Nightmare

Things couldn't be perfect forever. It so happened that Steve agreed to help Pepper with dinner that evening, so rather than spending the day curled up on the couch or playing one of her many board games, Eleanor chatted with him on the phone. She watched the darkness descend in the alleyway behind her apartment building as she sipped a cup of tea. When Steve had to go, claiming he'd be late. Eleanor laughed and said her goodbyes. She set her phone down and moved to her room to grab her laptop and lesson planning binder for the next day. When she walked back into the room, the rumble of her phone vibrating on the counter caught her attention. Before it could stop, she maneuvered everything into one arm and grabbed it with the hand she had open. It was probably Steve was calling her back for some reason or another, she thought, and she didn't consider glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hello?"

"Is this a Miss Eleanor Moore?"

The male voice was definitely not Steve's, it was too deep and had a very New York accent to it. Eleanor glanced down at her phone it was too late to get the name of the caller. "Yes?" She answered.

"Hello, this is John Cristopher, the superintendent of Southport penitentiary. You were noted as the contact person for Mr. Joel Moore."

Her heart stopped, and she felt her hands shake and it took a lot of energy to hoist the binder and laptop onto the table. Once they were set down she gripped the edge of the chair, still standing. "I shouldn't be." His voice rang in her head, each word echoing.

"Well, I'm required by New York State Law to inform you that he died in his cell this morning. We're still determining the cause of death bu-"

"I don't want to know it." Ella was surprised to hear her own voice interrupting him. Memories that had long since been pushed back were returning to the forefront of her mind. She focused on letting the man finish on the other side of the phone as he spoke about any funeral arrangements that were necessary, and his question asking if she wanted to come in and confirm his identity before they were put in motion. She pushed everything back as best she could behind her shock.

She could barely understand the noise in her mind, yet somehow her voice knew the appropriate answers. Criminate, no she didn't want to see him, She didn't want any of his personal effects and also, no there would not be a funeral. There were multiple follow up questions and conversation seemed to go on forever both of their tones felt strictly business. When she finally set the phone down, it was all it took in her to pull the chair out enough for her to slump into it.

Eleanor took deep breaths, she tried to organize her thoughts but in the end, there were too many so she just shoved them all into a dark closet of her mind. She tried to lock the door but knew that even if she did no lock could hold it for very long. She needed to stay occupied. Her laptop slid on the edge of the lesson planning binder and caught her attention. Focus. She moved what she didn't need out of her way. Her fingers slipped over the pages as she managed to finish her lesson plan and put her notes together for the next day.

That night though, as she lay in bed, the thoughts rallied against her, slipping through the cracks. They kept coming and even when her eyes closed, they didn't stop.

The walls were bland and boring. She was sitting in the courthouse, the second row, behind the prosecutor who was a young man with a long face and cropped hair. She remembered distinctly the long dark blue tie and the tie clip that had NYU's mascot. He had been totally and completely relaxed as he argued for a heavy sentence. Ella could smell the wood of the room, and recall the stiffness she felt from sitting on the uncomfortable bench. They'd told her to wear nice but comfortable clothes, and then they'd pulled out an outfit without asking her and told her to put it on. The black jeans felt confining for her legs, the material scratchy. Her gaze remained forward, and the social worker who had brought her there sat beside her.

The woman's hand laid on the seat, waiting for her to grab onto it if she needed to. However, Eleanor didn't know her. How could she feel comfortable around someone she didn't know? How could she feel comfortable at all since her mother had died? The trial took months, and they kept telling her that it would give her closure but it was ending and she didn't feel it. She was tired of people asking if she was okay.

As the adults made their final arguments, their closing statements, Ella tried to listen but nothing comprehended. It sounded like the adults in a Charlie Brown film, the chattering with nonsense words. Her eyes wandered across the room to the back of his head. He was leaned back in his chair as though he had total control over the situation. As though nothing phased him. Even when she'd been on that witness stand herself, recounting the worst day in her entire life, he hadn't so much as blinked an ounce of regret. Everyone in the room knew he was guilty, he knew he was guilty. And yet, he'd watched her with an unreadable expression. She shook under his gaze and avoided eye contact until they asked her to identify him. When she did, he smirked.

Eleanor sat in that hall, It was an everyday case. Half of all female homicide victims were killed by their intimate partners. The case wasn't noteworthy in the least. It hadn't gotten so much as a mention in the news. The courtroom was almost empty the entire time. They'd call breaks that would last for days and she'd eat whatever was set in front of her, they'd send her to school, but honestly, she couldn't remember what happened in the days or moments between being in that courtroom. An arm grabbed her elbow, helping her stand up, she was too short to see the judge when she delivered the sentence. She felt smaller when the man in question walked by her. Tiny as he dragged his feet and then microscopic when he looked into her. It felt like he was always a step ahead in making sure her life would be miserable.

Then she was adult Eleanor again. Adult Eleanor knew that he hadn't said anything as he walked by when she was 12 years old, but this time he lashed out at her. His movements blurry at the edges, breaking the handcuffs and every barrier between them disappeared. She should feel the spit in her face as she had many times growing up, the words he'd said so clearly screeched in her ears. "Everyone you love will die," It was a curse that had followed her, that still followed her to that day. She turned away to grip the social worker, who held her in place by her elbow but when she turned the social worker was gone.

She looked to her right her mother's blank and unseeing eyes, the blood running down her head and her skin deathly pale. Her eyes were wide open unfocused and she smiled, only part of her face moved, the other part forever stuck in a gory image. The woman swayed as though the sound of her father, his screaming was music to her ears. Ella pushed herself away felt the ground disappear from beneath her as she fell to the next floor.

The curse wasn't real- she tried to tell herself. She felt her hands reach into her hair, pulling at the roots. Curses weren't real, but for some reason, it had become the prophecy of her life. Her mother wasn't the only person she'd grown attached to who had died. A young boy behind her also stepped around, face indifferent. Pale and shaking. Water dripped off of him and onto the courtroom floor. Then a young woman to the left of her father, their head tilted at an unnatural angle. Lastly, appearing out of nowhere was Mike, his wrinkled fingers reaching out. The kind smile he'd always kept on his face was gone. Instead looked stern his forehead creased. Eleanor scooted away from him, away from them all but her back hit a wall. Glancing behind her it was a wall. A counter was above her head and the chair knocked on the floor.

She glanced once more but it was just her father. His smirk turned into something darker. He nodded in a direction, his eyes on something else. Eleanor told her body to stop, but she was helpless as her head turned in that direction. Her eyes followed his gaze. Steve. Laying on the ground in the same fashion her mother had, the lake of blood stretched across the tile floor of the kitchen, it trickled off his nose drip by drip and rivers of it streamed in multiple directions. His open eyes stared right at her, his expression stricken. She tried to look away but the blood-stained her socks it stained her clothes and her fingers. She moved to stand up, to run out of her childhood home but when she did she realized, it wasn't her childhood home at all. It was her apartment.

Her father's breath was too real on her neck and she fell back, her hand hit the floor and she felt a rupture of pain in her wrist, then the sensation of the blood soaking further into her palms. Her father leaned down to eye level, eyes that she'd never been able to forget. "You're cursed." He laughed. His hand reached back, and as it came forward, she flinched, this time feeling a rupture of pain in her head as she also fell, right off her bed.

In a heap on the floor, Eleanor noticed multiple things all at once. First, she must have rolled into her side table on her way down. The pain in her head was real, as was the pain in her wrist. The next thing she realized was that her bedsheets were wet, and the glass of water she'd made for herself was in shards from her landing on it. They painfully dug into her body through the sheet that had fallen with her to the ground. Her heart hammered in her chest and Eleanor panted. She couldn't get enough air to her lungs and she was trying to not remember anything, but each second more and more details returned to her rather than disappearing like a normal dream.

She could work out what happened on her own, she told herself. She often moved in her sleep, so she must have hit the glass and her side table, only to hit it again with her head when she fell. The headache was already forming and she knew it would bruise. Her eyes watered and the darkness of her room encroached on her mind, causing the hair on her skin to lift. She untangled herself and looked at the clock. It was just past 3 am. She wouldn't be getting much more rest after that. Her toes froze on the hardwood floor and the cold air outside of her blankets caused her to shiver.

Focus. She told herself. Focus on things you can control. She carefully extracted herself away from the sheet and back onto the bed, which was also wet from the water. She pushed the dampness out of her mind and pushed herself around the opposite side. She was able to collect the sheet to scrunch up into a ball and toss it into her laundry. She did the same with her sweaty pajamas.

She was still cold as her fingers gently picked up the larger glass shards and she was careful not to cut herself with them as she walked into the living room. Blood wasn't really her thing. The image of Steve appeared when she walked past the couch and into her kitchen for the garbage bag. Unreal though it was, it was also unexpected and caused her to jump, the glass to tumble once more onto the ground. Eleanor felt the bile rise up in her throat as she retreated, running back into her room and into the bathroom to heave into the toilet.

Her hair fell into her face and the word 'cursed' echoed into her mind. She knew it was impossible. But she also knew he wasn't wrong. What if she was a bad omen. What could that mean for Steve? He'd already muddled himself into being a part of her everyday life. Mike had lasted the longest in her life beyond her own mother. But five years wasn't that long.

Eleanor took deep breaths and focused on what she could control, pulling from years of therapy. She could control herself. Her interactions with others. She could control her actions, how she planned for things out of her control. Eleanor pushed herself away. She needed a shower. Then step by step she'd control the day as best she could.

Hours later during her lunch break, she wasn't sure how much more she could take. The nightmare still made appearances in her mind. She'd seen her mother on the subway, and the boy in the back of her second-period classroom. They weren't real, but each time she had to take a moment to stop herself from falling into a panic attack. She tried distracting herself as best she could with the students, and luckily enough, they didn't seem to catch on to her having an off day. Her headache was becoming unbearable by the minute and makeup barely covered up the bruise. She had just two more classes before she could go home, Eleanor reminded herself sitting at the desk after retrieving her lunch from the refrigerator in the teacher's room. She'd been able to avoid most of the adults for that day too. Her phone vibrated. She'd taken it out of the desk out of habit.

Steve: How's school?

He was kind to check in on her daily, but today just wasn't a day she felt like talking to anyone if she could help it. The nightmare just wouldn't let anything else in her mind go.

Eleanor: Bit Rough, but almost over. I need a nap.

She tried to add the humor, and it was much easier to mask her thoughts when it was over text. His next message came in, but she elected to ignore it and try to focus on other things, like her sandwich. Her nightmare had all but eliminated her hunger for the day, but she knew she had to force something down to maintain her energy for the rest of the school day. Just two more classes.

The classes went by slowly, and when the final bell rang Eleanor left the room once all the students had passed it. She put her hat on over her ears and got out of the building and down the street almost as fast as she could. By the time she was walking up the stairs to her apartment, her whole body felt ready to collapse. She turned the corner and saw two long legs blocking the way to her door. Her lips pursed together. The cold that touched her hands felt damp like the blood in her dream. She shook her head. He was too attached to her. Too kind.

"You said your day was rough, I thought the ice cream could help?" Steve smiled up at her, but whether it was from him sitting on the ground or just seeing him, the image from her nightmare returning once more. From Steve's point of view, he saw her immediately go pale and got to his feet quickly. When he reached out, Eleanor moved back and away from him.

Steve paused, not being able to see anything wrong with her. He noted that her eyes looked heavier, and while covered up well with makeup, there was an extra line or two beneath them. She also seemed to have some discoloration near her temple. She fidgeted. "Thanks." She murmured quickly, refusing to make eye contact as she went for the lock on her door. While she insisted the previous week that he keep the key he had, he refused to use it if he didn't have to.

The door swung open and Steve took a step closer, only to be stopped when her hand came up. "I don't feel okay enough for guests. I think you should go home," her voice was soft and just loud enough for him to hear it.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, sorry you drove all the way here." Steve ignored the fact she was now contradicting herself. Her clipped tone was different from anything he'd heard her say before. She sounded weary, tired. It took a moment for it to sink in that she wanted him to leave her. He was confused, and his mind ran through all the things he could do at that moment, but in the end, he just nodded and stepped away from the door, conceding with her wishes. He put his hand out with the bag of ice cream.

He tilted his head to try and make eye contact. Try to get her to just look at him. "At least take this?"

Her hands wrapped around the bottom of the handle, keeping a distance from his own. Her eyes avoided his once more, looking past him rather than at him. She stepped in through the doorway, scooting herself around the crack, without opening it any wider and then Eleanor immediately shut it, the locks clicking into place. Steve felt the chill of the air around him. It had been a long time since a door shut in his face. He listened to her shaky breath on the other side of it and waited for her to move further into the room. For a few moments, he wondered if she'd swing the door open and apologize, invite him in for dinner.

But she didn't. The door remained shut, and eventually, the footsteps walked away.

Steve knew something was off, but he waited until closer to eight before he called her that evening. He went over every moment they spent together with a fine-tuned comb. She was much more distant than she had ever been with him. Her tone was disconnected and bland, overall, he struggled to get a grasp on her thoughts. When she picked up, she was still quiet. They exchanged pleasantries, but all the questions he asked were given generic answers. "Did SHIELD or someone bother you again?" He asked.

Eleanor paused on the other side, he could her exhale, "No. But they were right."

"About what?" The rest of Steve's apartment fell to the background as he listened closer to what she was saying, all his attention focused on the small speaker on his phone. He stared out the wall-sized window to the city but since it was so dark, all he could see was his own reflection.

"I think we should stop being friends. It's too dangerous." He got the feeling she was pushing him away, finding excuses. This was the result and not the catalyst. He could remember doing things like that himself a long time ago, trying to get Bucky to leave- every time he got sick, every time he ended up in the hospital. He needed a why. Why was she saying what she was saying? "For you or me?"

"For both of us." He could hear her sigh and her shaky breath on the other line. In his mind's eye, he could see the tears in her eyes, and he felt an urge to take the elevator down to the garage and drive across town to her front door. It was harder to have this conversation over the telephone when he couldn't see what she was doing. He couldn't look into her transparent eyes and see what she was thinking.

Perhaps this is why she told him on the phone. It made him angrier and more defiant than anything. "What happened Eleanor? Why are you saying this?"

"Does it matter?" Her voice raised and he could hear the snap in her. "Steve just let it go. Let me go and everything will be better, you'll be happier. Trust me." She didn't give him a moment to refute that statement before the phone disconnected. Steve pressed the call back message but based on how quickly her answering machine picked up, he knew she'd ignored his call. He tried again.

He tried for days. He left messages, but she had turned her phone off. She seemed to have carved him out completely in a manner of hours. Steve was dumbstruck. He scoured his brain for her reasoning but kept coming up blank. Something had happened. It was a missing puzzle piece that he couldn't figure out. Weeks ago, she'd laughed at the thought of being separated from him but now jumped at it. What had changed?

His look of shock must have followed him, as one morning as he stared at his coffee with a frown. He'd run out on his floor in his kitchen, and after his run hadn't felt like going to the store to buy more. He added it to the shopping list for the Tower grocer and moved up to the common floor to get something new. After trying every few hours, he decided to try and formulate a different strategy for getting Eleanor to talk to him again. He knew he had to give her a little bit of time, but he also knew that he couldn't give up on her. She didn't have anyone else, and that bothered him even more. What if something happened to her?

Steve's mind was headed down the dark road of 'what if's when Pepper walked in. She'd noticed that he hadn't left his apartment as much as normal that weekend, and just from observing him, the CEO of Stark Industries immediately noted his change in demeanor. He didn't react in the slightest as she walked into the room too caught up in his thoughts. His forehead was furrowed with thoughts, and the troubled look on his face was so much different from his normal lost in thoughts face.

When Pepper did speak, he jumped, further raising her concern for him. He wasn't one to lose track of his surroundings. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Steve didn't have anyone else to talk to. He debated keeping it to himself, but the concern on Pepper's face almost matched the one on his own. He knew she'd be trustworthy, and she was a woman dating a superhero. Not many people would be able to relate to Eleanor but maybe she would. "Ella said she wanted to stop being friends." The woman in front of him let her mouth drop open. At least she agreed that it didn't make any sense whatsoever. She poured them both a coffee, reaching past him to the finished pot.

He hadn't even noticed when it'd finished.

Her sympathetic expression remained the same. She motioned toward the Elevator. "Let's go down to your floor and you can tell me more. What happened?"

Steve took a deep breath, and he told her.

A/N: Thanks for Reading, as always! A little bit of angst is good for the soul, right? Don't worry, I'm hoping to get the next chapter out on Tuesday or Wednesday.

For anyone interested I am still in a desperate search for a BETA. Someone to catch the numerous spelling and grammatical errors but also someone to bounce a few ideas off of. PM me if you're my person!

Lots of Love from the Middle of Nowhere Asia!