how much my voice shook. I was grateful when Steve took over on recapping the events.
While he spoke, I lifted the cardigan to assess his bleeding. There was a scant amount of blood soaked into the fabric, but not nearly as much as expected. I watched for changes as he shifted into a sitting position. My eyes snapped up to his face as he continued to describe the intruder. He's...okay.
"Shit," was all Natasha had to add. She pulled her smartphone from her jacket. "I'll call him."
When she stepped away, Steve's attention returned to me. I sat back on my heels and dropped the bloody cardigan between us. "The bullet is still inside," I told him robotically.
He grimaced. "I know."
I realized at that moment that this probably wasn't the first time he'd been shot. Feels like I'm dreaming. I gestured around the apartment vaguely. "Do you have medical supplies here?"
"Yeah," he breathed, lifting his shirt to look at the wound. "Under the sink."
I couldn't really follow Natasha's conversation with what's-his-name. I couldn't really keep one thought in my mind for more than a second. As I soaked some gauze with saline and prepared some tape for a pressure dressing, it felt like someone else was controlling my actions. It didn't feel like I was cleaning the bullet wound of the guy I was dating. It didn't feel like I had just survived an armed home invasion.
Steve was uncharacteristically silent. He stood to his feet when I was done and thanked me. I just nodded.
"We'll get there ASAP. Thanks." Natasha hung up and returned to us with her arms crossed. "That was Hill," she said. "She tried to call me when I was on my way over here after you texted me. Fury's down."
I blinked in shock. Steve's sharp inhale told me that "Fury" was a friend.
"It sounds bad," Natasha went on. "He's at Walter-Reed." Her eyebrows drew together in concern; it was the most emotion I'd yet seen on her face.
"These attacks must have been coordinated," Steve said. His voice had a timber that I hadn't heard before.
Natasha was nodding. "Not only that. I…I think I know who did it. Who did this."
Steve's lips parted and then clamped shut. He glanced at me warily. "We'll talk at the hospital."
"Okay." She turned to leave. "Ready?"
"Wait."
Turning back, Natasha narrowed her eyes at Steve and then shifted to me. Her expression turned soft, and I wondered just how ghostly white my face was.
When Steve's face hardened, I knew exactly what his concern was. Me. I didn't belong with their organization or on their mission. I didn't belong in their world. Suddenly feeling lightheaded, I slumped down onto a barstool and pressed cold fingers to my forehead. My other hand gripped the countertop with white knuckles.
Steve dialed a number on his flip phone. He was standing close enough that I could hear the ringing through the speaker. I flinched when a warm hand covered mine.
"Just breathe," Natasha murmured, stroking the back of my hand with her thumb. She gave me a tight smile.
I tried my best to nod.
The ringing finally stopped, and a voice came over the line. "What an unexpected—"
"Stark," Steve interrupted, his eyebrows furrowed. "I need a huge favor."
Stark. Tony Stark. I felt my stomach drop to my knees.
"What's up?"
"Someone broke into my apartment in D.C.," Steve said, his voice unwavering. "He assaulted Kate, and he got away."
"Holy frick..." There was a pause. "Who was it?"
"I don't know yet."
Another pause. "Do you need the boy scouts?"
Steve glanced at Natasha with narrowed eyes. After a moment, she shook her head. "Not yet," Steve replied.
"Okay," Stark said casually. "Just get her to the airport."
Steve glanced down at his feet, an unusual gesture. "Tony, I need the best you can offer," he said in a rush.
"Just get her to the airport, Cap," he repeated, sounding annoyed. I instantly felt like the biggest burden in the world. "I'll take care of the rest."
"I'll take her," Natasha volunteered.
"I'll call a cab," I interjected. I glanced uneasily at Natasha after contradicting her. Steve needs her.
Stark sighed loudly over the phone. "I'll send a guy from the terminal. Let's see…Lauderdale Street, right?"
Steve's jaw tightened. "Right."
"Alright, done. Saaed is on his way."
Steve finally looked at me; the relief on his face was evident. I forced a smile. "I owe you big time, Stark," he said, not taking his eyes off of me.
"I know—feels great. Talk soon?"
Before Steve could reply, the call ended with a beep. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it before flipping it shut.
"Where's your luggage?" Natasha asked, breaking the silence.
"On the bed," I answered. "My phone…should be on the bed."
When she disappeared into the bedroom, I felt a tidal wave of emotion break loose inside of me. I reached for Steve and curled into his chest like a frightened child.
"It's okay," he murmured. He stroked my hair with one hand.
"You got shot," I stated.
"I'm okay." Pulling me back, he looked into my eyes. "Kate, I need you to be strong now."
I nodded with a growing lump in my throat.
He frowned and reached up to brush my hair behind my ear. "I'm so sorry you got caught up in this."
A rush of fear went through me as I pictured the intruder. "I…I just need you to be safe, okay?" I said, trying to hold back tears.
He was shaking his head. "I need you to be safe, Kate."
I felt like crying and screaming at the same time. I can't handle this.
"Steve, I just—" I sighed in frustration, wiping the hot trails of tears from my cheeks with both hands. "I just can't lose you," I finished with an embarrassing waver in my voice.
Steve pulled me into a loose hug and kissed the top of my head.
"Same," he said.