I've taken hits like a brawler
But I'm getting back up again
And from the moment I saw her
I was hellbent but heaven-sent
I'm throwing rocks at your window
We're leaving this place together
They say that we're flying too high
Get used to looking up
Ryan Star, "Brand New Day"
Notes: My sincerest apologies. I didn't realize I hadn't updated this fic on FFN. My primary archive is AO3, which also has the catch-all for discarded, orphaned, or alternate scenes for this universe.
On that note: It's been brought to my attention that there are sites that have mirrored FFN's entire catalogue of fanfics. I've confirmed that my stories are there on at least two of these sites. Please be advised that I only ever post on FFN or AO3, and my user name on these sites is ficlicious. I do this for free. If you're being asked for money to read my stories, you are being scammed.
oOoOoOo
Malibu, CA
May 13, 2012
Steve discovers he likes running on the beach. It's different from running on the track in Stark Tower, or the other morning in the park with Natasha, along manicured trails with other early-morning runners. There, he has to be conscious of how fast he's running, how much attention he might draw. Here, there's nothing but sand and waves and the cry of seabirds. It's also more of a workout, since the sand makes his footing unstable, needs more force to push him at the same pace. He actually kind of likes the burn of muscles earlier than he's used to feeling it, and the sound of the waves washing onto the shore, punctuated by the calls of birds out over the water, is soothing and serene.
Hours pass before he returns to the mansion for a shower and breakfast. He's a little surprised when he realizes exactly how long he's been gone, since he started at five in the morning, and it's now nearly ten. He still feels like an interloper, hesitating for a moment before re-entering the mansion and moving into the kitchen to fetch one of the bottles of water from the case he saw last night. He'll never die of dehydration, but it takes three bottles before his thirst is quenched.
"Good morning, Captain Rogers," JARVIS says when Steve's done his third bottle and eying a fourth. "Ma'am would like to inform you that she's left you breakfast in the warmer next to the oven, and requests that you join her in the workshop once you've finished your repast. I believe she has something she would like you to see."
"Oh, uh… " He blinks, because he is positive he will never get used to a disembodied voice talking to him from everywhere all at once. "Thank you, JARVIS. Please tell Toni I'll be down after I eat and shower."
"Very good, Captain."
Investigating the warmer reveals a plate piled high with bacon and hash browns and an omelet that looks like it contains chicken and cheese and green peppers. A note rests on top of the warmer, his name scrawled on the front of the folded cardstock. If you're still hungry, there's yogurt and fruit salad in the fridge. Coffee is fresh. Help yourself. - T
He doesn't make it to the table, but he does manage to get a fork out of the utensil drawer before devouring everything, including the yogurt and fruit. Feeling pleasantly full is a rare treat.
He showers quickly, enough to rinse the sweat and sand off him, changes into fresh clothes and goes back to the kitchen to get two cups of coffee before heading downstairs to the workshop Toni showed him yesterday. He's a little pleased he doesn't need to ask JARVIS how Toni takes her coffee, because Bucky drilled it into him before he left New York, along with the fact that he should never hand anything directly to her, just lay it beside her. Steve didn't want to know why, especially after Bucky told him. Stane might be dead and buried, but if he knows what's good for him, he'll stay there.
The door slides open automatically when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, and music spills softly out, something he thinks is this decade's version of dance club music. Toni's workshop here bears little resemblance to her New York lab, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and open airy feeling. Toni's standing in front of a bank of holoscreens, her hands moving across and through the blue glow.
She glances over, and smiles faintly. There's a tiny thrill of shock he can feel, the bare hint of fear, but that's it. It's only been two days, but Bucky and Clint's idea of taking a vacation seems to be working. "Hey," she says. "Enjoy your run?"
"I did," he replies, crossing to her workstation and laying her mug carefully down so it won't spill. "Thank you for breakfast. It was good."
She waves a hand dismissively as she picks up her coffee and takes a long gulp. "I can't cook worth a damn, except for breakfast. It tends to surprise people when they learn that I'm not entirely hapless in the kitchen. I was making it for myself, wasn't a problem to just put on extra."
"Still. I appreciate it." He wraps his hand around his mug, fingers through the handle, and sips his own coffee, black and sweet. "JARVIS said you wanted to show me something?"
"Yeah." Her grin is wide and pleased, and she turns to make arcane hand motions at the screens. Three of them shoot sideways, disappearing, and the remaining one gets bigger in front of them. "This," she says, twirling her fingers and bringing a three-dimensional model, what looks like a faceless man wearing a version of his uniform, out to slowly rotate in the palm of her hand, "is the suit I want to fabricate for you. If you want it, I mean. Proprietary Starkweave, which could probably withstand everything short of a nuclear warhead to the face. It's lighter than anything you can find commercially available, and is customizable for environment via integrated circuitry to either heat or cool the material."
Steve sets his own cup down and peers at the image, more than a little speechless. Hesitantly, he touches a finger to the little figure, and it freezes in mid-spin. Toni tilts her hand over his, and transfers the image to him, then steps back and shoves her thumbs in her pockets, hands on her hips. He brings his hand to eye-level, examining it from every angle. Pockets and zippers and a harness rig for his shield across the shoulders. The star on the chest, the stripes behind it.
"Coulson's all but dancing in place to offer you an invitation to the Avengers Initiative," Toni says, after time passes and he still can't find anything to say. "I figure you'll probably get it after this vacation of ours is over, if he doesn't find a way around JARVIS's spam filters before then. If you accept, I'll be designing your stuff anyway, so consider this an early start, I guess."
"You're not supposed to be working," he says, but his heart isn't really in it because Toni does something else with the image and it starts displaying the stats in a way that he understands. Simulations of bullets hitting the armor at various spots, miniature blue fire washing over it, stress test results, field test performance reports.
"Yeah, well…" She shrugs with an unapologetic smile. "Some of us run to clear our heads. Some of us science the shit out of things." She shifts between her feet. "So? What do you think?"
"I think it's incredible," he says honestly. "I'd be honored to wear it."
Her grin is ear to ear. "Great! I was hoping you'd say that, because I have to take a trip into the Culver City facility this afternoon. I know," she says, with a raised hand to forestall the protests he was about to make, "I'm not supposed to be working. Unfortunately, I need to synthesize some badassium for more arc reactors, and I can only do that at Stark Solutions. I've got a couple of hours scheduled at the collider this afternoon, so I can run your new threads through the fabricator at the same time."
"You don't have any employees who can do that kind of work?"
"Honestly? No. I don't have any employees that can do it, because none of them know how. Badassium is volatile, has the potential to change the world in ways we can't predict or control. I keep the process in my head for safety's sake."
Steve frowns, and Toni sighs. "Don't give me your Captain America Disapproves of Your Actions face. It's more effective than it should be. It's me or nobody, and I'm lower than I'd like to be on spare reactors. Rhodey and Carol are both due for upgrades to the new modular model, and I have to rebuild and power seven suits."
"Well, if you're sure it can't be put off…" He still doesn't sound happy, and Toni knows he has a point. This is supposed to be a vacation, but her New York facilities don't include a particle collider, and the Malibu residence can fabricate Iron Maiden suits, but not tactical gear for non-armored superheroes.
"It can't," she says gently, then pauses with her head tilted in consideration. "Hey, you wanna come with me? It only takes an hour or so to set everything up with the collider for synthesis, and then it's basically automated until the process is finished."
"Yeah?" He looks interested, and she thinks maybe even faintly relieved. "Sure, I'd love to."
"I gotta warn you, it's gonna be pretty boring for you, unless you want to give the girls in Fabrication a thrill by letting them chat with Captain America while they work on Captain America's gear. But once I'm done with the setup, I'm pretty much free until all the reactors have been powered. There's this restaurant I've been meaning to try, and I keep hearing about this bizarre little curio museum. Would you like to go?"
Steve's smile is slow and sweet. "Sounds like you're asking me on a date."
Toni blinks, because that's exactly what it sounds like. "Guess I am. So, you wanna go?"
"I'll have to check my calendar," Steve says, suddenly serious. "But I can tentatively say yes." He grins at her, dodges away from her indignant swat at his arm. "One condition, though. I pick what we do tomorrow."
"Sounds fair," Toni says agreeably, and he disappears through the doors with a small wave. She turns back to the holo screens. "J, upload everything to Culver City, would you, and alert Harry in Synthesis, and Kate in Fab? I want it all ready to go when we get there, so I don't have to spend time dicking around with things that should already be done. And see if you can get reservations at that pub with the toffee Pepper likes, around six?"
"Yes ma'am. Transfer in progress, reservations acquired. As the Waterloo also serves a variety of alcoholic drinks, shall I have your car service pick you up."
"Nah," she says, eyes already on the next bit of tech on her to-do list. "If I have a drink or two, Steve can drive."
The evening goes well. Kate Jones, the head of the fabrication division, sobs when Toni confirms that yes, this is the real Captain America, and throws herself into his arms, thanking him profusely for saving her grandfather from the Kreischberg facility in 1944. Steve looks uncomfortable but pleased, and pats her awkwardly on the back, murmuring glad to be of service, ma'am. He gives Toni a look that begs her not to leave him there, but she grins and wiggles her fingers as the door closes behind her.
Harry is as good as his resume and ego say he is, so it only takes her a little over forty minutes to arrange all the empty housings and casings to her exacting specifications. It's a far cry from nearly destroying half her basement with a homemade laser, but the same basic principles apply, and once it's set up, there's nothing for her to do but kill time until it's done.
Dinner is decent and the museum is fascinating and just plain weird. Those are the only facts Toni registers in her memory for sure, because later that night, back at the mansion and parting to their respective rooms for sleep, Steve catches her gently by the wrist, turns her around and kisses her. It's brief and chaste, little more than a press of lips on lips before it's over, but Toni's brain short-circuits anyway. She's pretty sure a few neurons flame out brilliantly in the feedback loop.
"I had a nice time, Toni," Steve says with a smile. "See you tomorrow morning."
Toni stands in the hallway outside his bedroom door long after he's closed it, staring blankly at the wall with her fingertips resting on her mouth.
oOoOoOo
May 14, 2012
Steve's idea of a date is packing for the beach, which Toni doesn't find herself minding. She's got her StarkPad for when she inevitably gets bored, and the notion of Steve doing any number of beach and ocean activities make a pleasant and occasionally hilarious stream of mental images in her mind.
Steve on a surfboard is just as glorious as she thought it would be. She isn't a big surfer herself, and since Afghanistan, she's avoided anything that might risk her being abruptly immersed in water. Having a flashback in the middle of the Pacific isn't high on her priority list, so she politely sits this one out, lying on the beach blanket and watching Steve ride the waves.
Because she can, because this needs to be immortalized for future generations to marvel at, Toni fishes her StarkPhone out of her beach bag and adjusts the zoom until she can get a clear image. She snaps a quick series of shots, selects the best one, and texts it off to Bucky, then adds Sure you don't wanna come visit?
Her phone chimes almost immediately with a response. Want to. We agreed you 2 would have time, tho.
She rolls her eyes, thumbs flying on the keyboard. How can I drool over All American abs if I have no one to share the sight with?
You seem to be doing ok with your phone. How's it going?
She chews her lip, considering how to phrase it. Good, I think? No one's dead yet. That's a plus.
Could be worse.
What follows is a picture of a mountain of paperwork, behind which Coulson looks faintly disapproving. Which means he's royally pissed Bucky's not doing whatever he's supposed to be doing.
Apparently, having Toni Stark access to everything makes me Toni Stark for the week.
She laughs outright, goes back to her main messages list and pulls her perpetual chat with Clint up.
[toni] i hear buckys me for the week
[toni] try not to confuse us
[toni] i know it'll be hard. mouthy brunettes with starktech prosthetics all look alike
[clint] pfft. i know the difference.
[clint] youre the rich one who glows blue
[toni] he can access my accounts
[clint] then i have no idea who you are.
[toni] he doesnt glow blue
[clint] he will once i tape a glow stick to his chest
[toni] if he punches you through a wall, im telling tash its your idea
She flips back to the texts with Bucky, and shoots off a quick Any Toni Stark worth his salt would be in California with the other Toni Stark. Just sayin. Thinks for another minute, then adds Steve's pretty hot in nothing but a swimsuit. Gonna go appreciate the view. 3
She turns her attention back to the surf, as Steve comes up out of the water, board under his arm. His eyes are sparkling, salt crystals glittering in his wet hair. He drops the board onto the sand, scoops up his towel and dries his face off before cracking a bottle of water. "That's a lot of fun," he says after gulping down half the bottle. "You sure you don't want to join me?"
She props herself up onto her elbows and eyes him over the rim of her sunglasses. "I don't want to chance drowning myself out there, Steve," she says mildly.
"I know you can swim," he says, finishes the bottle in another long swallow. "Don't tell me the mighty Iron Maiden can turn on a pin in the air but can't balance on a surfboard."
She sits up, indignant. "There is nothing wrong with my balance, Rogers," she retorts, jabbing a finger at him. "And that's invincible Iron Maiden, thank you very much."
He takes the correction with a small grin, loops the towel around the back of his neck. "Fine, Invincible Iron Maiden. Why don't you like being on the ocean? Is it the reactor?"
Her smile slips just a little. "No. It's waterproof. But... " She sighs. "Water hits me the wrong way, and I'm back in a cave being tortured by radical extremists," she says simply. "If I have a panic attack in the middle of the Pacific, I die. So yes, I would absolutely love to join you, but I can't risk it. I like living."
"Oh." His face is suddenly full of compassion and understanding, and he crouches beside her. "You know I wouldn't let you die, right? I'd jump right in after you."
HIs face is so earnest, his words so assured, she can't help but believe him. The wary part of her brain tries to remind her that he's already tried to kill her once, but it's starting to feel like a distant memory, a bad dream she's been having trouble shaking. "Yeah, I know that. You jump out of planes without parachutes, for chrissake. What's one scrawny, flailing engineer in the ocean?"
"You're hardly scrawny," he says, with a critical eye raking over her. "You probably need to put a few more pounds on to be fully recovered, but you're definitely not scrawny."
Despite giving both fingers to social body image standards and wearing a bikini that shows off the arc reactor, she suddenly wants to cover up, hide the scarring, hide the evidence of past wounds. It's a ridiculous urge, so she doesn't give into it, but it doesn't go away just because she's ignoring it. She's always been good at turning uncomfortable urges into snark, though. "Are you finished objectifying me yet, or should I strike a pose for your dominant male gaze?"
Steve's confused blink and puzzled face abruptly remind her that he's from the forties, and doesn't really get modern feminist language. "My what?"
She shakes her head, holding out a hand. "Never mind. It's not important. Well. It's important, it's just not important right now. What were we talking about? Right. Surfing, and why I don't do it."
"Come out with me once," Steve says, holding out his hand. "If you really don't want to, I won't push, but if you really do like it, come out with me. I won't let you fall in."
Toni's breath catches in her throat. Maybe it's the angle of the sun, maybe it's the way his body language is yelling both deferential and protective at the same time, but something about the way he's leaning down with his hand outstretched, encouraging smile and salt-silvered hair is completely irresistible.
"Alright," she grumbles when she recovers her breath, slapping her hand into his and letting him haul her to her feet. "Alright. I'm trusting you here. You dunk me, you're a dead man."
He grins. "Got it."
She spends an hour on the waves with him, surfing in tandem on his rented board. One wave turns into six waves turns into twelve, because the first one is more than enough to remind her of the feeling she gets launching Iron Maiden into the sky. And true to his word, Steve does not let her fall into the water. Every time she opens her arms to the wind, his hands are warm and firm on her hips, holding her steady. He's so self-righteously smug about it that, when she's ready to call it a day and pack up her beach stuff for the trip home, she deliberately and abruptly throws herself sideways halfway into shore, dragging a surprised Steve into the ocean with her.
She surfaces and tosses her head back, swinging her sodden hair out of her eyes, and treads water while Steve comes up, sputtering and swiping his hand to clear his eyes. "What was that for?" he asks, though he's smiling.
"For being insufferable," she replies, and smirks. "Also, I hope you can cook, because dinner's your responsibility tonight."
"I guarantee nothing," he says and swims for the board.
Toni follows behind, and thinks that so far, it's been a good day.
Dinner goes well. Steve is a surprisingly good cook, once introduced to the wonders of internet recipe sites. Toni doesn't even know what it is he made, something with cheese and chicken and eggplant and rice that he carefully chops and measures and cooks while she sits at the island counter, head propped on an arm and a StarkPad open with Iron Maiden specs in front of her. She isn't designing the Mark VIII, though, because it's too entertaining watching Captain America navigate her kitchen and its appliances.
It's absolutely divine, whatever it is, and there's a lot of it. She inhales almost as much as Steve does, catches him eyeing her in astonishment when she fills her plate for the third time. She shrugs with a small smile. "The nanites burn a lot of the body's resources," she says, by way of explanation. "The process is winding down now, most of the colonies are dead, but I still need somewhere in the neighbourhood of four thousand calories per day until it's done."
His shoulders are tight, knuckles white on the fork and knife, but his voice betrays none of it when he asks, "How much longer is it going to take?"
"'Nother day or so," she says around a mouthful of chicken, and washes it down some of her glass of water. "The aches are mostly gone, just a couple of twinges now and then in the hand." She rotates her right wrist, feeling it roll smoothly, but it pulls the muscles of her arm, and she grimaces. "Tight as a drum, though. J, remind me to book a masseuse sometime tomorrow, will you?"
"Certainly, ma'am. I can contact your usual-"
Steve coughs, and stands to clear the table as Toni scrapes her plate to get the last of her rice. "I can do it," he says, keeping his head down as he carefully gathers the dishes. "If you'd prefer. I don't have any of that special training or anything, but I know a thing or two about working knots out of muscles."
Toni freezes in mid-chew, fork hanging out of her mouth as her oh-so-helpful brain provides her with all sorts of vivid mental imagery on how many scenarios even the most innocent version of that offer can turn into. "You serious?" she asks.
He frowns a little. "Bad idea?"
"No! No, awesome idea. Hell, I'd ask for one right now if it wouldn't just suck more for me to get up in the morning, stiff and sore again." She smiles and finishes her water, then stands with her own plate. "Tomorrow afternoon, maybe?"
"Sounds good." His return smile is shy and sweet, and just for a second, Toni can see the gangly, thin Steve underneath. Remembers what Bucky told her about Steve's belief she wouldn't want him. Fiercely thinks that it still doesn't matter. "Help me do the dishes, and we can figure out what to do next?"
Steve
They end up on the couch, Steve at one end, Toni's head resting on the other arm, her feet in Steve's lap, and the remote on her stomach. He hasn't had any time at all to catch up to modern entertainment, but Toni settles on something she assures him he'll understand, even if she can't guarantee he'll like it. She explains how to use what she calls the "on-demand service" as she does it, and he files the information carefully away, knowing she's thinking ahead to a time when he might want to use it when no one else is around.
Halfway through the third episode of M*A*S*H - which is close enough to his era to be familiar, serious enough to remind him of the war that, for him, was only a few weeks ago, but funny enough to dull the sharp edges of that reminder - he glances over to see that Toni has fallen asleep. Her head is turned towards the television, and the glow from the screen coupled with the light from the arc reactor throw shadows and highlights across her shoulders and face. Makes her two soulmarks almost glow.
He holds out his hand, reaching for the white star, but stops well above her skin. As badly as he wants to run his fingers over the blue and white lines, trace it again and again, and just marvel at it, she hasn't told him he could. He still finds it all hard to believe, that he lost Bucky and then himself for seventy years, and woke to find the important things here, waiting for him.
He pulls his hand back to her ankle, and eases her feet off his lap to stand, then carefully scoops her up so smoothly she doesn't even stir. Carries her through the open, airy house and up the stairs, which is a little awkward with the way they twist around, but he manages without jostling her. Tucks her in bed, even though he's pretty sure she's going to be uncomfortable for having slept in her jeans, but he's not willing to wake her up so she can get changed either.
He'll apologize in the morning if it's an issue.
Hours later, he wakes suddenly from vague dreams of a dark, quiet place, lies completely still in the dark guest room down the hall from Toni's master bedroom, listening for the sound that alerted him. He doesn't have long to wait, because it comes from directly overhead: "Captain Rogers?"
The AI, which he has yet to be convinced isn't a man in the ceiling somewhere. "What is it, JARVIS?" he asks.
"I'm sorry to wake you, Captain, but ma'am is in distress and unresponsive. I believe she requires assistance. If I could implore you to-"
"Of course." He is already out of bed at the word "distress", fishes for his tee shirt on the floor and pulls it on over his head, is already down the hall before he remembers to hitch his sweatpants more securely on his hips.
The master bedroom's door is slightly ajar, just how he left it. He knocks softly on it, peering around it as his hand pushes it back. "Toni?"
Toni is sitting in the middle of the bed, hunched into herself, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes wide and blank and staring at nothing. For a single, awful moment, Steve thinks she's dead, because no one living should be that still. But her eyes blink, slow and sluggish, but it's sign enough to let relief flood through him so sharply his knees want to sag.
He moves to the edge of the bed. "Toni? Toni." He hesitates for a moment, then knees onto the mattress, scurrying over the comforter until he can grasp her shoulders. He hisses in a breath, because she's ice cold. " Toni."
No response, just another of those terribly slow blinks. He's no field medic, but he knows enough basic first aid to figure out her pulse is too slow to be healthy. "Dammit. Toni." Looks around, looks at everything, scenarios running through his head, everything from an accidental overdose (no pill bottles visible) to an assassin creeping through the windows and injecting her with a toxin (windows are shut and he can't find any injection marks anywhere).
How the hell does he fix this?
Casting around for an answer, he sees Toni's cell phone on the table beside the bed, stretches an arm and snags it. Thanks God in a deep, meaningful way that it isn't password-protected, because then he'd be completely out of luck. Fumbles with the touch screen and the tiny icons that are supposed to mean things, until he sees one that should be her address book - contact list, these days, he guesses - and scrolls until he finds Bucky's information, and pushes his thumb where it says Call .
"We're sorry, the customer you are calling is out of service range, or has the phone turned off. If you'd like to leave a message, press one now."
"Goddammit," he snarls, softly, pressing End. Swipes around and presses again, finding Clint's listing. He's not sure if this is going to count towards Clint's ultimatum, but he doesn't hesitate to call the number.
It rings once, twice, three times.
"Goddammit, Toni," Clint grumbles, sounding less than half-awake, "it's four-fucking-thirty in the fucking morning. Someone better be dead or I'm going to feather your ass with arrows."
"It's not Toni," Steve says, holding the phone against his shoulder with his head, pressing his palms to Toni's face and neck. He can't be positive, but it feels like she's gotten even cooler in the last few minutes.
"... Rogers? Rogers, why the fuck are you calling me at... " In a blink, his tone changes. Awake, alert, much less of an asshole. "Rogers, what happened?"
"I don't know," he says, "it's Toni. She's freezing and she's not speaking or moving. I don't think she even knows I'm here. She's not responding to me at all. Is she sick? Does she have a medical condition? I don't know what to do."
"First thing you do is breathe, Rogers. You're not going to be able to help her if you hyperventilate yourself into a coma. Three long breaths now, c'mon. Fucking breathe , Rogers. Put those superhuman lungs to work."
One. In, hold. Out. Two. In, hold. Out. By the third breath, his head is clearer and his shoulders a little looser. "Okay," he says as he exhales. "Tell me what to do."
"How long has she been like this?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know. JARVIS woke me up about, ten minutes ago? I think he'd been trying to get through to her for a bit before that, though."
"Twenty minutes, then," Clint says with assurance. "JARVIS takes ten minutes to get her to come out of these episodes by herself before he alerts one of us. Okay. Here's what you do. If she's dressed, strip her. Get her under the blankets and get her warm. You should be perfect, you supersoldiers are like goddamn space heaters. She needs skin contact. The more, the better. Talk to her, quiet and calm. Doesn't matter what you're saying, just talk. Tell her war stories. Tell her about you and Bucky raising hell. Natasha sings inappropriate Russian lullabies to her. Rhodey talks about college. Just talk. And do not mention her father. Ever. You got all that?"
"Yeah," he says, using his free hand to try to get her to unfold enough to do as Clint's telling him. "Skin-to-skin, keep her warm, keep talking, but not about her father."
"Perfect. Do all that, and she'll come out of it. Right now, she's sinking, Rogers. She needs an anchor that is warm and comforting and safe. Hear me?"
"I hear you," he says, and pulls the jeans off her legs. Gets her arms up enough to strip the shirt too. He can't bring himself to remove her underthings, though, so he just arranges her on the bed and tucks the thick comforter around her. "What if that doesn't work either?"
"Give it thirty, forty minutes. It takes time. But if she hasn't started coming out of it by then, call me back. We'll figure it out from there."
"Alright," Steve says, steps out of the puddle of fabric around his ankles. "What is it, though? What's happening?"
There's a long pause on the other end of the call. "The ice," Clint says, quietly and with more compassion than Steve's ever heard from him so far. "She dreams of it, sometimes. It comes through her mark. She thinks she's in the ice with you."
Fucking God. Steve's eyes go to Toni, and horror claws at his gut. He doesn't remember the ice, doesn't try to remember the ice either, because he knows it's a terror his waking mind mind will never need to process. He would never have even dreamed Toni would be affected like this. How long has she dreamed of the dark cold? Has he forgotten because she remembers? Is it her shoulders that bear the weight of-
"You got this, Rogers?"
Steve slams back into his own head. Swallows. "I got this," he says. "I'll call in forty minutes." He hangs up and slides under the sheets, pulling her tight against him. She's cold and quiet against him, and his only indication that she's breathing is a faint, but steady whisper against his collarbone. He folds as much of himself as he can around her, tugs the blanket tight behind her to chamber the heat.
"Clint says I'm supposed to talk to you," he says awkwardly, "and I have no idea of what to say. Off the battlefield, I'm really not all that great at speeches or monologues. I wish Bucky had told me this might happen, because I would have had something prepared. I'm just going to do my best here, and hope it works."
And his mind goes completely blank, mouth open but no words coming out. Desperately, he dredges his memory for anything, wishing briefly and futilely that anyone other than him were here. For the first time in years, he wishes his mother was here. She'd know what to do, she always knew how to take care of the hurt and the sick.
"My mother would have liked you, I think," he finds himself saying. "She liked people with spirit, liked people with compassion. I think you and she would have gotten along well. She used to tell me that whoever my soulmates were would be lucky to have me, but I think she'd agree with me now that I'd be lucky to have you."
He rambles on for awhile, he's got a thousand stories of Sarah Rogers to pull out of his memories, vignettes of his life before Erskine and the war. He talks about Bucky and art school, that rat-hole apartment he'd been so proud of, after his mother died. And somehow, he ends up spilling all his doubts and insecurities out into the open. How he couldn't find his mother's grave in Brooklyn, but all the graves of the men he served with were like punches in the chest for him to visit. How he sometimes can't sleep because he's afraid he's going to wake up in a new century, how off-balance he feels to see so much familiar, but nothing is remotely the same.
He shuts his mouth with an effort and checks the clock. Twenty-five minutes, give or take. Toni's skin is warm again, and her eyes are slitted open, watching him hazily.
"Hey," he says softly. "Are you back? Are you here?"
"S'not what you say," she mumbles, and her eyes slip closed. "S'posed to be 'you with me'."
"Alright. You with me, Toni?"
A smile curves her mouth, dreamily. "Think so. Not cold anymore anyway."
He tries not to wince, is only partially successful. "I was worried," he says, knows he should start untangling himself to pull back, stand up and return to his own room, but a traitorous little voice is insisting she isn't warm enough yet if she's still slurring her speech. He stays as he is. "I didn't know what happened. I called Barton. He told me what to do."
"Sorry," she murmurs against him. "Someone, I should have told you. Doesn't happen a lot. It's been a couple of weeks. Thanks."
"Not necessary," he says, and if his voice is a little rough, it's because this is indirectly his fault. The ice should be his nightmare, not hers. "I'm happy I could help." He clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "I should go," he says softly.
She makes a dissenting noise in the back of her throat, and slips her arm around his waist, as if she could hold him there by force. "Stay," she murmurs. "You're warm. It's nice. Just… stay. Please?"
He can rip a tank apart with his bare hands if he wants to, but he doesn't have the strength to resist that soft plea. "Okay, Toni," he says, and presses his palms into her back, tucking her closer and more securely. "I'll stay." Knows he's lying through his teeth when he says, "Just for a little while, until you get back to sleep."
"Kay," she murmurs against his shoulder, and her arm at his waist tightens. "Or just ... stay ."
He knows he's going to stay, then and there. When he sleeps again, which is soon after she drops into slumber, he dreams of vanilla scented waves and Toni leaning into the wind with her arms outstretched and her hair streaming like a banner behind her.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
End Notes: As always, if you like this story, leave a review, follow me on tumblr (user ID: mystillyoungself-ficlicious), ask me a question if you like. I love any and all feedback. :)
