"Where is he?" May asked with a sigh heavy, staring at an empty room.
Steve's room.
He wasn't here, as she predicted before arriving. So she didn't understand why she bothered to come and check. His room was always seemingly empty, ever since the first day she returned to be his, what did Fury call her 'generous' title now; oh that's right: Concierge. Another word for, in her opinion babysitter.
A few agents passed her in the hall, one, Green informed her where the solider was. Turning with a heated huff and sharp strut marched her way down the hall. Being careful not to smash the 10in box she had. Those who saw her quickly moved out the way. Knowing well it was wise to do so. Feeling the heat rising in her chest, didn't notice a few other agents wiping away a few beads of sweat or the way they fanned themselves. Five and half months, five and half months helped (to her best) Steve to adjust and assimilate into this new…era. It was new. It was something sudden. Waking up and finding yourself displaced….far away from what you knew; not understanding at all the reason why.
Just that…the whole world now changed. She shared that much with him, through her own experience. Her anguish nine-year-old cries reverberated in her mind, no child should have to wake up and experience that. Unfamiliar faces. Thousands of miles away.
Not even given the chance to say bye.
She arrived.
The gym.
"Steve."
The blond hero, engaged in a boxing match against one of the bags, stopped; hearing May's normally warm voice like honey, whistling like a tea kettle reverberated through the halls. Flooded the gym, he thought a hoard of harpies entered when she burst in. With one hand she shoved open one of the flaps, not realizing she left a scorched handprint. She marched right over, set the box down, and folded her arms. He could feel her furrowed brows on him and tried to refocus back.
His efforts were in vain. May stood tapping her foot nerved. Increasing the sound with each passing second, even adding in a cleared throat, until she relented.
"Yes? Agent Stark," Steve said, cool and tempered. Doing his best to keep it so, gave her his full attention.
Her amber eyes burned and lips pursed. "I had something for you," she said in a lowly, held a hand out to the box, his eyes drop to it unimpressed. "apple pie."
Flipping the top off relieved the freshly, nearing warm, classic pie. A mixture of cinnamon applies and brown sugar filled the gym. Steve's face softens and his shoulders fell. Golden crust, perfectly pinched corners, it was just like he remembered back then. Taking another whiff sent him back for a moment to the 1940s, back the carnivals, and much more.
"I went all over the city, couldn't find a bakery who makes it the way you said," May's voice draws him back, "so took an authorized SHIELD jet a few states over to get it. Thinking, hmm Steve would like this, to find out he's not in his room."
She flipped the lid back over, placed a hand on her hip. Her lips remained pursed. Waiting for his answer as to why she took such a long stride over to the gym. His eyes remained on the floor, adverting her glare, which slowly melted. May noticed a disturbance in the way his brows knotted together. Something was bothering him.
Inhaling, May exhaled softly, lowering the flames in her chest and soften her voice, "Want to talk about?"
Picking up the box she sat down, giving the spot next to her a light pat for Steve. He joined her. Nearly drenched in sweat and strong mixture of musk and woody emitted from him. She'd lie if it didn't make her heart jump.
"I'd offer you a pie," she held up the box," but well…forgot to grab a knife."
The attempt of humor didn't work, the disturbance still lingered in him, now spreading across his face. He wasn't good at keeping his emotions in check. He was raw, which was a change. Honest, was the word she believes best fit him. It was nice a different pace.
Lowering the box, setting it on her lap wincing a bit at the fact her blue pants would stain, damn she should have worn her SHIELD standard uniform. Thank goodness she made enough to buy another pair. The juice seeped through the box and began spreading on her pants.
Ignoring it, Steve was more important.
He said nothing. Only silence filled the gym. She sat and waited, without pushing, for him to say what he needed to say. Or wanted to say.
Nothing passed through his lips. Each tick of the clock became sounded like a dong. May granted her teeth from it. But kept herself calm. Dropping her eyes to the box, a thought came.
"Come on," she got upsetting the box down. Steve lifted his eyes to her bright smile and extended she had for him. She grabbed his hand herself, "oh, come on."
She led him back to the punching bag and firmly positioned herself behind it. Right then Steve knew what she wanted to do and threw his hands up.
"No. No." He shook his head, stepping back.
She chuckled, "Well, I'm visibly hurt. You tell this guy here everything. So, why not. Come on."
He refused. Taking a few steps back, began unwrapping the tap around his hand. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Trust me, I'm tougher than I look."
"No."
"I survived the harsh elements of the arctic for quite a while, so, yeah."
"Try for seventy years. Then we can talk." He rebutted, with a small smirk.
May buried her face in the bag and laughed. Steve joined letting a few slip. "Fair." She admitted. "Still, I can handle it. I am SHIELD agent after all.
His blue eyes met her amber and smile, "Are you a field agent?" She said nothing. "Yeah, didn't think so."
"Tomato. Tomahto. What's the difference. Both have to have training. Let me prove it."
He finished taking off all the tape, walked back to the box. "I think a slice of pie sounds better."
Letting go, May followed. Steve scooped up the box and they both walked out together.
It tastes just as good as it looked, Steve had was on his second slice. All he needed was some ice-cream. Back in his room, he and May sat on his bed, the pie on the nightstand with a knife next to it. With two glasses of milk. Half the pie was nearly gone.
"Good isn't?" May said licking the bit of juice off the corner of her mouth.
His mouth full, Steve nodded, reached for his cup, and took a gulp of milk. "Yeah," he said with a refreshed sigh. "Thank you."
May scrapped the last bit of pie off her plate. "You're welcome. I told you, I'd find the pie for you."
"I'm surprised you didn't make any, considering your cookies."
She laughed. "And only my cookies. I've never made a pie before. I mean I did…at least I think so with my mother."
"Howard's wife? Ummm.."
"Maria," May said tearfully. "yeah. She was a lovely woman. So kind. Graceful. Caring."
Steve gave his full attention, listening to the artistic way May painted Howard's wife. He could envision it. He was still surprised Howard got married and had a family. Had children, the man he remembered wasn't anything like that. Tilting his head a bit, no matter how many times Steve tried, he just couldn't see any physical resemblance of the man in her, mentally he could. Her mind was, though in a different area, sharp.
"She sounds wonderful."
"Yeah. She was. They both were. Had enough?" She gestures at the pie, handing Steve her plate.
He cuts her another slice, medium size. "Almost, you know before I probably wouldn't have been able to finish a whole one."
"You don't say?" She jest taking a fork full, unaware of the message(s) she missed. "Well, guess one day we'll have to put that to the test, won't we?"
"Guess so." He set his place with a soft weighted sigh. "I can't sleep." He broke, "Every time I close my eyes…I relive it. Over and over again. The whirling blades. Shattering glass. Static. Darkness. It's all I ever see…when I rest. When I sleep."
His voice began to tremble and tighten. May set her plate to the side and moved closer, resting a warm hand on his stiff shoulders.
"I…don't know…sometimes if I might…not wake up again." He finished. Staring straight ahead, dropped half his face into the palms of his hands.
May felt every part of tense and tighten, a board could easily be broken across and shatter. He was wound up, no wonder he took to punching the bags and destroyed a few. She knew this from others, they informed him of his behavior. She knew it was bad, she just didn't think that it was….this bad. Her hand moved around his arm and linked.
Those memories…moments never really go away, she reflected, staring straight ahead at the wall. She remembered herself, being fearful of going asleep. In a strange place never the less. Afraid if she might wake up somewhere different. The mind, such a fragile and delicate thing. The simplest thing could stretch it and cause irreparable damage. No matter the amount of doctors or shrinks, it never went away. Her grip tightened, she almost dug her nails in.
Nearly submerging herself to that moment, remembered it was about Steve. Not her. He was dealing with something and she here to help. Five months and a half weren't enough for him, no matter how he tried to play it off. Leaning her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and felt something she couldn't quite describe. A warmth…a feathery warmth either from her or Steve, whatever the case she could feel it. She could…could…see it.
It was small, heated. Like fire. It moved like fire. Blazed like it. Uncontrollably, inside Steve.
She wasn't sure why…but she was drawn to it as a moth to the flame. Something ignited in her, it nearly erupted if she didn't open her eyes. A rush of heat flooded through her. She quickly let go of Steve and stared at her trembling hands, gasping.
Steve noticed. "Agent Stark, what's wrong?" He reached out to touch her, she sprung from her spot. He sprung up. Pankiced. "What's wrong?" He tried reaching out a hand again, she slapped it away.
Unintentional.
He stepped back but didn't move. Watching carefully, ready to do…whatever he could. She felt it, crawling over her skin, it started warm but increased. The room began to swirl and she began swaying and staggering. It's never happened like this, normally she could…douse it. Calm it. But, after…Steve….what did she do, exactly!
Reaching a hand out for something to grab, stumble forward. "May!" Steve dove and caught her, winced. She was burning up.
He could smell it. Like something was cooking, grilling. In his arms she was unresponsive, he tried shaking her. But received nothing, except the pain scrunched on face. His hands began burning. He didn't know what to do, except one thing.
"Agent down! Agent down!" He shouted. "Agent down!"
