Chapter 14
I gently put my peach colored dress into the suitcase. So many colors, fabrics, and textures explode from the case. Already I have two stuffed full. That's without my necessities. Well, as they say, when in Rome…
Bucky and Steve are boxing downstairs. I told Bucky I would pack for him. As much as possible he needs to train with Steve. Although Wanda will be able to protect us, it wouldn't hurt to have a buff and fully functioning super soldier around to help. Not to mention the therapy and closure it will bring for Bucky.
I think back to the first time they fought. Bucky had left, angry with his disability. Now, I saw them laughing as they headed to the gym. Bucky was saying he was losing his abs. Steve said he was getting a little chunky.
One of the things I love about doing mundane things, is the opportunity to think. Now, all my thoughts are absorbed in Bucky. I try to stop, think of other important things, but my mind just goes back to him one way or another. Even when we are apart, our synapses fire and connect, sending shocks to remind us that the other is still there and in love.
I seem to float around the room. Air is just another floor, one that touches my lover as well, caresses his face when I cannot.
I zip my suitcase close. Now for Bucky's.
It seems silly, but seeing as I'm wearing socks, I take the opportunity to 'ice skate' across the floor. Scott is coming out of his room near Bucky's. He stares at me wide eyed. Then suddenly he does a little tap dance past me, and slides out of the hallway, smile plastered loosely on his jolly face.
Gosh, I'm going to miss him.
It shoots me in the heart. I hadn't realized it until now. What will my future be? If Bucky and I remain a couple, once we come back from our Europe tour, will I live here? Will I help the Avengers?
It's possible I'll forever live with Scott. If we forever live here, on this compound. But Steve doesn't seem to think so. I can smell the anxiety in the air: anxiety to go and help. To fight for their love ones and return home to them, victorious.
I slip into Bucky's room. His suitcase sits open at the end of his bed. A lone blue shirt lays in it, hastily folded.
Soon I'm snuggling colors next to each other again. Bucky only needs one suitcase for clothes though, so I move on to necessities. The daurer slips out of the dresser. Papers fly around me, souring like airplanes.
Surprised, I lean down and pick one up. From the back I can see pencil scribbles. When I flip it around, a gasp fills my cheeks.
It's me. Drawn in gentle pencil flutters across the whole page, there I sit in my white leather chair. Gazing out of a window as it pours down rain outside. A solemn look is portrayed on my face.
My heart bobbles around in my chest, butterflies roll in my stomach. He drew me. And not a stick figure either, an amazing pencil sketch. I fly to the ground and gather up all the ones that fell. There are dozens more.
Ones of me eating, talking to him in my chair, laying in my bed listening to music, watching a movie and laughing, sitting at a table and quietly grinning. Small moments trickled into lines of memory which were woven across the page.
When did he do all of these….
I dig through the drawer, taking the drawings, and bringing them into a plain of introspection before me; they become movies, which becon thoughts, which beckon emotions. Two warm hands wrap around my waist.
Warm breath, then a kiss is pressed upon my face gently. I feel Bucky's soft hair tickle my cheek.
"You found my drawings."
Turning around to face him, my arms wrapping around his neck, I say, "How, and when, did you draw them. They are… amazing," I breathe.
Bucky chuckles. A small grin creeps onto his face, and his eyes sparkle when he looks at me. My heart is practically jumping out of my chest.
"Ever since I met you. It was hard, with my arm missing, but you are worth it. I guess I just could resist capturing," Bucky's smile draws near to my astounded lips, "Your light."
His lips enfold mine, and his kiss is soft, barely nipping at the bud of lust. My hands move through his hair, wishing I could absorb myself into him. Wanting to be closer, to have him consume the being he has already consumed the soul of; the pulse to be closer.
We just stand, in our own space, separating our past from the present. Polarizing.
/
It lays there. Cold, hard. The phone practically mocks his facade.
Everyone thinks of Steve that way. They know he cares, but he is so rigid. It's like the ice from those years wound it's way to his heart to survive there, peircing through until it showed in Steve's very nature. But that's untrue.
Steve was ripped into a future that brought back his nightmares. The Tesseract was teased with by the government, used to make weapons, undoing what Cap risked his life to stop.
Ultron came. Steve was mocked and haunted once again. He could just never escape that horrid war. PTSD was a terror in itself. His body rejected it, saying he must be strong.
But then the war was between the people he cared about the most. The walls of his heart were ripped down, shredded to pieces. Regret had been shrouding him. Steve had to stay strong for Bucky. Now, one of the final pieces of the puzzle is fitting in. Stark.
This reconciliation will be the foundation for healing. Steve has always been a man of the people. And he sees his family healing. The war will always be a part of him. There is no denying that. But he has to let go of constantly fighting it, at all and alone.
Steve picks up the phone, his forehead wrinkling with the age his soul is. Each number is like preparing for a battle: typed in slow, then all of a sudden facing the feared. Stark picks up instantaneously.
"Yep."
"Stark," Steve says quietly into the phone.
A gasp, a fall, and a scrambling. "Steve?" Tony whispers loudly in disbelief.
"Yeah, it's me Tony."
"What… Why are you calling?"
Steve sighs. "I felt that my letter didn't explain everything.
"I just want to say: I'm sorry," Steve says softly.
Tony doesn't say anything. Steve hopes it's because he was touched.
"I broke apart the family, I made so many mistakes. I bring the war with me Tony, and it was inevitable. It's impossible to fix those things though, and I still don't agree on the Accords. But," Steve pauses. He was rushing, trying to press all of his regret out at once. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry. I'll say it a hundred times, but I don't blame you if you don't believe it."
Steve waits, staring for an answer; scavenging like a wolve for the forgiveness he needs. He won't find it all in Stark, but it's a beginning.
"I forgive you." It's one of those rare moments when Tony's words aren't smothered with sarcasm. One of the first words he has spoken to Steve in months is that which he has wanted to say from the beginning. A flood is released in Tony's brain.
"You weren't the only one who made mistakes," He mumbles. "The only thing I ever did for the Avengers was give my money, and screw with their lives. I think we're even."
"No. Tony, I don't think anyone has ever made this clear to you: We love you."
Stark is quiet on the other end, absorbing the words, softly lubricating his heart.
"You're not just some billionaire without a heart. Us- Wanda, Clint, Scott, Sam- know what you have done for us. You may have made your mistakes, but that does not overshadow your worth to us."
"Um, well," Stark says sarcastically. But Steve can hear the emotion flooding his voice. "Ross has been loading me up with work. And I haven't seen anybody helping me, so let them know they're slacking."
Steve chuckles and Stark does a little, deep, fluttery laugh. A recovery from the love pressed upon him so violently.
"You know I'd like you to come here. I just don't know if it's possible."
"No, yeah, of course not, you have to keep your butts in check. I understand that. Vision has been giving me one h*ll of a time."
"There may be one solution, although." Steve slowly has a grin implanting itself upon his face. "Call us back in an hour."
"Sure, because it's not like I have a million papers to fill out and calls to make."
They both know that in this moment, things will get better. The seed has been planted; ascendancy and reconciliation grow nearer by the second.
/
Clint bursts into hysterical laughter. "You…" He gasps, tears welling in his eyes, "Were so excited," That kind of uncontrollable joy when you absolutely cannot tell a story makes the deconstruction of Clint's story, "That you gasped, burned your finger, then knocked your head on the table, and passed out."
Scott crosses his arms indignantly.
Wanda is giggling right along with Clint. "Don't forget how when he got into his suit he was so excited about meeting Steve, he tripped and fell on his face."
"I could never forget that." Clint says, a deep and serious look masking his face. Until, that is, he spurts out laughing again.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny you guys. Well, you know, the last trip I had before that was my long car ride to the prison. Passing out and tripping wasn't half as bad," Scott says indignantly. He pauses for a moment, eyebrows frowning. He sighs then says, "I am a mess."
Everyone in the room raises their beers to that. I raise my sweet tea. Because I am a wimp, and choked when I first tried alcohol. Like a true Southern, sweet tea is better any day.
Nat and Sam surprisingly devised this impromptu going away party. Everyone seems in high spirits. I honestly couldn't think of a better way to leave. I can feel Bucky's chest underneath me vibrate with mirth.
Pizza lies on the rec room table, the TV has football on, and even the king T'Challa paid us a humble visit. He and Steve talked for a bit, then pulled Natasha into the conspiracy. I could tell whatever the news, it was good. T'Challa also gave Steve some kind of device.
It feels so nice to know that it's ok for things to be good. Sometimes you can't believe in it. The fact of joy is that it must be true. If even a smidge of doubt cloges, then disparity will soon devour. But this just feels right.
Peace has waited a long time to permeate these walls. The ever oh so white walls have waited a long time to be a reflection of cleanliness. They will never reach that fully; humans will always sin on earth. Our doubts and past mistakes may choose to haunt us at times. Only to make us stronger, though. We will come through it.
"I know this, uh, might be uncomfortable for some of you," Says Steve, opening his arms slightly and leaning forward. The laughter and chatting spread about the room halts. "But this is something that I believe we all need to do."
Everyone looks around. Sam questions, dark eyebrows raised, "What it is Steve?"
Steve pulls a sleek piece of metal from his pocket. It is bigger than the phone, and has more buttons. He slowly types in a series of numbers into the device. A white square of light shines through a dark glass hole on the metal.
Dial noises. A man's face transcends upon the screen. Stark. Behind him sits Vision and Rhodey. I feel Bucky tense.
"I believe it's working," Vision says, very helpfully.
A thrill runs through me. Steve set this up. That means he talked with Stark. This could be gargantuan.
"Yes, Red, we got that," Tony says, looking back at him. They form a triangle on either side of Stark. Vision looks robotic (This is the first time I have seen him, and good grief, he does remind me of red skull a bit. Steve was right.) and Rhodey looks rigid. Grim and worried looks crease their faces.
I can see Stark looking at each of his family members at a time. First Wanda, then Clint, next Scott, Sam, Bucky, and me. All on our side of translation look severe. This is the final battle in the war they have all been fighting. The climax has been reached in the Avengers family. Stark and gang may not be here, but their eyes and souls are. They are searching, searching for an ounce of familiarity or love.
"Um, so," Stark begins, ever so gracefully. "We just wanted to say hi. Hope your life has been going well, thought we would give this new thing called skype a try. Pretty cool, huh Steve?" Tony is bubbling over with sarcasm. Well, some things never change.
"Tony," Rhodey says behind him. He slowly limps closer to the screen and that's when I see the metal on his leg. Oh, right. "What he means to say is: We wish we could be there to say this, but we have to seem complacent with the government."
"Yes, he is right. They barely trust us now," Vision adds. I have noticed that his eyes have almost never wandered past Wanda. "Except, they seem to find my statistics quite interesting, which is rather a nice change."
"Yes, well at least someone does," Stark says.
Nobody on our side has spoken. It seems to hit Tony at that moment. The silence, with his sarcasm and fake cheer inside it, seems to now be echoing loudly. He sighs, and rubs his forehead.
He looks at Wanda. She has tears in her eyes. Whether it's from missing them, or anger, I have yet to determine. "I know what I did was absolute sh*t. When I locked you up, I swear, it was only for your protection. But I realize that you're not a kid, Wanda. You have seen more than anybody, at any age, deserves too. And then the prison… Well, you know how hard sorrys are for me, but I'll say it anyway. I'm sorry."
Stark looks at Sam. "I honestly don't know what I did to you man, but whatever it was, I know I was a jerk. I'm sorry." I see Sam's frown soften. He nods gently. It's enough.
Scott is next on his line- up. "Same for you, Scott. I know you got pulled into this because of me. I'm sorry."
"No worries man. I got to meet the frikin Avengers because of this!" Scott says, slapping his friends backs.
Stark loosens up a bit. Forgiveness seems to be peaking through the mountains like sunlight.
"Clint."
Clint straightens. He seems indignant to whatever Stark wants to say, but I see his expressions shifting like sand.
"When I created Ultron, you brought all of us to your home. As much as I am still mad about you not telling us about your family, I realized something. That's what I wanted. You showed us a house, full of people who loved, and who were safe. You inspired us to restart the Avengers. You didn't deserve to be ripped from your family like we all were. I'm sorry."
Clint sniffs, and wipes his eyes a bit. Everyone lets out a little chuckle. I can see Steve's small grin through all of this peeking out even more. Emotions bubble in everyone's eyes, threatening to pop with the slightest trigger.
Tony's voice cracks. "Bucky."
I look up. Bucky's mouth stays like a line inscribed in stone. But his eyes made of waves and sand.
"All that you did- all- was not your fault. I was a total a*s to you. And I can't begin to imagine what it would have been like to kill all those people. Especially-" Stark pauses, as if trying to catch his breath. He hastily takes a sip from the glass of water in front of him. A cough, and then, "My parents."
Nobody has to stay in the room. They could leave, never come back. Stark could hardly blame them. But when the war has been long, when it has torn your family, all you want to do is come back home.
I have no part in this, yet I can't leave. Not just because Bucky is gripping my hand like a lifesaver. Because I can't miss the moment I have been waiting for. I float like a ghost, always on the interim. Nobody notices me.
Everyone is captivated.
Tony speaks to everyone. "I've been here working for Ross, trying to get through the gosh dang awful- you're welcome Steve- paperwork. And I've realized that you were right. We can't save the world here doing desk jobs." Tony raises his eyebrows, and points his finger indignantly. "We also can't always work against the government. I feel, and you know it is unusual for me to act all mushy, like all this happened for a reason."
Vision pops in once again. "Technically, I don't believe that things can-"
"Shut up," Tony says.
"Well, I just-"
"Anyway," He turns back in annoyance. "I want to say one final thing: I, um, love you guys. And I want you to know, that while I'm not there, I'm right here, working for you. Whenever something happens, I'm ready to suit back up again, because dear heaven above, I am done with this office job. Is this how normal people always live? Gosh, it's dreadful."
"We miss you guys. Stay safe," Rhodey says.
"Yes, stay healthy." Vision looks at Wanda, and smiles ever so slightly.
"Tony," Wanda stands up.
He was about to turn his side of the device off, but he turns back.
"We love you too. Thank you."
She fumbles with her hands, as if trying to clasp an imaginary palm.
"Thank you," Bucky adds softly, too. I can see Steve's eyes begin to water more dramatically.
We all stand up one by one. Each repeating that same phrase: Thank you.The light is fading in the background, colors coming in between us, shining behind us towards Tony, Rhodey, and Vision. The light is rising at the compound. Ascendancy over our situations, our loves, our fears, is slowly climbing.
To be a part of healing, to be part of the clot that scabs over the wounds of time, is one of the most beautiful things. And to find love in the midst of that? It just goes to show that something grander is out there. But while that is true, sometimes that grandeur can be condensed and shown in the smallest compound, in a small place in Africa, where love has won over hatred and anger.
/