I was gone for so long! I had some personal things to take care of, some self-care to see after. I'm back now and I still love this story and you few who follow it! Tried to get it out ASAP so please enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Marvel's
Chapter Fourteen - The Night Folds Her Wings
Amira didn't sleep. She wasn't even sure if she ever closed her eyes. The calmest comfort she found was staring blankly into the unwavering glow of her lamp – a glow which she prayed would scare away the tremors that came and went.
She wasn't stupid; she knew what this was that made her rigid with fear but she was more afraid of telling someone than she was of the nightmares. This wasn't the time to derail the search for Emil with her problems. Stronger soldiers than her had seen worse and fared better. This fear was weakness and the team couldn't withstand a chink in the armor now. It would be another chore on the growing list.
The warm cordiality she had shared with Bruce felt too brief now. She wished she could bring back the contented feeling that came with easy conversation.
In an instant she went from relieved to almost manic, sweating and staring into the light, fighting against the dark intruding thoughts.
It wasn't until the sun crept into view that she was able to stand and breath fully. In the light, she could escape from the killing floor in New Mexico. It made her feel better to see the people below go about their lives. It gave her comfort to not feel so singular. Shiva was slowly becoming a punishment. She would be glad to finish with it in the evening.
She came away from the window of her apartment after a long consideration of what she saw. When she was satisfied, she took her seat on the floor again. Shiva might have become a trial for her, but she still wasn't ready to face the Avengers.
She would not close the blinds today. She would not turn off the lights.
Amira nervously worked her hands through her wet curls. They tended to stay damp for longer than was convenient after she had showered. Steve Rogers stood awkwardly in her doorway one hand holding his wrist. She touched her hair because she barely knew what to say. She had a hard time stifling her admiration for the captain. She blushed and so did he, both out of sheer social ineptitude.
"I spoke with Clint. Said someone should drop in on you. Said you shouldn't be alone for so long." Steve finally said after a moment. Amira looked at her feet and then at him.
"I'm glad Clint is making sure everyone knows I'm a wreck."
"Now, he didn't mean that. Just worried about you, that's all."
"I know," She chuckled, "I think. He's always looked after me somewhat." Cap scratched the back of his neck.
"Please, come in." She said, coming to her senses. "Sit." He closed to door behind him.
"I'll stand." She opened her hands, palms up 'makes no difference to me' and sat herself down on the floor. Steve looked all around the disheveled room, with the sheet-covered mirrors, concern touching his brow.
"I gotta say, it seems lonely." He said from above her where he stood. She laughed at his frank statement.
"Well, you're not wrong."
"Sorry, I didn't think-" He stuttered. She waved her hand and smiled.
"Please, it's fine." She insisted. "It is lonely. Normally, you do it with family." She studied her cuticles so she didn't have to look him in the eye.
"I see."
"Though," Amira drew her knees up to her chest, "sometimes it seems like I'm lonely even if I'm in a room full of people I know." She looked up to see him staring straight at her, jaw set. He blinked once.
"Loneliness is tricky that way." He said. "It can find you anywhere."
"Suppose I should get better at hiding." They were both quiet for a long time. Amira was beginning to suspect she had bared too much.
"I have found it helps to make friends."
"Suppose I should get better at that, as well." She repeated. He gave her a crooked smile and nodded.
"I don't figure you'd have to look too far."
"Speaking of looking." Steve didn't break eye contact. Something in his silence told her all she needed to know. She wasn't surprised. "Nothing, then."
"This is a matter of national security. It isn't just a problem for the Avengers to solve. The best intelligence analysts our government has to offer are working around the clock." His presence was strong and assuring. He was obviously practiced in giving pep talks to members of his disheartened crew.
"I shouldn't keep you here, in that case." Amira said, trying her best to sound optimistic. "Between finding Emil and the gala, it's going to be impossible for you to have any moment to yourself." He nodded in agreement but stopped short and cocked his head.
"Gala?"
"Um." She toyed with the hem of her shirt "Tony's...charity...gala?" She squeaked, growing quieter with every word. Amira suspected that she had completely sold Tony out. Some secret agent she was. Steve groaned and rubbed his chin.
"I have to go." He said, beleaguered. Amira was embarrassed but she wasn't very far from giggling at the little havoc she had caused.
"I understand." She stood and shook his hand. "Thank you for visiting." His grip was firm and warm. He turned her hand in his and patted the back of it.
"When you're ready, we'll be happy to have you back." She blushed, suddenly ashamed. It would be easier to hide then to ever go back. Perhaps Steve could see that in her – the quivering cowardice.
"Thank you." She mumbled, and her hand was freed from his grasp.
Bruce stood, deep in concentration, brows joined, his fingers worrying his bottom lip. He stared at her door like it was beating him at chess. He'd been standing there for a full minute trying to decide whether or not he should knock. In the cool, hushed hallway, he totaled the pros and cons.
'Pro: It wouldn't be out of place to drop in. She has been visited by the others. Overheard Clint and Natasha discussing it.
Con: The potential to creep her out by appearing again. We just spent a sizable sum of time alone on the roof.
Pro: It was actually really nice. Nice is normal. Maybe it was nice for her? (Requires more thorough research)
Con: EVERYTHING YOU MORON. PLEASE REMOVE YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR ASS.
…
Pro: It's also nice when she laughs. And she smells good.
Con: ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW? IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?
Pro: It's important that we become familiar. She is, after all, supposed to look after me- The Hulk, that is.'
He paused the tormenting of his lip to brush his fingers along the matte surface of his cuff, feeling the soft and steady feedback of her pulse on his wrist.
'Con: It is a very bad idea, Bruce. You know that.
Pro: I'm entitled to a little humanity.
Con: Betty.'
"Betty." He whispered. His heart dropped.
He decided to leave before his internal deliberation began again. Unfortunately, before he could turn to leave her door swung open. He froze. Any rapid movement would be interpreted as shady, no doubt.
"Dr. Banner!" Steve said, surprised to see the dark haired man standing before him. Bruce plastered a stilted, almost manic looking smile on his face.
"Cap." He greeted, perhaps too excitedly. His eyes flicked to the interior of Amira's apartment. He could see her looking quizzically at him from where she sat. He looked back at Steve and then back at Amira.
"I-I was just headed back to the lab." He jammed his pointed thumb over his shoulder. Steve's confusion melted into a more civil veneer.
"I'm glad you're here. There is something I need to discuss with Tony, you should be there." The captain fell comfortably back into active duty mode. Bruce didn't hear the rest of what he said - not really. He looked over Steve's shoulder and Amira was no longer there.
"It's reckless. Completely inadvisable." Steve bellowed across the table from Tony. "I know you're really proud of the devil-may-care attitude you've cultivated for yourself, but I didn't think you could be this stupid."
"Don't get too worked up, Cap." Tony casually rebutted. "We wouldn't want you to throw your back out before the party."
"There will be no party." Steve braced himself on the table, his strong arms outstretched and coiled with frustration, held back. "Fury will never-"
"Fury already gave me the okay." Both Bruce and Steve dropped their jaws.
"You're not serious." Bruce said, from where he leant against a desk.
"He isn't."
"Cross my magnetic field generator," Tony knocked on the fixture in his chest, "and hope to die." Steve's lip curled.
"Cute." Bruce said, rolling his eyes. "You realize that you're painting a huge target on our backs. What'll it be? One hundred and fifty? Two hundred of the most affluent people in the nation in the same room?"
"That's the point." Steve said, shaking the table with a pound of his fist. Bruce, refusing to believe such an accusation, looked to his friend. Stark have him a penetrating gaze. Bruce swallowed hard.
"You're going to get people hurt, Tony."
"You haven't seen my guest list." Stark handed Steve a detailed dossier in the form of a tablet. Steve grabbed it, suspicious of it's contents. "It's time to cut this wild goose chase bullshit and start being pragmatic. Every day we let that gilled psychopath walk around free, we are losing." Tony threw his arms out. "We have to make a play."
"What is this?" Steve asked, a hundred faces, names, and details flashing on the screen.
"My guest list." Tony said, as if he had called checkmate. "Hand-picked by Fury himself."
"A trap." Steve murmured.
"Not a very elegant one. Surely, Emil and whoever is puppeteering him will be wise to what you're trying to pull."
"It's better than nothing, which is what we have in heaps right now." Neither Steve or Bruce could refute him.
"And, hey, if nothing happens we all had a great time and saved the rain-forest. Win win."
"So," Steve set the tablet down and looked around incredulously, "why isn't the rest of the team here to go over the plan?"
"Two words, Mr. President." Tony said, clapping a hand down on Steve's shoulder. "Plausible deniability."
Steve slightly recoiled, looking perturbed. He looked to Bruce, who merely shook his head and told him not to worry about it.
Bruce waited to catch Tony before he left for his suite. He grabbed him by his arm and pulled him aside.
"Can I get a word." Bruce looked side to side, to make sure no one would hear. It had the effect of making him look rather paranoid, as Steve had left twenty minutes ago.
"What's up?" Tony said.
"Just for the record, I'm still not sold on this plan of yours."
"And?"
"We're still in the heart of New York." Bruce explained. The tinny humming of computers and occasional bleeps and bloops almost drowned out the quiet scientist's words. "I'm still a ticking time bomb."
"We have a contingency plan for that. Or did you forget about Lightfoot?"
"We haven't tested her. We haven't seen any evidence that she could do a thing for me." Tony sighed.
"You need to trust her." He said, looking Bruce square in the eyes. "I've seen what she can do. Thor can't even see through her cloak." Bruce couldn't respond, but he was still so uncertain.
"Why don't you pay her a visit before it gets too late. Do some team building exercises or something." And before Bruce could raise another complaint, Tony was around the corner and out the door. Apparently, he had other things to think about, like thinking about what Pepper was going to think when she found out he had turned her gala into a clandestine government assassin reunion.
The sun set on Amira for a third time where she sat.
Her bones popped and complained as she stretched. Her cuts were beginning to knit together and sky was clear. She ripped the sheets off of the window and forced herself to deal with her own reflection.
It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be.
Her eyes seemed to be blacker then ever, embedded deep in her skull on the soft hewn shelf of her cheeks. This was, no doubt, a result of her exhaustion and lack of sustenance. She had taken very little food since her confinement. Still, to her, she appeared to be wearing a mask – something was guarded in her eyes, where they rested beneath her heavy eyelids.
Maybe she would always look this way.
Despite the nightmares and the occasional nausea she still felt a small sense of pride. She had done right by her family and saw to tradition. She liked to think that her mother would be deeply proud of her for seeing it through. She didn't feel much better and she didn't feel God's warmth but her sense of duty was well satisfied. Perhaps now she could do something different; something for her.
With wet hands, fresh from the wash, she fluffed her hair – tried to make it look pretty, even. A loose fitting shirt was pulled on and a pair of comfortable jeans were stepped into. She hefted the small cask that Thor had gifted her. She grabbed a glass from the kitchenette and slammed the cabinet door shut.
She set her hand on the door handle, ready to leave her apartment. Before she could turn the handle she bit her lip and had an interesting notion. Without stopping to dwell on the silliness of what she was doing she bounded back to the cabinet and grabbed a second glass.
No reason. Just because. At least, that is what she told herself.
Amira turned to corner around the large maintenance boxes where the lawn chair and milk crate rested. She was inappropriately disappointed to find the chair quite empty. She huffed and set the cask down, none-too-gently and then did the same with her body. She decided quickly that she wouldn't explore those feelings that caused her to be so irked at the absence of a certain grumpy scientist. Feeling visceral embarrassment she pulled her hair and groaned.
"What's with the barrel?" She yelped and uncrossed her legs so clumsily that she almost rolled backward. She pressed a hand to her heart and glared at the source of the voice.
"You're up late." Bruce said.
"I could say the same to you." She couldn't cut the embarrassed anger out of her voice. "You scared the life out of me." He didn't try to conceal his smirk.
"Sorry." He chuckled. "How about a peace offering?" He held up a plastic bag. Her eyes flicked from his hesitant face to the bag and then back. At this point, she was playing at being put out. She was immensely happy that she wouldn't be alone.
"Perhaps." She said haughtily. The truth was that she was ravenous, but she would use the last of her energy reserves to make at attempt at flirting. "What restitution do you offer?"
"Does the offended party prefer pancakes or french toast." She bit her lip and let out an involuntary hum of anticipation. Both sounded divine but she was running out of cute banter so she decided quickly.
"French me up." She said, for a moment, reveling in how cool she was coming off. Bruce cocked his head, smiling incredulously. And then she screamed internally, loud enough to shake the stalactites loose in her head. She could feel magma-hot blood rush to her face. A series of stuttering half sounds tumbled out of her mouth.
"French toast. Please." She blurted. "I meant that I would- I prefer french toast." Bruce had the grace not to laugh at her but she still wasn't done babbling.
"French toast, me. Pancakes, you." She pointed for emphasis. There was a heavy silence between them.
"Just to clarify, you wanted the french toast?" Bruce began, teasing her openly now.
"Ugh, leave me alone. My brain is tired." She laughed, raising her hands in surrender. Bruce made no apologies for his ribbing. Amira was glad. He approached and sat a safe distance from her. She could smell the contents of the takeout bag and it made her stomach lurch violently with want.
He handed her a styrofoam to-go box from the bag and a set of plastic silverware.
"It's a little unconventional." Bruce said, opening his own box. "But breakfast is my favorite food."
"Just all of breakfast, in general." Amira snickered and unashamedly sucked a bit of sticky, sweet syrup from the tip of her ring finger. He shrugged.
"Most people just pick one thing." She declared. "Not Bruce Banner, no. He claims all of breakfast." Bruce was appraising her; he wore an easy smile but Amira could tell he wasn't just going to let her dog him like that. She took a big bite of french toast and almost cried. It was even sweeter with conversation. She dramatically hummed her pleasure.
"Nirvana." She drew the syllables out. It had been too long since she had french toast.
"Enjoying yourself?" He asked. She nodded, her eyes closed and her mouth curved up in an uncensored smile. It was sincere. Bruce came through with some incredible breakfast goods.
"Frenched up?" He jabbed. She nodded and looked off in the distance.
"There it is." She said, jaded. He definitely didn't miss her little – well she didn't want to call it a Freudian slip but a spade is a spade, after all. "I thought you were better than that, Banner."
"I don't know what gave you that impression." He murmured, spearing a pancake chunk. He was looking very typical tonight. Perpetually exhausted with charming floppy curls. His button down was an adventurous shade of gray.
She wouldn't change any of it. Not a thing.
They ate in companionable silence for awhile until Bruce pointed out her cask. He jabbed his fork in it's general direction.
"What's going on with that?" He raised his eyebrows at her. It's true it was a rather odd thing to lug around. She somewhat wished she had left it in her room. She wasn't certain she was ready to remember much of anything. She just wanted to live in the incredible french toast present.
"I don't know – I kind of brought it up on a whim." She crumpled up her napkin discarded it in her empty container. "Thor gave it to me." Dissatisfied with her answer, he didn't respond until she elaborated.
"As far as he explained it's some pretty incredible Asgardian booze."
"Ah."
"It's for mourning. Something you drink to remember the one you lost." Making up her mind, Amira tipped the cask over onto her leg and leveraged it there. The glasses clinked together as she scooped them up. She snorted.
"It's magical, or so he says. I assume that he was taking artistic license." Bruce shook his head.
"Careful." He warned. "Asgardian 'magic' is very much real. They are millenniums ahead of us, technologically speaking." Amira chuckled and found the handle on the cask spout.
"Well, I don't know if you're caught up on the state of affairs, but global unrest is at our doorstep and it is knocking." She poured a couple of fingers of ale into her glass. "Considering all of this," she paused and studied the shimmering amber liquid in her glass, "I am going to drink the magic beverage and try not to consider the consequences." She smelled it and sighed with appreciation.
"Can I offer you a glass?"
"I'm going to pass." Bruce politely declined. Amira was disappointed but not upset. She felt the thrum of her cuff pick up pace.
"Fair enough." She swirled the sjaund in her glass and let it breathe. She wasn't certain if she was supposed to, it just seemed like something that someone who knew anything about alcohol would do. "So, you think the Abomination has everyone's nuclear launch codes or just ours?" She mused.
Bruce had been holding his breath. He blew it out all at once and looked very uncomfortable suddenly.
"Jesus." He said. He ran both hands down his face as another exhalation hissed through the cracks of his fingers. "You know what, I will have a glass actually." He looked wracked with anxiety now, but she was selfishly pleased. He scooted close to her. She could reach out and sweep the curls off of his forehead.
She poured him a share equal to hers. He tentatively took the cup from her. Their fingers brushed.
She knew her pulse jumped but so did his.
They both studied the liquid, flecked with minuscule particles, swirling like a molten gold galaxy in the bottom of their cups.
"Well." Bruce said, sounding uncertain. "Who do we toast to?" He knew who but he wanted her to say it.
"To Aaron." She said, pained but smiling. "I wish you were here."
This wasn't just a platitude. She could give anything to have him here, sampling Asgardian ale. Then again, if he were alive, the ale wouldn't be in her possession.
"To Aaron."
They clinked glasses.
"L'Chayim" Amira murmured sarcastically as she brought the glass to her lips. They both sipped, as Thor had advised.
"God, that's sweet." Amira breathed.
"Very sweet." Bruce agreed.
"But good." She realized, shocked at the dimensions of taste the little sip carried. Her ears and throat burned pleasantly. She was suddenly so wonderfully warm and happy. She could smell something now, something so familiar. The warm aged interior of the classrooms and Professor Xavier's school. The bustling grounds, the hushed secrets shared in the dorms were all so alive. She felt it like she was experiencing it all over.
"Whoa." Bruce shakily intoned. "That's different."
Amira could only laugh because she recalled with such clarity what Aaron looked like with braces. She could remember where the sun was in the sky when she and Aaron were accepted into the S.H.I.E.L.D. training program; how strong and alive he was when they embraced joyfully.
She looked at Bruce with astonishment but he wasn't laughing like her. He was staring pensively into space and rubbing his chin, apparently grappling with the intense reminiscence. She twisted her mouth into a mischievous smirk.
"I know I couldn't possibly say anything more predictable but-" He looked up when she tapped his leg with the back of her hand. "Do you remember the first time we talked? On the balcony?" She shook her head giggled. "You were so cranky!" He looked unsure, afraid. She urged him on with a wide eyed look.
"Cranky is my modus operandi." He said, smiling at his drink. "At least I wasn't as awkward as you were."
"God, you're right." She snorted. "I wish I didn't remember that."
"No, it was- it was good." He worried his hands. "You were funny."
"But you were so mad at me! You were like-" She clapped a hand over her mouth. Now she was feeling tipsy as well as bewitched. There was absolutely no stopping Amira saying what she was thinking now.
"Like what?" Bruce asked. He too had somewhat succumbed to the drink. His eyelids were heavy and half-mast.
"You were like an angry, sexy professor." She confessed. As soon as she said it, she knew she may have crossed a lined. Thankfully, the hazy bliss prevented her from feeling any shame...yet. She studied Bruce's reaction, trying to keep a confident 'I dare you' look on her face. Bruce pondered something and toyed with his bottom lip – it was his tic, she noted. It made her itch with anticipation. She started to feel hot with humiliation.
"I remember," Bruce began, he finally met her gaze. The muscles of his jaw flexed once. She was sitting on her feet, leaning forward absolutely rapt. "I remember that the run in your stockings ran all the way up to your hem."
She didn't know what it meant exactly, but it made her burn with something ephemeral. He said it in such a way as to make it indecipherable yet urging. A booze-fueled Amira was not one to turn her nose up at opportunity. A booze-fueled Amira didn't even know the meaning of the word regret.
She leaned forward, hands planted on the ground on either side of Bruce Banner, and pressed her lips against his. It was only for a moment. It had been barely a second before she pulled back, waiting with baited breath to gauge his reaction. She licked her lips reflexively. She hoped he didn't notice. The sweetness of his lips made her dizzy. His eyes were boring into hers. She was prepared for an admonishment. She wouldn't even mind. At least she would know something for certain.
"You-" He stuttered.
"Yes." She admitted. "Yes, I did." And it felt great.
Bruce surprised her by leaning in. He watched her mouth with intent as he closed in, as if it were an object of scientific interest. Gingerly, he brushed his lips against hers. She could feel his pulse now on her wrist, it was practically stinging. Both of his hands crept up to cradle her cheeks. Amira pressed into his timid kiss to taste him again. He was warm against her but unsure.
It was a chaste exploration and it didn't last. They slowly broke apart, neither of them knowing what to say. Amira couldn't even form complete thoughts. Bruce was still so close to her. She could smell him and whatever incredible detergent he used.
Pieces of a memory, like shards of glass pieced themselves together. It was Aaron, lecturing Amira over questionable mess hall fare.
"You gotta keep the upper hand. Shock and awe, Amira. Blitzkrieg. Make sure the only thing they think about for the rest of the week is you. Amira? Are you listening…?"
She never thought Aaron's romantic advice would ever apply to her but she praised the Nordic deities that the sjaund helped her remember that snippet.
She leaned in again, this time to send a message.
"See you tomorrow, Bruce." Amira whispered in his ear. He shivered. She pressed a kiss into his cheek, reveling in the slight scratch of his stubble against her.
"Good night." He said. It was almost a question. Amira like to imagine it was almost a plea for her to stay. She collected her cask and her glass. She made sure to offer him one more foxy smile before turning to leave.
Aaron was right. Bruce looked puzzled, devastated, and desperate all in one. It seemed the right reaction, that much was certain.
It took all of her concentration and skill to make sure she departed gracefully – sensuously, even.
"Shock and awe." She murmured to herself as she left.
There Bruce sat, doing the math over and over again in his head. He burned where she touched him. He could still feel it on his cheek.
It was stupid, he knew it was incredibly stupid.
It was also thrilling. Galvanizing.
He was so used to wallowing in the past that living in the present for even those few seconds had the effect of a lightning bolt on his soul. He kicked himself for being so timid. He double kicked himself for letting her go.
"See you tomorrow, Bruce." And he hoped he did see her too. How could he even dream of sleeping?
He would think of nothing else but that run in her stockings. Not for the first time, he wondered just how far up that run went.
This was hard and weird to write. Up until now there was just sort of a tense cordiality between these two. I'll definitely be back to fiddle with this.