Chapter 11: The Call

The call came really late at night. It broke through my phone's silent mode, which meant it could be one of three people on the entire planet. Sure enough, Tony Stark's contact picture lit up the screen.

"Hello?" I rasped into the phone. Just static came back. I plugged my other ear and sat up in bed. "Tony? Hello?"

"...hear me, Kate?"

I shot up to my knees and clutched my chest. "Steve!"

"...so…" My ears strained to hear the broken words. "...your voice."

I felt tears welling up in my eyes. "Steve, Steve, I can barely hear you."

"...I'm gonna…up…"

The line went suddenly silent, and I pulled my phone away to make sure the call was still connected. It was. The static returned in spurts.

"Are you there?" I asked hopelessly. "Can you hear me?" My voice was tight as tears slid silently down my face.

"Is this better?" asked a crystal-clear voice.

"Oh-my-God, yes," I breathed, feeling instant relief. "Can you hear me?"

"Perfectly," he replied. "Gosh, you sound amazing."

I sniffled and wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. "I'm literally crying," I laughed. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you, too." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Sorry the signal is so bad."

Sighing, I relaxed against the headboard behind me. Just hearing his voice seemed to right every wrong in the world. "Where are you?"

"Iowa," he said to my surprise. "Clint owns some property out here."

"Oh." I frowned. "That's neat. I didn't know that."

"Me, neither." He paused, and I heard the rustle of wind as if he was outside. "I think you'd like it."

I pursed my lips as I thought of what to say next. I wanted to mention the news clips I'd seen or the damaged Legionnaires at the tower. I wanted to ask him if everyone was okay. But it all seemed so…heavy.

"Are you mad at me?" he suddenly asked.

"What?" I breathed, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"The other night, when we fought…" He trailed off, and our argument after the party came rushing back. "Kate, I can't get it off my mind."

"Steve, no..." I buried my face in my hand as regret washed over me. "You need to focus on staying safe," I said emphatically.

I heard a tight, frustrated sigh. After a few beats of silence, he said, "I always do."

"I know." His tone reminded me of his tired, broken voice during our argument. My chest constricted. "I'm not mad at you," I managed to whisper.

He inhaled and then exhaled, long and loud. "...Can we talk about it?"

Adrenaline surged through me at the very whiff of confrontation. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah. I'm about a mile away from the house."

"Oh." I sniffled and rubbed my nose, picturing him standing on a cold, windswept hill. "Okay."

After a few beats of silence, he said, "I'm sorry for what I said. I went too far…I know that now."

I shook my head. We both went too far. My mouth gaped wordlessly as I struggled to think of the right words to say.

"I had no right to suspect you of anything. I just…" He paused, and a shaky sigh filled the silence. "I—you mean so much to me."

When my voice came out in a croak, I cleared my throat. "You mean so, so much to me, Steve," I said in a tiny voice.

He breathed out a laugh. "I can live on that."

"You know, I—" My throat tightened around the words. "C—Can we just talk when you get home?"

"Sure…," he said.

I felt immediately relieved. "I just want you to focus on the mission and be safe," I said earnestly. "Don't think about me."

He chuckled. "Impossible."

A smile battled its way onto my face. "Steve, I'm serious."

"I'll be safe, I promise."

"Good. I…" Against my better judgment, I said, "I saw Johannesburg on the news."

He made a noise of disapproval. "You shouldn't watch the news."

"I know…Sam even told me not to." I balled my fist and pressed it into my forehead. "I just couldn't look away. It was so awful."

There was a long pause. "Trust me, we're doing everything we can."

"I know. I know." I shook my head, trying to clear the images from my mind. "I know that. Sorry."

"All of this will be over soon," he told me. I nodded silently, hoping to high heaven that it was true. "I should probably head back."

"Oh, right." I mentally kicked myself for ending the conversation on a bad note. "Can you text me later? Where's your phone?"

His hesitation spoke volumes. "Uh…"

I laughed. It was his third smartphone in two months. "I can't wait for them to put that chip in your head."

"Not a chance." Finally hearing his normal tone of voice put a smile on my face. "I'll try to call again soon—I promise."

"Okay," I chirped. "Thank you for calling."

"Thank you for answering." He paused, and I was suddenly desperate to see his face. "Bye, Kate."

"Bye," I rasped.

The call ended with a beep, and I let my hand fall limply into my lap. I sat there in the dark for a long moment as I replayed the conversation in my mind. Then, I crawled back under the covers and pulled them up to my chin. Forcing my eyes shut, I willed myself back to sleep.

You don't deserve him, a voice said in the back of my mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. "I know," I whispered back.

…

I cracked my eye open for the three-thousandth time that night to find light trickling in through the curtains above my bed. Dawn. I rolled over to look at the time on my phone. Sure enough, it was just after 6 AM.

"Are you fucking kidding me," I groaned, aggressively turning over again.

I hadn't slept a wink after the phone call, bringing my sleep to a grand total of two hours.

I washed my face with cold water that morning. My eyes were dry and red. I sat on the couch for a couple of hours, flipping through shows on Netflix mindlessly without committing to anything in particular. Finally, I wandered into the kitchen to eat breakfast.

Lacy had left half a pizza in the fridge. I wedged the pizza box onto the cluttered island countertop with my hip. Even though I usually loved the taste of cold pizza, I could barely taste anything as I chewed the rubbery cheese and soggy crust.

I jumped when I heard a knock at the door. The pizza box tumbled off the counter and landed upside down on the floor, scattering slices of pizza across the floor. I snatched them up in a panic, stuffed them into the box, and then threw it behind the couch. Wiping my greasy hands on the back of my pants, I crossed the room and looked through the peephole.

James?

I nearly smacked myself when I remembered him mentioning he would come back. My apartment looked like a tornado had come through or, at the very least, a wine-drunk Lacy.

Sighing reluctantly, I turned the doorknob and cracked the door open. He reacted immediately to my suspicious behavior.

"You alright?" he asked, his eyes peeping over my shoulder. I couldn't help but wonder if I'd missed a pepperoni or two.

"Yeah," I said, inching the door further closed. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he hedged. "I was in the neighborhood."

"Right." I dropped my gaze, unable to look him in the eye in my current state. "I'm having kind of a shit morning," I mumbled.

"Same." I noticed him fidgeting with his gloved hand out of the corner of my eye. "Need to get out of the house?"

Judging from the tone of his voice, the offer was sincere. I glanced back into the apartment for a moment. The pizza box had accidentally landed on the back of the couch like I was proudly displaying it.

I sighed. "Yeah."

It was an oddly warm morning for January. I left my coat unzipped as we walked up the street towards the river. Since I wasn't working, I couldn't even guess what day it was. Probably a weekday, since the streets weren't as crowded as usual.

"So, what's bothering you?"

I glanced sideways at him. He was walking with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "Well…," I started hesitantly, not wanting to overshare. "My boyfriend and I had a really big fight before he left town."

"Mmm." He continued to stare straight ahead. "Made up yet?"

"Not…really." I blinked at the blue sky peeking through the buildings overhead. "He's ready to move on but I know it's going to mess us up if we don't hash it out."

I saw him nodding out of the corner of my eye. "Best to keep things out in the open."

His insight made me frown in surprise. "Are you in a relationship?"

"No," he said.

"When was your last?"

There was an awkward pause. "I'm not sure."

"What does that mean?" I asked, slowing to stop at a crosswalk.

When he didn't respond right away, I turned to get a good look at him. His gaze was on the ground as he mashed the crosswalk button with his fist. I crossed my arms when he reluctantly looked at me.

"It means, I'm not sure," he simply repeated, his face a mask.

I just blinked; it was so hard to carry on a conversation with him. A person swerved around me when the light turned, and I slowly caught up with James, feeling a little unsettled.

"Where are you from, James?" I asked.

"Brooklyn."

"Nice..." I waited for him to return the question, but he didn't. "What do you do for work?"

He shrugged. "Odd jobs."

It felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall. "Like…?"

When he glanced at me, the iciness in his eyes sent shockwaves through me. I jerked my gaze away. I wasn't used to talking to somebody so…so rude. He's probably unemployed or recently laid off. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Well," I started, clearing my throat, "I'm from Minnesota. Graduated three years ago and moved here to work as a nurse. But now I work in the medical technology field."

"Mhm."

"I actually work in Manhattan. Let me tell you…getting lunch out there is so expensive," I prattled on, watching my boots as I focused on avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk. "I literally pack a lunch every day."

"Mmm."

"What else?" I popped my lips as I thought of something to say. "I don't know…I like Rosé. I like music."

"I like music."

The comment, though small, made me realize that he was sincerely trying. I looked over at him. He's not trying to be a jerk. When he caught me staring, he averted his gaze and combed his bangs out of his eyes. He's just an introvert.

As we came up on the boardwalk by the river, my eyes automatically scanned for empty benches. I was suddenly distracted by a gentle hand on my arm.

"Listen…," he murmured, leaning down.

Trying to keep my expression open, I nodded intently.

"I'm a war veteran," he told me. The sudden look of vulnerability on his face was jarring. "I have issues with my memory."

"Oh…" My eyebrows knit together.

"I moved back here to try to remember...more." His reluctant tone revealed just how uncomfortable sharing the information made him.

I never would've guessed it in a hundred million years, and I was speechless. Sam would know exactly what to say to him. "I—I'm so sorry," I said.

The pain in his eyes was dismissed with a shake of his head, and his apathetic mask fell back into place. "Just wanted to let you know."

I nodded. I just didn't know what to say. After that, the rest of our walk, which included me getting a solo coffee at a food truck, passed in relative silence. I kicked myself for being so tongue-tied and awkward. Next time, I'll know what to say.

"We should do this again," I said as we approached the stairs to my apartment.

"I'd like that," James replied, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

I smiled. "I'm glad I met you," I said without thinking.

It didn't phase him; he was glancing up and down the street while reaching into his jacket. Then, he pulled something out and handed it to me. It looked like a handle inside a black case.

"What's this?" I asked, pulling out a six-inch knife. A rush of adrenaline shot electricity through my fingers as I roughly shoved it back into the sheath. "Holy fuck," I breathed.

"It's a combat knife." His tone made it sound like the morning paper.

"I don't want this!" I hissed, trying to hand it back without making a scene.

He laughed. "Just take it."

I looked up at him with frantic desperation. "I don't even know how to use it."

"You will," he said with a smirk. "Tomorrow."