Radiating pain in her chest makes her gasp, waking her from the dead of sleep.
She sucks in a shaky breath and clutches at her chest as she leans forward, head tipped down to avoid getting dizzy.
She pants, the ache still prominent.
And suddenly it has a name. Grief.
Tears prick and drain down her face and she sits there, swallowed in the grief for long minutes until it slowly ebbs and she can feel the way it's pushed back, sequestered into a sort of mental box and then hidden.
She looks up at the small mirror across from her bed. Another extravagance she'd purchased a bit ago.
He was grieving. He was alone in that damn bunker and was grieving and she wasn't there for them.
It had taken all of Howard's quick witted tongue to convince her that she had to keep living like normal. That a sudden deviation in schedule would be noticed. In fact, if they ever figured out something was happening and wanted to figure out when it started, all they would have to do was check the cameras and card swipes of these last few days. Their behaviors had been irregular. And the only reason it hadn't drawn attention was because it was random, isolated, and hadn't caused issues above ground.
It had to stay that way.
So after much convincing, and a kiss that had made Clint red from head to toe, she'd allowed herself to be dragged away.
But now she regrets it. She wishes she was there to comfort him. Then she pauses. She can feel his emotions. Which means…
She sinks back to her bed, and pictures the way it felt to hold him, to kiss him, to fuse to him. Warmth spreads in her chest and relaxes the muscles she was just clenching tightly. Love, desire, and utter peace at knowing she was his floods her. She lets that feeling well up, heightened and sure to transfer over their bond.
Surprise, then curiosity, then amusement and- she gasps softly, a heightened desire returns right back at her. She swallows thickly and feels more of his sparkling amusement pass over the bond. She isn't even sure what emotions she is presenting to him in the moment but it works, effectively taking his mind off the grief.
Then longing floods her. She's known this man for such a short amount of time but she already misses him.
Soft comfort floods through her. He feels the same. Missing her as well and she closes her eyes, reveling in the connection that soothes her back to sleep.
"Temperament, genetics, and personality play a part in the soulmates bond. Strength of character tends to lead to a strengthened bond. Those who suffer through traumatic childhoods, may take that trauma into their bonds. Being a soulmate is seen as this perfect thing, but it's not. It's a partnership. Yes, it's beyond reason, it's supernatural, it claims something unexplainable. But it is still the joining of two flawed humans. Make sure you're the type of person your soulmate would want to be bonded to."
—Excerpt from "So you're expecting a Soulmate? A history of Fusion and some Tips and Tricks to Ensure a Healthy Relationship (1984)
She heads to work early. Not early enough for Howard to yell at her. But early enough she hopes to catch him alone.
She does.
Both Clint's and Howard's coveralls hang on the hooks and she sets her bag down and follows the pull of her bond towards the small area they'd set up and hidden for him to reside in. It looked like a large section of shelves (conveniently in a square shape and pushed up against a bunker wall). The shelves held pieces of large metal ductwork, cleverly arranged so no one could see in. Then they'd disassembled other shelves and taking the top sections to attach to the tops of the square to make it look like the area was 10 shelves deep when in fact it was hollow and there was a large living space inside. They arranged a crawl space to the right of it, a small entrance that was just big enough for him to get in and out and covered by other miscellaneous objects.
She is heading in that direction when he appears in front of her, the next large shelf down. Maybe 30 feet between them.
Her throat runs dry at the sight of him and his slow spreading grin is the snap she needs to dash forward, the absolutely crushing need to touch him, feel he was alive, safe, in her arms.
He envelopes her, wrapping her in his arms and satisfying that crushing need by crushing her against him.
"Steve-" she breathes out, "I missed you."
"I missed you too." He responds, pulling her back to look at her, "I'm sorry about last night."
She grows somber, "what caused it?"
He sighs, "I think I just needed a moment to mourn everything. Losing the war, disappearing, leaving behind some friends and-" he grimaces, "knowing my failure has allowed the death of millions and millions of innocent lives."
Now she knows why it was such a strong desperate feeling. "I'm so sorry…" she pulls him close, "about everything."
He nods against her, acknowledging her comment but staying quiet.
She glances up and he looks down. And it is the most natural thing in the world as she goes up on her tiptoes and he leans down, their lips meeting.
It's fire, and burning ice. It's soft and firm and tingling and sparkling and everything. Her hands find his hair and his hand drags across her back, dragging her up onto his boots, lessening their height difference.
It's an overwhelmingly powerful grip on her entire being, this man who now holds her heart, her soul. But there's something entirely comforting about it, peaceful, because she knows she holds his. A steady thrum, a powerful beat against her, his sense of being so strong she'd be incinerated if her own soul didn't pulse at the same frequency.
Now she understands.
She would kill for him. Would rip anyone to shreds who even looked at him-
"No—" she blinks, missing the feel of his lips, as he looks down at her, frowns, "no."
She tilts her head, "no?"
"That's what Schmidt accused us of. Psychotic killing machines if their partner was threatened. He made us out to be dragons hoarding a mutual treasure. I understand the feeling—" his eyes search her face, thumb running over her cheek. "I'm not against us doing almost everything in our power to keep each other alive but no—" he shakes his head, "do not kill for me."
"You wouldn't kill for me?"
"In self defense yes, if it was absolutely necessary and the only option. But that's it. I would always trade places too, to keep you alive, but I would not have you kill someone simply because they were a threat to me." Then he stops and looks at her, "you didn't say that out loud."
She blinks back in surprise, "I didn't… I thought it…" She gapes, "you can hear my thoughts!"
He frowns, "it wasn't so much thoughts it was… feelings but more… specific." he laughs, "I think I can feel your thoughts." He wrinkles his nose, "can you feel mine?"
"I don't know, think something at me."
His eyes get serious and he gazes at her, their eyes locked. It's not speech, or a specific image, but it's like a thought she can touch with the soft tendrils of her soul.
Beautiful, the thought echoes, colors swirl and heat sinks through her, fiery, a sense of goosebumps ripple over her skin, dangerous,
She laughs, "you think I'm dangerous?"
He grins, "I think you're dangerous to me." he clarifies, "lethal."
She steps back up on his boots, getting closer but not quite to eye level, "oh? And how so?"
"I may not kill for you… but I would die for you."
She frowns, "you better not. We're going to figure this out."
He nods, "I know… But the thoughts you were having… I get them. I understand that same feeling. Many soulmates do—" he clears his throat, "did. But that's what Schmidt used to make us sound insane. So we can't fall into that trap."
"Why us?" She asks, looking at him in genuine curiosity. "Why did the soulmate bond keep you alive for me?"
The slow smile returns, "I don't know, but I want to find out."
She returns the grin, "me too."
"Once Schmidt had declared his victory, all remaining known living soulmates were to be disposed of. However, Schmidt declared their fusion to be a mark of rebellion and wanted them punished first. They decided to use the procedure that had been instrumental in them winning the war. This included gouging a deep recess where the original fusion happened, then cauterizing the wound to burn off any chance of healing. Then, as a final blow to the soulmates' rebellion, Schmidt ordered dialysis of the blood. A procedure engineered by his second in command, Dr. Arnim Zola. This ensured that each soulmate felt disconnected and estranged from their soulmate before and up to their death.
- Excerpt from "A History of the Fusion Separations"
She hears the door open and she turns, wondering if it's Howard or Clint. Perhaps both, since it's obvious they both arrived late to give them time together.
She looks at Steve who is beside her, reading a text she had found for him on the war.
He had been frowning the whole time he'd been reading.
"Is it safe?" Howard (of course) called.
"Yes," she snapped, "we're in the book section!" Just Howard appears and he looks positively exhausted. "Did you sleep at all?"
He shrugs, "working, too busy to sleep. How's the morning been?"
"Enlightening," she rolls her eyes.
He grins, "how so?"
"We can sense each other's emotions and more specifically, sense each other's thoughts."
"Oh—" Howard lights up, "that was pretty common, but still amazing."
"We have to be listening though." Steve says calmly, placing a finger between the pages to hold his place as he closes the cover, "feelings run pretty consistently, like background noise, but I have to be thinking and wanting to know her thoughts to sense them."
"Same," she adds, "which is probably a good thing. Having two sets of thoughts would get confusing."
Howard is nodding, "anything else?"
"Not yet." Steve answers, "I'm actually sort of surprised something else has already popped up. Usually it takes a while like I said yesterday."
Howard studies them for a minute, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced with something somber and thoughtful, "I don't think you two are anything normal."
She bristles, "what do you mean?"
He waves her away, "nothing, forget I said anything." his demeanor shifts, the sarcastic scientist returning, "I have lots to do to make up for the last couple days before Phillips hands me my ass." He gestures to Steve, "any chance you know what some of this stuff is?"
Steve looks around, "you guys… don't?"
Howard laughs, "this is going to be my favorite."
Clint shows up within the next twenty minutes and is properly baffled by what he finds. Steve is pointing at items, stating its name, function, and even a rough timeline of when it was invented. His level of knowledge startles them but he shrugs, "this was all commonplace knowledge."
"Commonplace?" Howard asks shocked, "we've been staring at these items for hundreds of years, and you've answered 50 mysteries in less than half an hour!"
Steve doesn't seem to know what to say other than, "sorry?"
Howard laughs, "are you kidding me? Don't apologize! This is perfect! I've been plagued by a lack of knowledge for years and I hate not knowing!"
Clint huffs and they turn to him. "If we suddenly know the answers to all the questions they're going to get suspicious, and if they get suspicious they're going to figure this out and then-"
"We're all going to die." The three of them finish with eyerolls and sighs. This has been his repeating phrase every hour or so.
He frowns at them. But then gestures sharply with his hands towards the shelves, "you think I'm wrong?"
"No," Howard says thoughtfully, "you're not wrong. We're going to have to go about this in a smart way."
So it was decided that Steve would help them archive all of the items, but then they would only report things they could come up with a valid or reasonable explanation of how they figured it out. He would be helpful for that, stating what textbooks or literature might mention the items that they could pretend was "how they discovered the purpose".
A few days later, Steve laughs, "no shit, one of these survived?"
Howard peers at him, "You know what this is? Was it used during the war? A torture device of some kind?"
Steve blinks and then laughs harder, joy filtering through her in wildly amused waves, "no, no—" he laughs and tries to breathe, "no it's—" he lifts the lid, "it's a tanning bed."
All three of them pause, and she tilts her head, "a what?"
"A tanning bed." He gestures to his arm, "people would lay in them for a certain amount of time to get tan."
Howard's eyebrows shoot up, "what!? They'd radiate cancer into their skins on purpose?"
Steve frowned, "People thought tanned skin was beautiful, so they did whatever to achieve that."
The thought baffles them, but they move on. An older iteration of the kitchen appliance they refer to as toaster is pointed out. Steve is surprised it's retained its name although the shape is different.
A house vacuum called a roomba. A music device called a record player (no records have been located yet, Steve seems saddened by this. A lava lamp that isn't really a lamp at all, a small robotic animal he calls a dog that was not for use other than entertainment. A club that wasn't used as a weapon, but for a game called golf. There was a scientific machine that Steve tried to explain, something they used to scan brains with a type of large magnet. Howard was fascinated, she and Clint thought it was barbaric. What they call ice receptacles used to be called refrigerators.
He helps them search through medical books, school texts or other literature, knowing what names and terms to search for to explain their findings. Then he asks if they've seen movies or read certain fiction books that might mention some items. They ask what fiction is or what movies are. He looks very saddened by that as well. When he asks what they do for entertainment, they explain that there is public radio controlled by the government, there are educational projections they watch in school or during required celebrations. They can go to research readings or to the parks. They can attend government socials where they are able to meet potential partners under the watchful eyes of their Cohesive Council.
He asks if there are dance halls, bars, or bowling alleys.
"I've read about all those things in that school textbook," Howard states, "what were they like?"
Steve's eyes and emotions are overwhelmingly sad as he describes them. All three of them listen in rapt attention.
—-
Once they'd collected a list that was on the almost too long side, they go to the sequestered corner and sit down. She has no qualms about squeezing into the chair beside him, pressed against his side.
He is radiating joy at her presence. There was an undercurrent of worry. Worry about the future, but overall there was a firm flow of peace. Belief that somehow, through it all, it would work out.
It was suffocating in the most refreshing way possible. He believed in them.
And she believed in them too.
For some reason, that night was harder to leave him than the last few. The urgency of Clint's impending doom (seriously, we're all going to die, you guys) has faded.
And she didn't want to leave his side.
But Howard gives her the same speech and she knows he was right.
"Alright, alright." She huffs, "I'm going to go, just-" she looks over to Steve who is working one of the cooktops (it's called a kitchen stove, Steve explains) they'd uncovered, cleaned, and plugged in, in his little area. "A few more minutes."
Howard rolls his eyes but says nothing in return. Unzipping his coveralls as he walks away.
"You all eat very healthy." Steve comments, eyeing the oats, dried and fresh fruit and the rye bread that Howard had rummaged up.
"What did you used to eat like?"
He shrugs, "A lot of it was processed," he says, "although you could find organic, fresh produce and make your own breads and things. It was just more convenient to eat out or at a fast food place."
"Fast food?"
He laughs, "never thought I'd be sad that someone didn't know what a McDonald's was."
"McDonald's was a food place?"
He nods, "yeah, terrible for you. Great soda."
"What's soda?"
He blinks, "you guys don't have… soda?"
She moves her shoulder, "I've never heard of it."
"Carbonation? You know… CO2-" he waves his hands, "and other things in your drinks?" His eyes widen at her confusion and he sighs, "I mean… It wasn't healthy. It is kinda sad though that you don't even have the choice."
She tucks her knees up under her, watching him pick apart the slice of bread, "maybe just under 200 years ago, there was a movement to control the population's diets more strictly. We're small in number. And getting smaller. The genetic pool, like Howard said, is getting shallower. And so death by unhealthy lifestyles is expressly forbidden."
He gapes at her, "it's forbidden?"
She nods, "we need everyone to be a healthy childbearer in the genetic pool."
Steve frowns, "they kill babies willingly but forbid eating junk food? Jeez."
"Junk food?"
He wrinkles his nose, "it was just a term. Candy or other stuff that wasn't necessarily healthy for your body. Eaten as treat or— to celebrate or I don't know. You didn't really need a reason. It just was an option." She feels his agitation and she is puzzled by it, can't miss something you've never had. Except a soulmate, her thoughts remind her.
"Are you alright?" She finally asks when he stays quiet.
He grimaces, "Schmidt was…" he heaves a sigh, "he believed that the gene pool should be controlled. There had been a war, maybe 70 years before where people thought only good bloodlines should be allowed to live. Only certain genetics that this group deemed superior." He looks off, and she can sense the grief, this time numb and muted, "and thankfully they didn't win. But 70 years later Schdmit started the whole thing again. First it was the small things. People who were born missing chromosomes or with chronic ailments." He blanches, "It was vile what sort of propaganda they put out. People fought back, tried to say how blatantly awful it was. But he was smart. He started causing divides and framing it as "this group's" fault or "that type of person's" fault." He sighs and closes his eyes. "I remember, when I was little, and he'd decided that people who had been born without limbs were less than. They should be given a 'peaceful exit' out."
She blinks, "people used to be born without limbs?"
"Occasionally." He looks at her, "they aren't now?"
She shrugs, "I don't know. I've never witnessed one." Her brain flits through memories, "but…" dread fills her, "perhaps they don't allow them to survive long enough for people to know about them."
He nods, "it's possible. It was one of the final straws that caused the soulmates to start to rise up against him. It took them too long in my opinion. But everyone always hopes things will 'go back to the way they were'. People always hoped for the best in others but never usually did anything to be the person they were hoping for. Schmidt had spies and people everywhere. He wanted power. And he was ruthless, terrifying. People bowed to him in fear and his numbers grew." He looks at her sadly, "then he went too far. We never found out exactly what, but his soulmate decided he wasn't worth the horrors and she left him."
"No one knows what caused it?"
He shrugs, "I would have thought she would have ditched him long before. He was a menacing dictator in his own country, and then began to overreach into the surrounding areas. I never understood why she stayed with him for so long." He looks at her, the back of one finger stroking her cheek, "or… maybe I do. I figured she either agreed with him, which is why she stayed, or she didn't and she would have left much earlier. But she was with him for almost 23 years before she left." His emotions are strangely twisted, sad and tired, "and he absolutely lost it. That sort of betrayal is almost unheard of. It's actually-" He scrapes his top teeth lightly against his tongue in thought, "I think she tried to remove her fusion site. I think she tried to cut off the connection so he couldn't find her. It's what I believe gave Arnim Zola the idea in the beginning. If she removed the flesh, probably as a defiance or hope it would loosen the contact, Schmidt would have known it immediately. That betrayal by her? I think it got her killed. And killing your own soulmate?" He shakes his head like it's unfathomable. Which is a sentiment she can agree with. "That's what caused him such pain and full out insanity… In retribution for what happened to him and what he did, he inflicted his rage onto every pair of soulmates he could."
They're quiet for a long moment, just letting all of that information sink in, when she finally asks, "How long did the war last?"
Steve thinks, "I was 16 when I joined up. It wasn't just soulmates fighting. Although the ones who had abilities or special powers always took the front lines. Anyone who disagreed with Schmidt's views and weren't afraid, signed up. I fought for 8 years before I went down in the plane but the war had been going for a few years before I was in it. If it ended shortly after I got lost… 11 or 12 years maybe?"
She shakes her head, hair moving with the motion, "that's awful."
"It was. And horrible things were happening even before an official war was declared. But once his focus shifted to soulmates being the problem, it took on a whole new warfront. Suddenly people decided that they cared because it affected a much larger portion of the population. People were outraged that he would go after something so revered and traditional. But hadn't had an issue when he went after the innocent and those who didn't have the numbers to stand up for themselves. It was a sickening time. And he managed to twist stories and lies about what soulmates were and what their plans were for the rest of the world." His face is somber, "He kept chipping away. Outrage turned to confusion which turned to suspicion which led to a shift in the tide of the war. I couldn't believe people believed him. How can people believe something so wrong and so horrible?" His eyes are tired, "but they did. Fear mongering, divisive media, blatant lies proclaimed as truth. Political agendas declared as security." She leans her head on his shoulder, "it was devastating."
"I'm sure."
"You said there's only 400 million people on the planet?"
She nods. "About."
"Are they all in the city were under?"
She wavers her hand. "There's two cities, but we're less than 100 miles from the other. We're the only colonies on this planet," she clears her throat, "at least that's what they told us."
"Right," he answers, remembering he'd been told that. "What's the weather like?"
"It's moderate most of the time. Doesn't get too hot or too cold."
"Does it snow?"
"Very very rarely."
"Does it get humid?"
"No, it's pretty dry."
"Lots of rain?"
"Not really. Maybe a bit more in the beginning of the year and closer to the end."
"Spring and fall?"
"Excuse me?"
"You don't keep seasons." He states plainly, "but we're in a dry climate. Not much rain or snow. Moderate." He thinks… "Do you have earthquakes?"
"You are referring to seismic activity? Sometimes."
He nods, "so maybe Nevada or Utah or California, but the middle… You said it doesn't get too hot?"
"The middle of the year is a bit warmer."
"That makes me think north of the equator. So I'm guessing somewhere in the southish west of the United States. But not the desert or it would be much hotter. I can't know for sure. Everything could have changed in the last almost 2 millenia. How's your sea levels?"
"Our what?"
"The ocean. Has it risen? How are the icebergs?"
"I-" She's startled by the questions, "I don't know. They don't alert us to anything environmental unless it's a new edict to follow."
"You use electricity. Do you still use coal?"
"What's coal?"
"I'll take that as a no." He's thoughtful, "maybe the environment is thriving without so much pull on its resources, but the way it was achieved wasn't worth the price." He scrubs at his face, "it's kind of a lot to take in."
"I agree. It's strange to hear the other side after a lifetime of being lied to."
"I'm just glad it was you who found me and not the other guys."
That makes her pause. The quiet creak of the bunker and the clack of the kitchen stove as it keeps the rest of the cooked oats warm. "I think…" She smiles at him, "I think the universe is playing its last card."
His eyes search her face as he senses her meaning, "You think… you and I?"
She nods, "think about it. You've been kept alive for almost 2,000 in a frozen wasteland, only to be plucked out of ice and straight into the hands of your soulmate?" She shakes her head, "no. This is no coincidence. The universe waited until it knew it had the right pair. The right partners." She leans forward, imbuing her words and emotions with hope and determination. "People have been getting weary of their lives. Unwilling to wed and marry only to have their children potentially killed. The government is getting worried about numbers although they pretend not to be. We need a change. We need something different." She kisses him, "the world needs you, the last fighter."
He studies her face, love at her words pouring over their bond, but there's also a confusion.
"What?" She asks.
"Why… is it still happening?" He asks. "Hasn't someone who is in power grown a brain in all this time? If the population is suffering… why not try for change? How has this trash been going on for 2,000 years?" Then he stares out at the long shelves reaching for seemingly endless miles around them. "I guess once someone has power… It's hard to give up."
"Control too." She adds, "they control everything. Our lives, food, jobs, marriages, houses, children. We're monitored at every turn." Then her mouth goes into an 'o' shape.
"What?" he asks, feeling the disbelief and growing rage.
"I think you're right."
"About?"
"They're not just getting rid of soulmates."
He looks confused, "when did I say that?"
She shakes her head, "no, before. You said they got rid of anyone with qualities they didn't deem fit." Her eyes turn to him, "I had a friend growing up. She began her bleeding but it didn't stop." His face grows serious as she explains, "eventually we were told she died. Succumbed to the strange illness." Her eyes widened, "what if they killed her? What if she was sick or unable to bear a child and they killed her!"
His eyes are wide, "have others disappeared?"
She stands, feelings heightened in disbelief, "I don't know. Death is a part of life. If we were told people died we believe them. Who knows how many were disposed of instead!"
He stands, grasping her arms, "we're going to figure this out. We're going to fix this."
He believes what he was saying. And so does she. They have to.
"Once the planet was abandoned, and a new home was located, Schmidt rose to his deserved seat of full power. He created a society in the new world with changes that benefited everyone. The eradication of soulmates meant many were free to marry those he deemed fit for them. A strong, healthy, and profitable society emerged. We're still experiencing the benefits of it to this day."
- Excerpt from "A History of the Fusion Separations"
The next day, Howard was questioning Steve about something he called a vending machine, when Margaret realized Clint was nowhere to be seen. She got up, leaving the men to their discussion and slowly and quietly searching the bunker.
It takes the better part of 20 minutes but she finds him perched high up on one of the shelves, closer to the ceiling than the floor. He's looking at her as she approaches. Probably saw her coming long before she found him. She's impressed he climbed that high and didn't make a sound. The shelves were sturdy but creaked like mad.
They stare at each other for a moment, his face shadowed by the large hanging lights above him.
But she knows him better than he'd probably like to admit. And grief for him fills her. "I'm sorry." She whispers quietly, knowing the words will carry to him.
He looks up and away from her, the lights now causing a glowing ring around his head. And the lights reflect off the tracks down his face.
"Why you?" He asks. Not hostile, not angry or jealous. Just curious and resigned in a sad way.
She steps closer, leaning against the shelf across from him and looking up, "I don't know."
"It's not fair."
Her throat goes dry but she nods, "I agree with you."
He's not annoyed at her agreement or even gladdened by it. He simply stares at the light. "Maybe…" She says softly, "maybe we can change it for the future. It doesn't take away the pain for you. I understand that, but… but we can make it better. For everyone else."
"That's if we don't die trying."
She winces, "that's true."
A sense of something starts to grow. She doesn't have a term to describe it. It's not heat or cold or anything nameable. It's just the sure feeling that Steve was getting close.
"I just think… What if we didn't live in this hellish place where I have to deal with this soulmate shaped hole. What would that be like?"
Her voice is apologetic, "it's wonderful." She doesn't say it to brag, and she doesn't say it with a boastful tone. She's not going to lie. "I wish everyone could experience what it was like."
Warm hands ring around her waist, pulling her close and she feels his chin rest on top of her head.
"What's wrong?" He asks, and she feels his genuine curiosity at her grief and sadness.
"Clint's soulmate was dead before he was born." She states softly. "We used to commiserate."
Understanding floods Steve's emotions and he places a soft kiss on her crown before releasing her and walking over to the shelf. He climbs it deftly. Not as silently as Clint must have, but still with an impressive display of agility. He shoves aside two boxes, dust raining down and sits beside Clint. "I had this friend," he starts, looking out across the tops of the shelves, "he was a year or two younger than me and we went to the same boxing gym together because our dads took us." He looks up, like he's thinking, "Matt." Steve says, "Matt Murdock. He was born like me. Wild and unpredictable because our soulmates weren't born." Clint is listening, rolling something thin and metal between his fingers, "but one day, Matt is beating the bag, I'm holding it, and he just gasps, stumbling and falling to the ground." Steve's legs hang over the edge, gently moving back and forth in the empty air. "When I reached down, to help him up, he was smiling, crying silently and laughing softly." Margaret listens, turning to see Howard there, a shelf or two down, listening too. "I won't ever forget the way he'd looked up at me, more peace and calm than I'd ever seen on his face. 'She's born,' he had said. 'She's alive'." Clint looks over, clearly wondering where this is going.
Steve continues, "but not long after and before he ever had the chance to meet her… she died. We don't know how, or why. Just one day he was at peace, and the next he was gasping, crying, grieving,. His soul knew she was gone from the earth. And he never found out who she was or what had happened to her." They're all somber. Two of them know the feeling. "Then, while we were still teenagers, he was in an accident. Lost his sight." He looks down at her. "He was devastated, of course. Not only had he lost his sight of his day to day world, but now he thought he would truly be alone since no one would want to love a blind man with the horrible things Schmidt was spewing." He shifts, sending another cascade of dust down, "but eventually he did meet someone through mutual friends, Maya." Steve smiles, "and guess what, she was deaf." He tilts his head, "do you know what deafness is?"
"Like what happens to older people?" Howards asks, moving closer, "they start to lose hearing?"
"That only happens to your older people?"
They nod. And she has a fear that perhaps babies born deaf don't last very long.
"Or if they lose it—" Clint gestures to his ears, "I accidentally lost mine when an infection caused my eardrum to burst." he grimaces "but they fixed it with surgery."
She looks at Steve and he looks thoughtful, though she can tell he's mentally along the same lines she is. That wasn't a genetic issue. Just an accident, so he'd been allowed to live.
But he doesn't say that out loud, just continues his story, "He knew hand sign language and so did she and they became very close." Gently he tosses a little box of something between his hands. "And the strangest thing happened." He shrugs, "they found out that she'd had the same thing happen. Born without a soulmate alive, gained one, and lost all before she met them." He yawns, and looks apologetic about it, "their bond grew so tight that people were surprised they weren't soulmates. They even claimed that they'd become so in sync that with his eyesight lessened, his other senses picked up the slack and he could sense her, see her in his own strange way like—" he looks at them, "do you guys know what sonar is? Like echolocation?"
They all shake their heads 'no'. Steve frowns but uses his hand gestures to try to explain, "it's the process of sound moving out and reverberating back to you, bouncing off your surroundings and creating a sort of outline or mental picture." He grimaces, "sorry, I was never an academic or anything, that's probably butchering the explanation." He gestures to himself, "so he was able to 'picture' her in a way." He smiles looking like he's remembering something, "and she got so accustomed to his body language and who he was, that she would profess to basically be able to hear his thoughts. Without him having to say a word."
Clint frowns, "is this supposed to make me feel better?"
Steve winces, "my point is this—" he gestures to her down below, "for every pair of perfectly aligned soulmates, there was a pair of people who chose to love each other so deeply despite not being soulmates." He leans back on his palms, "I remember that soulmates were everywhere. But so were normal couples. And so were soulmates who had lost their partner before they'd had time to meet, or had lost them to an accident. And it was hard. Agonizing in some causes and debilitating in others. But there was help, support. Understanding and someone who had gone through the same thing as you." He gestures to her again, "You commiserate with her, but there are thousands and millions more who feel the same way you do. Who had their chance at soulmateship stolen from them. But—" he glances to Clint, "we can change that. We can make sure no one else feels the way you do. And maybe you will find someone who is not a soulmate. But someone you've chosen to be yours anyways. Almost more special if you think about it. You're choosing them in a world of soulmates where the choice is made for them."
Clint takes a deep breath and scrubs at his face. "I still think we're going to die."
That breaks the tension and she laughs, feeling the amusement Steve feels filters through their bond.
—
Phillips looks at the list and raises an eyebrow. "Making up for lost time?"
Howard looks nonchalant, as he always does when being questioned about something that could cause their untimely deaths, "we've been trying a new category structural system and its taking us longer to figure it out, so we just went back to the old way, so you're getting recent and a backlog."
Phillips doesn't question them, and he just signs the form and sends it through the slot where she hears the scanner zip across it and hears the woosh as it's sent to filing. His secretary exits the room and Phillips' eyes get narrow and his voice calm. "Draw less attention to yourselves." He says, addressing the three of them. "You work in the proverbial minefield. You've stepped on one. Don't move until you have a sure plan. Understood?"
Fear grips her. He knows. How does he know?
Howard frowns, "yeah, yeah, easier said than done." He snaps out.
Clkint groans and she can hear his repeated phrase echoing in all their minds.
But he thankfully does not say it.
—-
"You can trust Phillips." Howard assures her later that day. "He was the one who pointed the stuff out to me when I first started working here. But he's one of the very few we can trust."
"Does he know about Steve?" She asks.
"Of course." Howard looks at her like she's slow, "we needed to start getting more provisions inventoried so that there's food for Steve to eat. There was going to be strange energy pulls from him living there. I needed him to know so he can cover our tracks. He was already suspicious when Pierce came down to inspect the plane. I've been keeping him up to date since. If he wanted us dead, we would be."
She feels terrified, and a bit relieved. Confusion and curiosity filter from Steve over the bond at her ranging emotions and she tries hard to relax to not stress him out.
—
She's laying in bed, missing Steve's presence rather dreadfully when she feels amusement and she sends back curiosity.
He must be focusing very sharply on his own thoughts as she senses his meaning over their connection.
Peggy
The word is almost clear in her mind, as if he had said it outloud.
Just recently Howard had once again complained that her name was too long and didn't fit her. And Steve had said there used to be a nickname for Margaret back in his time but he couldn't remember it.
But now he has.
The moniker draws an instant smile from her face. She likes it. It fits.
Her obvious delight at it seeps to him and he seems rather pleased.