A/N: Yo, I worked my butt off on this week's promo pic, so you definitely should check out my tumblr to see it. Like, I literally climbed out onto my roof for one picture. Anyway. Enjoy this craptastically long chapter; it's one of my favorites so far.
"Stars are only visible in darkness,
Fear is ever-changing and evolving...
Nobody can save you now, the king is down
It's do or die."
~Imagine Dragons, "Battle Cry"
The Solider was waiting for her on the roof when she ascended the ladder that night.
She had spent some time with her parents in the kitchen as they talked about the news, debating political opinions with each other. Avery paid little attention to anything they said, only raising her head when they mentioned the lack of answers about Captain America's fight in the street few days before.
When she finally began to feel the effects of the long day she'd had, she took her leave, stopping in her room to grab her copy of Crime and Punishment from her dresser. She had been meaning to expand the list of classic books that she had read, and figured that she could do so during her extended rooftop trips.
She put the book between her teeth- a feat, as it was a rather thick book- and climbed the rusty fire escape.
When she reached the top, she fiddled with her faded jean jacket, slinging it onto one arm.
By chance, she looked up.
Across from her, he stood silently, apparently gazing out at the view of D.C. below.
The book fell from her mouth with a muffled fwish.
He didn't move at all. His frame was tense, as usual, his metallic fist clenched. His brown hair fluttered in the breeze. The wind shifted and Avery caught the familiar scent of leather and gunpowder. A glint from the red star on his shoulder momentarily left her blind.
Her heart thumped erratically, but she wasn't so terrified that she had to fight the urge to turn and sprint away. She inhaled through her nose.
He had come back. To Avery, that only meant one thing.
He still wasn't convinced that she wasn't a threat. Somehow, she had to show him that she had no connections to S.H.I.E.L.D. in any way.
Her life depended on it.
Slowly, warily, she made her way over to him, leaving her novel splayed on the ground. The walk took an eternity. She moved unnaturally, forcing her body to carry her not away from, but toward, danger.
The breeze cut off, and the air was stagnant and hot. She came to a stop at his right side. Neither looked at each other, but kept their eyes fixed on the cityscape.
The tension in the air was palpable. Avery reached up to scratch her nose and blinked once, twice, before she broke the stretch of silence.
"Hi," she said simply, still not tearing her eyes from the city.
She could have sworn some of the tension left his shoulders at her greeting, but he said nothing in reply.
She crossed her arms uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.
"How are you?" she asked, never feeling more awkward in her life.
Her eyes darted back to him. His brow had furrowed in confusion at her question, like couldn't possibly give her an answer. Or like he just couldn't understand. He turned toward her suddenly, eyes zeroing in on her face and causing her to take an unconscious shuffle back.
Forcing herself to keep a neutral expression, she met his gaze.
The blackened war paint had been wiped away from his eyes, revealing dark circles underneath that were an unnatural shade of purple. Today, his eyes had a wide, startled look that had not been there before. It seemed to Avery that something had shaken his confidence and left him grasping for answers. This close to him in the afternoon light, she could see stubble on his strong chin and jawline.
It was clear that the gears were turning in his head. He was thinking hard about something, examining her face all the while.
His eyes were still the most astonishing hue of blue that she had ever seen. He was giving off an aura so intense and concentrated that she had to physically stop herself from moving further away.
He opened his mouth, closed it. Blinked twice and turned back toward the city.
Avery found that she could breathe again.
He broke the silence this time.
"So that was your mother, that spoke to you from the window last night?" he questioned with a calm tone, hiding the whirlwind of uncharacteristic emotion she had seen in his face only seconds before.
Remembering what she had to convince him of, she chose her words carefully.
"Oh. Yeah." She absentmindedly tugged on her sleeve. "She just wanted to check on me. I'm pretty much always up here, so she knows where to find me."
She began to speak, but stopped herself. Realizing she didn't stand to lose much, she went ahead.
"I'm Avery, by the way."
If he had heard her, he didn't show it. She looked down at his good hand, which, unlike his metallic one, hung loosely at his side. It was sheathed in a black, fingerless glove. The pistol was still strapped to his thigh, although the assault rifle was no longer strung across his back. With a nervous tingle, she noted that even his regular arm looked muscular enough to snap her like a toothpick.
"Do you have a name?" she pressed.
He looked down at her. "No."
Avery frowned. "No, you don't have a name? Or no, you don't want to tell me?"
"Neither," he said, face unreadable. "I don't remember."
"Wh- you don't remember your own name?"
"No."
"How do you not remember your own name?!"
"Memory wipes are protocol," he stated, clenching and unclenching his whirring hand again. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his.
She was at a loss for words. "Protocol," she stated, recalling that he hadn't remembered how she had saved him in the street. Now it made sense.
He was silent.
"What do you remember, then?" she asked him.
He waited to answer this one, like he was debating whether he could.
"Whatever is deemed necessary," he finally replied, tensing as a car horn sounded in a street below them. "Case files, weapon and ammunition information, fighting techniques. Outcomes of past missions," he said with about as much feeling as if he was reciting a grocery list.
"Nothing else? No friends, no family, no childhood pet?"
He visibly shut down. "...Nothing else."
His reaction reminded her of the two episodes he had experienced in her presence. Who knew how many more of those he had been through before she met him?
He remembered more than he let on, she thought, but it caused him insurmountable pain to talk about.
Turning away, she tried to comprehend that she was basically talking to a selective amnesiac.
"Why did you come back?" she asked, facing him again.
It was his turn to look away. His face was obscured from her view as he answered.
"I don't know."
An irrational flare of anger shot up in her chest. She couldn't take this anymore. She would not keep living in fear of the next time he would visit, not knowing if he would kidnap her or kill her right there or keep playing this charade of ignorance-
Adrenaline surging, she grabbed his arm and turned him back to her. "Don't play this game with me. There's a reason you came back, and it's not because you like the view," she jabbed at the skyline. "Do your bosses still think I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.? Am I on a threat-watch? Tell me why."
He appraised her blankly, remaining motionless. She realized with a twitch that her hand was still on his arm, but she stayed glued in place.
She wouldn't back down now.
"No," he said with an air of finality. Ever so slowly, his metal arm came up and took a firm hold of her hand.
Her world stopped when the cool metal touched her. She froze in terror.
He removed her hand from his arm. His hand lingered for a steadying moment as he dropped hers by her side.
"They don't know I'm here," he stated, visibly struggling to maintain eye contact with her. He stepped back.
Avery's brow twisted. There went her theory. But this didn't make sense. If they-whoever they was- didn't even know that he was there, then why was he there?
She opened her mouth, but he kept going.
"I don't know why I came," he bit out. "I- You-"
He was at a loss for words. His eyes glazed over and he retreated into himself right before her. All traces of emotion were gone. She had lost him.
Scared that he would leave before she could get answers, and determined not to let him go, she summoned up her courage to do something probably pretty stupid.
He was looking the other way. Fearful out of her mind, she reached toward his metallic hand with both of hers, enclosing it in a grasp.
She physically felt him jolt and pull back. She didn't let go. She ducked her head as she did so, partly because of her terror, and partly because she didn't want to see his expression.
His hand stayed tightened in a fist. She carefully turned it so the palm was facing up, and focused on the details of the mechanical limb. She opened his fingers with her hands. Sheets of metal interlocked like armor, so intricate that she could hardly believe her eyes. The hand was covered in another black fingerless glove, which she proceeded to pull off with a calm slowness.
The glove fell to the ground. She gently bent the whole hand back so it flexed at the wrist, and felt the vibrations of the metal working within the hand. She didn't have to see it in action to know that it could crush human bone with minimal effort.
"This is incredible," she said just above a whisper. "Can you feel that?" she asked as she passed a thumb across the surface of the palm.
She risked a look up at him, seeing first his lips, pressed together, then his eyes, wide in almost comical horror. He looked like a little kid at the doctor's office preparing himself to get a shot.
His face surprised her. Why would an assassin be afraid of a teenage girl? If anything, she had a right to be frightened of him! What could possibly have hurt him so much that the slightest physical contact with another person almost pushed him over the edge?
Making herself taller, she looked at him dead in the face and said, "Listen to me. I am not going to hurt you. Okay?"
A beat passed, but he eventually blinked and gave a jerky nod. His eyes remained wide. The fear in them lessened.
"How did you lose your arm?" she asked softly, looking back down at his hand in hers.
He breathed in, and his shaky exhale tickled the hair hanging in her face.
"I don't-"
"-remember," she finished for him. "Right."
He was lost, she realized. So lost. He had no idea who he was, what he was doing, why he was there. He didn't remember his name, the first thing that every child learns. He had no friends to speak of- no parents, brothers, sisters, grandparents- only the people who gave him orders. Those orders were all he had to cling to.
He didn't know why he had come back, but she herself was beginning to understand.
He was alone. No matter how mechanical he acted, he was human.
Humans weren't made to be alone.
"Yes," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"Yes, I can feel you," he said, as if he was trying to make up for not knowing the answer to her earlier question.
There was hope for him, she thought. The human was still in the robotic shell.
"How is that possible?" she asked, running with it and desperately hoping she could bring that human out.
With his monotone voice, he said, "My nerve endings have been rewired to it to feel basic sensations. Pressure, heat, cold. Pain is read as damage."
"Is it strong?" She already had some idea of an answer, but this was the most he'd ever talked to her. He was still on edge and she didn't want him to shut down again.
"It has a grip force of 5,000 pounds per square inch."
Her hands stopped moving. "What does that mean?"
"It can lift small trucks, break through bullet-proof glass, and crush industrial-grade steel," he answered matter-of-factly.
Yup. She definitely had the right to be afraid.
Avery gulped, fighting the urge to release him.
What he did next almost made her faint from shock.
His metallic hand turned over and carefully closed around one of hers. His grip was firm, but exceedingly gentle.
She looked up at him, mouth slightly open.
"I am not going to hurt you," he said to her, just as she had said to him moments earlier. His face was dead serious.
Against all rational thought, she believed him, giving a quiet sigh of relief as she nodded.
He let go. They held a stare for a minute, re-evaluating each other before turning back to the city.
The sun was fading fast. The clouds were once again painted pink and orange. Traffic had thinned out in the streets, and less people were on the sidewalks.
They stood side by side for who knows how long, both trying to absorb what had transpired between them.
Without warning, he made to leave. She watched him stride across the roof and step up onto the ledge.
Her voice caught in her throat.
"Hey," she managed. He stopped. His head tilted at her voice.
She took a deep breath, trying to collect her words.
"I know you don't remember if you have any friends, but...If you want one, you have me."
She wasn't sure that she had been heard until he looked back at her. Expression heavy with all the things he didn't say, he gave a barely perceptible nod, jumped, and disappeared from the rooftops.