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iamthenightcolormeblack · 3 years ago

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Pride and Prejudice 1940: "When Pretty Girls T-E-A-S-E-D Men Into Marriage"

Made during the Great Depression, this classic black and white film is loosely based on Austen's novel and is set in what is likely the 1830s rather than the Regency Era (late 18th century to early 19th century). It is an escapist piece which capitalizes on nostalgia for a simpler time by transporting its viewers to a chocolate-box vision of the past, while paying homage to Austen's social satire by delivering plenty of laughs along the way.

Overall Thoughts on the Film:

The first time I watched this movie, I was confused because the plot as well as the setting was revised significantly (the events after Darcy's first proposal are changed to hasten the happy ending; Darcy's letter and Elizabeth's visit to Pemberley are not included in this movie). This changing of plot points makes the 2005 movie a much more faithful adaptation in comparison with this version, in spite of the creative liberties both take with the novel.

Production Design:

The movie is a typical example of Golden Age Hollywood productions, with beautiful actresses and melodramatic flourishes added to increase the drama. Some of the lines are delivered very quickly, in keeping with the comedic style of the time.

The music: definitely not historically accurate. A lot of sentimental, "ye olde timey" string arrangements that emphasize emotions or fast-paced waltz music for balls/parties.

The 1830s costumes are beautiful; it seems as if no expense (or quantity of fabric) was spared in making them. The bonnets are way taller and have more decorations than typical 1830s bonnets. Some of the patterns/fabric choices are very 1930s, and the costumes are exaggerated in such as way as to make the wearers look like fancy turkeys.

Hair and Makeup: very 1930s, with finger/sausage curls, plucked eyebrows, lipstick/lip makeup, and long lashes.

The sets: the dollhouse-like interiors are lavishly gilded and made to look as opulent as possible. Outdoors scenes are lush, with lots of flowers and bushes; the garden in which the second proposal takes place is gorgeous. The set design transports the viewer into an idyllic vision of the bucolic English countryside.

The Lead Actors:

With the exception of Laurence Olivier, the majority of the actors are American, since this is a Hollywood production. Many of the characters in the film's imaginary vision of pastoral Britain speak American or make clumsy attempts to imitate British English.

Greer Garson: while she is definitely too old for the part, she perfectly conveys Elizabeth's intelligence, outspokenness, and sarcasm. Her facial expressions are killer as well; with the arch of an eyebrow along with a snarky side eye, she captivates us all. All in all, Garson effectively shows off Elizabeth's impertinence through her nonverbal acting (this reminds me strongly of Jennifer Ehle's Elizabeth Bennet).

Laurence Olivier: he effectively conveys Darcy's pride while hinting at his deeper feelings beneath the surface (I can see why Colin Firth spoke so highly of Olivier's portrayal of Darcy). Most importantly, the film emphasizes Darcy's intelligence; he is certainly Elizabeth's intellectual equal. While this portrayal of Darcy is very accurate to the book, Darcy's pride does go away pretty quickly (he and Elizabeth form a tentative friendship early on) and his social awkwardness isn't immediately obvious thanks to his charm. Also the unflattering hairstyle with the greasy hair and painted on sideburns makes me sad.

Key Scenes:

Opening scene: The title card appeals directly to the audience's nostalgia for a sentimental, romanticized past: “It happened in OLD ENGLAND (this was actually capitalized), in the village of Meryton…” The Bennet women are at a fabric shop, where they gossip with aunt Phillips about the rich people moving into Netherfield Park.

The carriage race: this scene, which isn’t in the original novel, represents the rivalry between the Bennets and Lucases. The mothers both want their daughters to be the first to snag the rich bachelors.

The first ball: There is a historical anachronism as the music is a waltz by Strauss, who became popular in late 19th century, specifically the Gilded Age; far too early for the Regency Era or 1830s England. Other changes from the original novel include Elizabeth meeting Wickham before Darcy; other events from Aunt Phillips’ ball (which isn’t included in this movie) and Wickham and Darcy’s confrontation are included in this scene.

Elizabeth’s impression of Darcy at the ball: she puts on airs and mocks his casual dismissal of her as tolerable (definitely a parallel with the 1995 version, where Jennifer Ehle does the same, but privately with Jane).

Great comedic change: Darcy introduces himself to Elizabeth after calling her tolerable and asks if she will dance with him (this originally takes place at Mr. Lucas' ball). Right after rejecting Darcy, she instantly agrees to dance with Wickham; in a humorous moment, Darcy evacuates to a corner of the room to sulk while seeing Wickham dance with Elizabeth.

The “Accomplished woman” scene: the dialogue lifted directly from the book for the most part. Darcy, in a departure from his trademark seriousness, shows off his playful side when reacting to Caroline Bingley's "turn about the room." I particularly like this added repartee from Elizabeth Bennet to Darcy, which is clever but also foreshadows her prejudice: “If my departure is any punishment, you are quite right. My character reading is not too brilliant.”

Elizabeth can't stand Mr. Collins: After twirling about his monocle, he pronounces that: “It might interest you to know my taste was formed by lady Catherine de Bourgh.” The best part of this scene is when Elizabeth plucks a wrong note on her harp when Collins gets really annoying.

The Netherfield ball (which is now a garden party):

Elizabeth running away from Mr. Collins: She looks rather ridiculous, almost like an overdressed turkey, in a white dress with puffy sleeves as she runs away from an overeager Collins. Then she hides in the bushes while Darcy helps her to hide, telling Collins he doesn't know where she is. It's fun but most likely not something a proper lady and gentleman would do (two people of the opposite gender out alone, shock!).

The archery scene: Darcy attempts to teach Elizabeth how to shoot a bow and arrow, even though he doesn’t hit the bullseye. She goes on to impress him by perfectly hitting the bullseye every time; Darcy learns his lesson: "Next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won't be so patronizing." Caroline Bingley, very passive aggressive as usual, shows up for her archery lesson right after and it's absolutely perfect.

Mr. Collins attempts to introduce himself to Mr. Darcy: Laurence Olivier captures Darcy so perfectly in this scene (really set the precedent for Colin Firth). When Mr. Collins starts talking (inviting Elizabeth to dance with him) Darcy tries to keep himself well-composed but has a pained expression on his face as if he’s about to pass out. Olivier masters the way Darcy can look so miserable but also disgusted and proud at the same time.

Mr. Collin's proposal to Elizabeth: I like the added touch of Mrs. Bennet pulling Elizabeth back by her skirt when she tries to run out of the room. The dialogue is taken directly from the book, and the scene is made even funnier when Collins holds on to Elizabeth's hand desperately and doesn’t let her get away. My only quibble is that Elizabeth isn’t indignant enough when Mr. Collins doesn't take no for an answer.

Elizabeth and Darcy at Rosings: I like that Olivier subtly indicates that Darcy is clearly affected upon seeing Elizabeth at Rosing, hinting at deeper feelings beneath the surface. I also like how the scriptwriter emphasizes that Darcy indirectly praises Elizabeth and enjoys their conversations, while she remains convinced that he hates her. Sadly, the original dialogue of the piano scene is not included, which is unfortunate as it allows Darcy to reveal his introvert tendencies, calling into question Elizabeth's assertion that he is unpardonably proud.

First proposal: The famous opening lines are mutilated with awkward punctuation: “It’s no use. I’ve struggled in vain. I must tell you how much I admire and love you." While the rest of the dialogue matches up closely with what happens in Austen's novel, both of the actors aren’t emotional enough; instead Elizabeth cries very daintily, and Darcy remains serene, which conflicts with the book's description of both of them being very angry and defensive at each other.

THE SCRIPT:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follows the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

Brilliant Quotes:

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Mrs. Bennet's despair over the situation of their 5 unmarried daughters: “Perhaps we should have drowned some of them at birth.”

Darcy insists Elizabeth cannot tempt him: “Ugh. Provincial young lady with a lively wit. And there’s that mother of hers.”

Darcy is an arrogant snob: “I’m in no humor tonight to give consequence to the middle classes at play.” (Technically the Bennets are part of the gentry; they just are less wealthy than Darcy).

Elizabeth's reaction to Darcy pronouncing her to be tolerable at best: “What a charming man!”

Elizabeth rebuffs Darcy's offer to dance after overhearing his insult: “I am afraid that the honor of standing up with you is more than I can bear, Mr Darcy.”

Elizabeth favors Wickham after witnessing the bad blood between him and Darcy: “Without knowing anything about it I am on your side.”

Mrs. Bennet's comment after she sends Jane to Netherfield under stormy skies: “There isn’t anything like wet weather for engagements. Your dear father and I became engaged in a thunderstorm.”

Mr. Bennet's reaction to Jane's fever: “Jane must have all the credit for having caught the cold…we’re hoping Elizabeth will catch a cold and stay long enough to get engaged to Mr. Darcy. And if a good snowstorm could be arranged we’d send Kitty over!”

The sisters' description of Mr. Collins: “Oh heavens! what a pudding face.”

Caroline Bingley at the Netherfield garden party: “Entertaining the rustics is not as difficult as I feared. Any simple childish game seems to amuse them excessively.”

Darcy reassuring Elizabeth after helping her escape Mr. Collins: “If the dragon returns St. George will know how to deal with it.”

Darcy learns his lesson after Elizabeth beats him at archery: “The next time I talk to a young lady about archery I won’t be so patronizing.”

Elizabeth comments about a curtain: “Oh that’s pretty. It’s a pity you didn’t make it bigger. You could have put it around Mr. Collins when he becomes a bore.”

Elizabeth on Kitty and Lydia: “2 daughters out of 5, that represents 40% of the noise.”

Elizabeth sees Lady Catherine for the first time: “So that’s the great lady Catherine. Now I see where he learned his manners.”

Lady Catherine's attitude towards philanthropy: “You must learn to draw a firm line between the deserving poor and the undeserving poor.”

Darcy takes Elizabeth's advice: “I’ve thought a great deal about what you said at Netherfield, about laughing more...but it only makes me feel worse."

Elizabeth and Darcy have a conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam: “He likes the landscape well enough, but the natives, the natives, what boors, what savages … Isn’t that what you think, Mr. Darcy?” With a smile: “It evidently amuses you to think so, Miss Bennet."

CHANGES FROM THE BOOK:

The first half of the film up to Darcy's first proposal follow the events of the original book closely, though certain blocks of dialogue are moved elsewhere and other events such as Mrs. Phillips' party are skipped over. The most significant changes, besides updating the setting to the 1830s, are made to the second half of the book to squeeze the key events of the story into the movie before delivering the inevitable happy ending.

With the exception of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the portrayals of the characters are (generally) true to the book.

As I said earlier, the film neglects any sort of historical accuracy when setting the story in romanticized "Old England," where genteel people pass simple lives that revolve around dresses, tea parties, social gossip, and marriages. A lot of Austen adaptations present an idealized vision of Regency life, where people are dressed immaculately, flawlessly adhere to "chivalry," and find love in the ballroom. This contributes to the misconception that Austen's novels are shallow chick-lit books with flat characters who live for lavish parties and hot men, instead of stories of unique, complicated women who happen to be well-off but aspire towards love, respect, or independence instead of being content to make economically advantageous marriages. Austen's novels are character novels and she doesn't waste time writing about dresses or tea parties; balls, while exciting, are just another part of daily life for her characters rather than some Extremely Big Special Once In a Blue Moon Event.

Austen's multifaceted view on marriage turns into a game of matchmaking. She recognizes it as necessary for women to survive in the patriarchy, since they cannot provide for themselves unless they marry well, but at the same time, presents marriage as a means for freedom if it is a loving partnership between two people that respect each other. In contrast, marriage is a game of manipulating the partners into wanting to marry (ex. Lady Catherine and Darcy's trickery). Also, it seems to be a given that Elizabeth will marry for love, unlike in the book where it is uncertain whether she will achieve this.

Kitty and Lydia's antics are viewed much more sympathetically as those of young people having fun; in the book, their behavior harms the family's social reputation, reducing the chances the Bennet daughters have of making good marriages.

Louisa Hurst, Georgiana Darcy, and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are not in the movie.

Wickham is introduced much earlier than in the book; he is friends with Lydia from the very beginning. Interestingly, he doesn't begin to trash-talk Darcy until Bingley leaves; in the book he does so much earlier, before the Netherfield ball.

Darcy is more considerate towards Elizabeth at the Netherfield party (ex. rescuing her from Collins), until he overhears Mrs. Bennet scheming to get the daughters married. Elizabeth forms a tentative friendship with him until finding out that he separated Jane from Bingley.

Jane is more obviously heartbroken over Bingley's departure than in the book, where she keeps her pain to herself. In the movie, she runs away to cry, which is uncharacteristic of her.

Collins is a librarian instead of a clergyman. I dislike this change because some Austen scholars/fans think that Collins being a clergyman is a deliberate choice as part of Austen's social criticism. Collins is representative of how hypocritical the Church is, since he worships Lady Catherine's wealth instead of God, and preaches moral lessons instead of actually using religion to help people. My theory is that the change was made because of the Hays Code, which led to the censorship of movies for "unwholesome" or "indecent" things; the religious criticism could have been offensive.

Elizabeth reacts rather too kindly to Charlotte marrying Collins by showing concern for the loveless marriage. While she does worry about the lack of love in the marriage, initially she is extremely surprised, outright shocked, and confused.

The scene where Darcy tries and fails to talk to Elizabeth (the "charming house" scene in the 2005 movie) just before the proposal is removed.

Darcy's letter is skipped over and Elizabeth overcomes her prejudice of Darcy very quickly, as shown when she tells Jane she regrets rejecting his proposal. This is contrary to the book, where overcoming her prejudice is an emotionally exhausting and slow process that continues all the way up until the second proposal.

The Pemberley visit is removed; instead, Elizabeth returns home to the news that Lydia has eloped. Visiting Pemberley is very important as part of Elizabeth's re-evaluation of Darcy's character and provides an opportunity for Darcy to show Elizabeth that he has changed for her. The visit is key in increasing Elizabeth's love for Darcy, and removing it means that the characters have less personal growth (also wouldn't it have been great for the audience to be treated to another gorgeous estate of "Old England?"). Instead, Darcy visits Longbourn on his own and offers his help in finding Lydia. When the news comes that Wickham accepts very little money in exchange for marrying Lydia, it isn't as shocking as it is in the book because Darcy had already expressed his intentions of helping Elizabeth earlier.

Here's the change that bugs me the most: Lady Catherine becomes good; though she is a busybody, her main priority is Darcy's happiness. Her confrontation of Elizabeth is a scheme hatched between her and Darcy as a test to be certain of Elizabeth's love. This does not make sense on so many levels: first, Darcy insists that "disguise of every sort is my abhorrence," so why would he resort to trickery, however well-intentioned, to find out if Elizabeth still loves him? Second, Lady Catherine is a social snob and objects to Elizabeth's low connections; also she has an arranged marriage planned for Darcy. Third, in the book, because Elizabeth likes Pemberley and gets along really well with his sister Georgiana, Darcy would have had some evidence that Elizabeth, in the very least, cared for him. And the added claim that Lady Catherine approves of Elizabeth because she likes rudeness and thinks Darcy needs a humorous wife irritates me further because the marriage of Elizabeth and Darcy is revolutionary since it was made in defiance of societal rules!!! Why, why, why in the name of comedy did they have to do this?!

Darcy kisses Elizabeth (in a stagey and melodramatic way) after she accepts his second proposal. Seems a bit uncharacteristic of him.

All the sisters get married at the end. Happily ever after.

CONCLUSION

This movie certainly was not aiming for faithfulness to Austen's novel; it ignores her detailed portrait of Regency era society and its attitudes and focuses on the "light, bright, and sparkling" aspect of Pride and Prejudice that gives the story its timeless appeal.

All in all, this comedy of manners is definitely a classic thanks to the clever dialogue and jokes within the script, along with some great acting.

@appleinducedsleep @dahlia-coccinea @princesssarisa @colonelfitzwilliams @austengivesmeserotonin

#pride and prejudice 1940 #pride and prejudice #pride and predjudice #jane austen #movies #movie review #laurence olivier #classic movies #we stan p&p 1940

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funkymbtifiction · 5 years ago

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What’s been your experience of knowing a person of each Enneagram type?

It’s nothing if not interesting. 😉

1s: can be principled, dutiful, and reliable. Their pet peeve is for people to be rude, irresponsible, inconsiderate, or late. I’ve known an sp 1 and a soc 1. The sp 1 does indeed resemble a 6 due to content fretting, low self esteem, terror of getting it wrong, and general anxiety, but shows 1 behaviors of obsessive cleaning, a desperate need to control everything, and rigidity in setting up “house rules.” In so doing, she has denied herself anything that is not “useful,” which I find terribly sad. She has no room for pleasure in her life. The soc 1 is far more inclined to be assertive, to correct others, to point out what they are doing wrong, and to show her anger. Much less self doubt.

2s: ah, 2s. I’ve known a few marginally and one “sort of” well, since I spent ten days with her on a visit to another state. She truly reminded me of Molly Weasley in her bustling about, her attending to everyone’s numerous needs (and ability to keep us all in line), her pride in doing things for everyone, and her sensitivities. At one point, her daughter told her, “MOM, STOP MOLLY WEASLEY-ING CHARITY! SHE’S FINE. SHE DOESN’T NEED WATER. THANKS.” Ha, ha. I liked her a great deal, but it amused me how defensively she drove – under stress, I saw her 8 come out, though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time. We all snapped to attention whenever that happened.

3s: I admire their work ethic but… the one I know offline has to find some way to impress people, no matter what. If that is in showing you his muscles and making sure you know how far he biked today, so be it. It used to be because he was proud of his professional life. Since retirement, I have seen him struggle enormously with having a sense of purpose and trying to find one that doesn’t hinge on his non-existent work. That is what worries me about 3s – getting old, and no longer having society regard them as “useful and essential” is HELL on them. Please, make sure, if you are a 3, to do the internal work on figuring out who you are, and recognizing your own worth as separate from what you do, before you reach that age.

4s: I have known a lot of 4s, some healthy and some not. I have two delightful healthy ones in my life right now – an sp/sx 4 and an soc/sp 4, and they are indeed different. The sp 4 is more internal and less aware of or inclined to change herself for others; the soc 4 looks outward, and is highly attentive to other people. Sp 4 can take on others’ pain and burdens in a sense and feel overwhelmed by it – and with both of these beautiful girls, I’ve seen it turn them toward compassion. But they do tend to run high on “drama.” It’s not a song, it’s an opera. I knew an unhealthy 4 once who was hell-bound to remain miserable and a victim wallowing in her pain and thwarted (almost sadistically gleefully) anyone’s attempts to help her rise above her bad situation. She wanted to stay there. And she drove everyone who knew her insane. Eventually, she lost all her friends due to her being the wet mop all the time -- which of course, fed into her sadistic happiness at being miserable, abandoned, and unloved.

5s: can be callous at times, just because they are so lacking in emotional self-awareness and so fixated on logical solutions, but they will give it to you straight if you ask for it. They tend toward severe social awkwardness—think Mr. Darcy at the Netherfield Ball. Most inclined to disappear five minutes after you meet them and remain unseen until you leave. I knew a five once, the father of a friend, who would call out hello to me as he walked right past me, straight down into the basement, where he hid for hours among his books. Given he had a house full of giggling, silly girls, I don’t blame him. He was truly Mr. Bennet.

6s: can be either the warmest, funniest, most loyal people you will ever meet – or the biggest pains in the butt, and I say that as a 6. I know one other sp 6 and he reminds me of myself, just older and male – we both are hilarious, we both tease people to establish a rapport with them, we both crave feedback and support from trusted others, and we both swing between concern and optimism. But unhealthy, paranoid 6s are out in force right now freaking everyone out about the COVID-19 and the world doesn’t need that. It needs HOPE. So for heaven’s sake, put down the freak-outs, the paranoid accusations, the wild conspiracy theories, and accept that your worst-case scenario projections are just that -- the product of your own scared mind. It may or may not happen, and trust me, 6s, I know damn well that your worst fears usually don’t happen anywhere except in your head.

7s: are enormous fun to go on vacation with, but can be flakes. Lovable ones, but still flakes. They promise more than they can deliver and then avoid you rather than face up to the music when they realize they don’t want to do what they promised. They are hilarious, witty, optimistic, and their enthusiasm is infectious, but sometimes they fail to realize that not everyone wants to be endlessly teased, mocked, or come home to a mountain of stuff followed by a maxed-out credit card bill. Life is not always a joke, sometimes it is serious. And they are inclined not to finish a serious conversation if it in any way makes them uncomfortable or feel like they’re about to confront part of themselves.

8s: I have only known one and… there are things I like about her. Her courage. Her ballsy attitude. This woman made a place for herself in a man’s world, in a time when that was not done. She bulldozed her way to the top. Unfortunately, she never shut off the bulldozer. She has burned bridges behind her, made countless enemies, and gets into foolish personal and legal fights because she refuses to back down from anyone, and will turn anything into an argument. She lost my mother as a friend, because she thought bullying her was a good idea. My mother set up polite boundaries and the 8 trampled them, something my mother does not forgive. Something 8s need to remember – what is fun for you (you consider fighting “bonding”) is not always fun for someone else who is not an 8. Being an 8 is an asset, but only if you learn to tell the difference between a threat and a non-threat.

9s: are some of the most precious people on earth, but also the must frustrating for me, because I see them being mercilessly treated by the rest of the world, which tends to walk all over them. I wind up counseling 9 friends who are frustrated at ‘not being heard’ but cannot find it within themselves to assert themselves in any way, or think they deserve to be heard, or know how to recognize what is NOT okay. Being a 9, a peacemaker, someone able to understand everyone’s point of view, is a valuable gift, but you cannot use it for good if you are incapable of believing you deserve good things, too.

Each Enneagram type has a health level. You can find them at the Enneagram Institute. Figure out which level is ‘you’ and start working toward the next one up, through conscious choices. You don’t have to stay this way. Your life is yours to command.1s, you don’t have to be perfect. 2s, you don’t have to please others. 3s, you don’t have to win every time. 4s, you don’t have to stay in a place of self-loathing. 5s, you don’t have to fear trying things. 6s, you don’t have to be afraid all the time. 7s, you don’t have to run away from everything. 8s, you don’t have to turn every discussion into a fight. 9s, you don’t have to give everyone whatever they want. It’s time to take back your life.

- ENFP Mod

PS: Most of these examples come from my extended family, none of whom follow this blog, so if you’re one of my friends (unless you are the 4) -- I’m not talking about you. ;)

#question #enneagram #enneagram 1 #enneagram 2 #enneagram 3 #enneagram 4 #enneagram 5 #enneagram 6 #enneagram 7 #enneagram 8 #enneagram 9

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thestanceyg · 4 years ago

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Of Drowned Flowers and Apologies

A little ficlet for @dresupi. She knows why. Darcy/Spencer. Reunited.

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Darcy opened her door to find a man so soaked he almost resembled a melting ice sculpture. “Spencer?” she asked, wondering if it was really him.

“Darcy.” Her name was more like a sigh. He held out his hand. “I brought flowers, but I don’t think they survived.”

Darcy stood still, dumbstruck by the whole scene before her. Finally she shook it off. “Jesus, Spencer. Get in here. It’s cold, and you’re wet.”

He stepped far enough inside that she could close the door, but no further. Darcy told him to wait while she ran to grab some towels. Luckily, she still had the pair of pajamas she had bought him for his birthday but never had the chance to give him because the relationship had imploded. It had only been two months, but the days had felt so long since he had called her to say that he didn’t think it was working; that the distance was too much for him to handle.

She had eaten a whole pint of ice cream and drank an entire bottle of wine that night.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” she said through the bathroom door as he changed and dried off. “Leave the clothes on the floor. I’ll throw them in the dryer or grab you a bag. Whichever you want.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, opening the door. “Or, at least, I hadn’t planned to be here.”

“Oh?” she asked lamely, leading the way to the kitchen to make somehow chocolate. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“It wasn’t planned,” he said again. “I was halfway here on the train when I had realized what I was doing.”

“You could have just gone back home,” she pointed out, putting the milk on to heat.

“I didn’t want to.” He settled into one of the bar chairs. “I wanted to see you.”

She was happy she was facing away from him and had a chance to react to that without him seeing her face. She mixed the cocoa powder, sugar, and cinnamon into the warm milk while she let her breathing return to normal. He had crushed her two months ago, but he didn’t get to see her pain. It wasn’t his place anymore. And even though she knew he wasn't like that, she also didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

“Why?” she asked, stirring slowly.

“I just want to fix this,” he said in a broken voice. “It was a mistake, breaking up with you. I’ve been miserable for the past two months. I thought the distance was hard, but not having you at all has been much harder.”

She felt guilty that she was happy to hear he had been hurt by the breakup too. “It hasn’t exactly been sunshine and rainbows here either.” She paused for a minute as she shut off the burner. “And I mean that literally tonight.”

It wasn't as funny as she meant it to be, but she heard a little huff of breath from behind her and took it as a win. She snagged two mugs from the cupboard and poured the hot chocolate, finally facing him again once she placed the mug in front of him.

She watched his long fingers curl around the cup, and it made her miss the way he would grab her and and twine their fingers together.

“I’m sorry, Darcy,” he said, searching her face. “And I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know what I did was unfair to you, but I’m going to be selfish and ask for that chance because I desperately want it, and I can’t have it if I don’t ask.”

Darcy rolled the mug between her hands while she thought. “I don’t know that I can trust you again,” she said slowly.

“I understand. I can be out of your hair right now.” He stood from the chair.

“See. This is what I mean. You didn’t let me finish. You just made a choice for us without letting me talk it all out. If the distance was a problem, you should have told me. We could have talked about how to try and alleviate the strain. I won’t have you making all the choices for us.”

“I can’t make choices for us if there isn’t an us,” he replied, his hands on the back of the chair, drumming an agitated rhythm.

“You also will not be making those choices if there is an us,” she said pointedly.

“Anything,” he said. “Anything you want is yours if you’ll give me another chance.”

She smiled for the first time since he arrived. “You’re going to be doing all the best kinds of groveling.”

He smiled back. “Can’t wait.”

#darcy lewis #spencer reid #darcyxspencer #my fic #ficlet #for dres

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years ago

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viper | s.r.

summary: you would laugh at the irony — bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, they kiss n stuff so ig its cute sometimes, civil war discourse, guns, unstable reader, also TREAT YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS RIGHT or ill come beat you with a BAT lmk if i missed anything pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!Reader word count: 12.5k

a/n: written for hann over @sunmoonandbucky!! and i’m so sorry this is late! this is a stand-alone kinda prequel that occurs in the same universe as come undone so sorry yall steve is still an asshole and this ain’t up to snuff but i was having trouble keeping it a reasonable length (like maybe less than 15k???) my prompt was “i bet they have a sex dungeon” but i reworded it just a tiny bit. gif not mine

It begins with “Maybe I can get Thor to come down,” and “Only if you call your blondie first.” (You add you could pretend to put a gun on Jane and he’d instantly come down in a blaze of white and rainbow light — Jane retorts with the fact that Steve Rogers bought a bouquet of roses on your first date a week after you began being her shadow and writes you hand-written letters every second week. The instant you call, he’ll come running)

It begins with a friendly competition between Thor and Steve, who are not even present, but love the women there just as much (Thor would say he loves Jane more than Steve loves you because everything’s a competition on Asgard — Steve would say he loves you in some poem he wrote on the flight over with pink cheeks and a shy smile)

It begins with jokes and smiles, “I bet there’s a sex dungeon,” and laughter. (Jane comments that the abandoned warehouse is full of cobwebs and the readings are off the charts — you tell Darcy under your breath that that’s something you hear everyday and it’ll take more than that to interest you)

It ends just the opposite.

It ends with Jane Foster pulling your smoking body from the ashes of an abandoned warehouse. (Her hands nearly burn as they grab at bits of melting leather — your veins glow beneath your paling skin in bright, unearthly red)

It ends with a call to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve Rogers being pulled out of Washington, D.C. (Darcy makes the call because Jane doesn’t want them involved — they’ll end up doing what’s best for them rather than the best for you)

You end.

And something else begins.

It’s 2010.

You’re assigned to shadow Tony Stark alongside the Black Widow. You’re fresh-faced and chirpy, someone who whistles when they make coffee in the morning, the type of girl who’ll dance like no one’s watching and belt out the lyrics to her favourite song. Someone who believes that the insurmountable can be an anthill if you only look at it with a new point of view.

You wear combat boots and three thigh holsters and knives to work, but you love wearing makeup and sundresses and taking walks on the beach at sunset.

Essentially, if the Black Widow is the night, you are the day.

Essentially, if you ask Natalia Romanova her opinion of you, then you’d get that you’re annoying as fuck, but if she catches anyone looking at you the wrong way, there’s no doubt they won’t live to see another day. That is, if she gets to them before you do.

Because before the sunshine girl Natalia affectionately calls a pain in her ass, you are the Viper.

And vipers never strike twice.

It’s 2002.

Budapest is cold at this time of the year, but you’re only here because you owe Yelena a favour and if you don’t pay it back, she is going to kill you.

Whether that is a figure of speech or not, TBD.

Anyway, you figure you’re going to die anyway when your tires are shot out as you speed across the Liberty Bridge. It’s your last night in Budapest after killing whoever you’re meant to kill, and although it’s spring, it’s still fucking cold.

So, there you are, appropriately panicking internally because you do not want to plunge into ice cold water. You’re already shifting gears as you try to gain control of your car and you hear cars beep at you, but it’s two in the morning and you’re exhausted and you think maybe you can pull it off. Then another tire blows.

You fail miserably.

Swerving off the road, you let out a short yell before you’re sinking into the Danube, and the night air weaves underneath your tac suit before the freezing cold of December currents slams into you. You cut yourself free with the knife strapped beneath your dashboard as another wave of river water laps at your waist. Sucking in a huge breath, you fight back the freezing cold and reach up to your sunglasses department.

“Yelena, I’m going to kill you,” you mutter between your shivering as you grab the automatic center punch and press it against the glass. The glass shatters near instantly and you take a deep breath, climbing out through the window as your car sinks deeper into the river. The water nips at your cheeks and you fight off the urge to gasp at how bracing it is. Pushing yourself to the surface, you suck in a gaping breath and glance for the closest shore before swimming as hard as you can. An odd sensation of something burning you from the inside out fills your arms and legs as you paddle to shore, and you drag yourself onto dry land, wet dripping, squeezing out with every press of your body against the ground.

“Fuck.” Wiping off the water from your cheek, you roll onto your back and suck in a cold breath that is somehow warmer than you are. Closing your eyes, you let the breath shudder in your lungs as you try to pull yourself together. A list of names runs through your head as you push yourself up on aching limbs. You cross off a name one by one of those who’d want to kill you and instead rub your arms, trying to get some warmth back into you. You’re quite sure a mighty bruise is gonna bloom along your arms and ribs in a few days as an arrow lands at your feet.

“Stop.”

A voice, American, male, makes you turn around and you know immediately it is the one who shot out your tires.

“What do you want?” You look up to see him, a blur of dark violet and black as he propels himself down and lands a distance away. His bow folds back into a compact black rod that fits on his back, and he lets go of the rope as another figure appears at the top of the bridge. A flame of red hair and a black suit that looks a lot like yours drops to the ground and you gasp, lips barely parting and this time, it’s not from the cold.

“My name is Clint Barton, I’m with S.H.I.E.L.D.” The man smiles. Your eyes drag warily back to him, a hand on the pistol strapped to your back, along the line of your waist. The woman with red hair steps off the rope, shaking her head when the water laps at her feet. Pebbles crack beneath her feet and your breath rattles as your eyes dart back to her. “You’re who they call the Viper, right?”

“Yes,” you murmur, hand still on the gun.

“Well, me and my partner here were tasked to kill you, but we’re thinking of making a different call.”

“We’ve been tracking you for a while now.” Her voice. The smirk you can barely see and the way she tosses the hair out of her face. Even the way she walks is the same

“Natalia?” Your voice bursts from your throat and you feel breathless at the sound of her name. The woman with red hair looks up jerkingly and your eyes widen as you soak in her face. She hasn’t aged a day, and you almost want to cry. “Tali, it’s me.” Her body goes limp, her arms swinging by her sides as you let go of the gun at your waist. Taking a tentative step forward, you press your lips together in a desperate attempt to smile. “Nat? Natalia?”

“No…”

“It’s me.” Your eyes burn now and you take another few steps, your knees weak and shaking. “I thought you were dead. They… they told me you were dead.”

“Well, clearly I’m not.”

“Fucking funny, Talia,” you spit, unable to help the tears clogging your throat as Natalia Romanova takes a step towards you. “It’s… it’s fucking… it’s really fucking funny.” You let out a sharp, chilling breath just as she opens her arms, and you glare at her, half-hoping she melts into a puddle at your feet.

“Come here,” she whispers and then you are flinging yourself into the Black Widow’s arms. Melting in her warm, dry embrace, you bury your face in her neck. You wrap your arms as tight as you can around her and squeeze, eyes closing shut. “Oh, god, Vipe,” she breathes out, and then she murmurs a Russian prayer of thanks you haven’t heard since you were five. Joining her, you can feel the smile beginning to pull at your lips at the familiarity of a sister’s hug.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Clint says, “but it’s a moment, so I guess I’ll let it slide.”

It’s 2012.

And there is a god on the loose.

“Can I just say that I hate this? For the record, that is,” you chime in helpfully, and Tony rolls his eyes at you through the screen as he fixes his mask and you sigh, stuffing another one of Peter’s pair of pajama bottoms into a duffel bag you’ve brought with you. “I don’t think we need to move Peter out of New York when Loki’s going for Stark Tower.”

“Just make sure Parker’s good. I don’t like the thought of us losing as much as the next person, but if we do lose, you know it’d be good if I didn’t get another Parker killed.” Tony’s voice echoes and you press your lips together in half a smile, wry and tired.

“What happened at StarkExpo two years ago wasn’t your fault,” you say, but he merely shakes his head as you rifle through the closet for day clothes. The moment Peter is back from school, you’re taking both Peter and May to Tony’s place in Malibu for the weekend. “Ben Parker did what he thought was best.”

“Hammer drones killed him and they were going for anyone with the mask, Vipe.” Tony sounds exhausted, and you pause, glancing over your shoulder at your phone propped up on a stack of Peter’s textbooks. Sighing, you momentarily abandon your task of packing Peter’s bags and instead head to grab your phone. “If it weren’t for you, Peter would be dead, or worse—”

“You’re the one who saved him, Tony,” you murmur, sitting on the bed. You know he’s spiralling despite how put together he is externally, and you wish you could be there. You wish you could just reach over and hug him. But you can’t. Not yet. “I just made sure he stayed safe.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“I know.” You pull a strand of hair away from your face. “Tony, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Cannot be guaranteed, Little Miss.” Rolling your eyes at the nickname as playfully as you can, your small smile tugs at your cheeks. Tony barely has the goggles on his face, holding them by one hand as the blowtorch sparks in every direction and you lean on your knees, just watching him at work. It’s always been something so intriguing to you, watching Tony make a suit, but now, it just makes you tired and sad.

“Then, at least put on your goggles,” you whisper, and it is at this volume that Tony finally looks at you. He blinks, squints at you with those dark, wet eyes and absorbs your sagging frown, the bags pulling underneath your eyes. “Tony.”

“Yeah. I will.” He sets down the blowtorch to pull the strap over his head before glancing up. “I’ve gotta go, Little Miss. I’ll see you on the return trip.”

“Bye, Tony.” You smile and he manages one of his own forced grins before you end the call and let your hands drop, leaning heavily on your knees as your head hangs low. The weight of the situation has always been on your shoulders, but for the first time, you feel like you have something to lose now. And it isn’t just Tony.

Coulson wasn’t the only one who ‘watched Captain America as he slept.’

You know everything there is to know about him, but you wish you knew Steve Rogers half as well you knew his alter ego.

So, when Steve Rogers asks you out on a date the old-fashioned way in the middle of the airport, you want to say yes. There are a ton of reporters around, snapping pictures of Captain America in his domestic life, and you’re tanned from your weekend in Malibu. Peter is clinging onto the luggage cart even though you’ve told him not to. May’s gone to the bathroom, and your eleven year old companion interrupts Steve’s no-doubt-memorized speech on how much he likes you with coughs he refuses to acknowledge collectively as a symptom of a cold.

“You always come with the extra set of arms and legs?” Steve asks when you don’t respond right away. He jokes to ease the tension, and you grin, just glad to see him in one piece. Unexpectedly, Steve smiles back and you feel your heart beat faster. You think you might just be a little in love with that smile as May comes back.

“Uhm, no. Sorry to disappoint you but I don’t think Peter wants to go on a date with us,” you quip and he chuckles. “I’m being reassigned in London, so maybe I could put a rain check?”

“Of course. I’m going to Washington, too, uh, since Fury said he has some work for me there.”

“Perfect.” You smile and he brushes hair away from your face, a bit shyly. A delighted pink flush swells in his cheeks as he turns, walking to the cart. He begins to push and you blink as he sets off in the direction of the exit. A protest builds up in your throat — you can push your own luggage — but Steve is already off with Peter clinging onto his back, and you’re left with May.

“He’s good with kids,” she hums and you agree. “You two would have cute kids.”

“I just said yes to a date,” you admonish, much to her amusement. “May!”

“I’m just saying!” She throws her hands up in the air, walking after Steve and Peter who are being chased by reporters, and you let out a frustrated groan. You’re sure your boys are already playing a game of Tag with the paps chasing after them.

Wait.

Your boys.

Oh, you’re fucked.

You fall head over heels in love without a second look back.

It’s 2013.

After New York, Steve was reassigned to Washington as the newest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and you to Jane Foster on Phil Coulson’s secret, special command. He owes Thor a favour.

So, you shadow Jane Foster as her bodyguard of sorts and you don’t say from who but you have enough charisma to lay down some heavy hints.

After all, Phil’s supposed to be dead. But he isn’t.

And the moment you touch the black cube, some part of you knows you’re supposed to be dead, too.

But you aren’t.

When you wake up — and you’re surprised you wake up — you can taste the blood pooling in your head that feels like it’s splitting open and the drying tears on your cheeks. The sky is too bright and it’s pitch white, red and blue spiralling at the edges of your vision as a high-pitched siren rings between your ears. A violent push forces you into a sitting position and a scream tears itself through your throat as you cough, hot smoke spilling out of your mouth.

It curls in your lap, black as sin and silky between your thighs as a hand lands on your back, warm, heavy and familiar.

“Doll? Hey—” You jerk away, the mind-splitting agony causing another round of tears to burn at your eyes. The hand wraps around you and a hot rush surges down your fingers as something snaps. “Hey, it’s just me.” Your hands plant themselves against the pavement, the roughness grating against your skin as lips brush against your ear.

“S-Steve?”

“That’s right, baby girl. Just me.” You blink, face twisting as the pain begins to melt away. It flows down your spine, nests at the base of your skull as the hand runs up and down your back. “Hey, you got yourself into some trouble, huh?” You raise a trembling hand to your face as you pry your eyes open and you let out a choked sob at the blood running down your wrists.

“Steve, I’m… what happened?” Your words slur and echoes in your skull as you screw your eyes shut again. “Everything… hurts.”

“I know, doll, I know. Just hold on for a moment, okay? You’ve been out for thirty hours. S.H.I.E.L.D. set up a perimeter, but it’s…” He lets out a breath in a whistle and your eyes flutter open.

“Where’s… Jane? Is she okay?” As your eyes begin to adjust, you try not to let your tears overflow. You run a hand over your face. Blood smears over your cheeks and Steve hushes you quietly, taking gentle hold of your hands. “What?”

“You’re bleeding. Just… let me take care of you, okay? Let me take care of you.” His words whisper over your skin and you turn towards him, raising your chin just enough to catch a glimpse of his sapphire eyes. The moment his gaze meets yours, it’s like a shock runs through your system. You’re all at once aware of how cold you are and you shake your head slowly, turning to examine your surroundings.

A white tent has been set up around you, and it’s where you lay now, on wet pavement beneath the ceiling you know now is not a white sky. The police sirens swirl along the walls, flash through the tarp flaps, and you feel something tug at your arm.

“Don’t pull on your IV,” Steve murmurs, and you blink, dazed. Looking down at your elbow, you spot the IV that runs up to the stand and frown at how many marks there are there along your skin, as if some amateur did it. “They asked me to keep you hydrated, but I did a pretty bad job.”

“Where is everyone?” you ask, turning to look at Steve again. He looks exhausted, plum half moons staining beneath his eyes, his blond hair barely shining in the darkness of the tent. The whole tent is drowned in shadows and you feel him rub at your hands with a rag. Glancing down, you watch him tug at your fingers, slowly coaxing the red off your hands.

“No one could touch you. Every time someone tried, it was like something lashed out. Whatever you touched inhabits you. Like that movie you made me watch when I came over to visit last Christmas.”

A chuckle builds up in your throat and you let it spill, a smile tugging into your cheeks as you sniff.

“Alien. It was the Chestbursters,” you whisper and he laughs against your cheek as he runs his hand through your hair.

“Right. Well, it was sort of like that,” he continues and you nod, burying your face into his shirt and you breathe in the smell of sweat and blood as he wraps an arm around your waist. “But you’re safe now.”

“Steve—” The words catch in your throat. It feels like layers of you have been peeled away and you can taste whatever it is that squirms beneath your skin as you fling your arms around him. Holding onto him as tight as you can, you bury your face into his neck and let out a shuddering sigh— “Thank you.”

“You’ll have leave, and be reassigned to a facility back in New York. Tony will love to have you back,” he says and you pull back. Quirking an eyebrow, you try to make yourself look as attractive as you can — as the sunshine girl Steve knows and maybe even loves, but you find yourself failing at how gross you feel. Like there’s something inside your body, sharing you, taking over. You feel like vomit. Not like vomiting.

Like stomach acid and day old corn, beef, potato salad, stale water and foul air.

And it makes you want to cry at how uncomfortable you are in your own skin.

“Christmas is just around the corner,” you say weakly and Steve chuckles as you poke his cheek. Wetness meets your fingertip and you blink, for the first time noticing the tears streaming down his face. His cheeks blotchy, eyes red-rimmed, he looks like hell took him and spat him out.

“You scared the life outta me, doll,” he murmurs when you plant your clean hand against his cheek. “Shit, you scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to, Stevie,” you mumble and he sighs, almost like he’s exasperated and grateful and half-in-love before he pulls you tight towards him again. Steve’s lips press into the juncture of your neck and shoulder before he hugs you tighter and you let out a wheeze. You raise your hand, the other clean one still flat against the ridges of his back, and marvel at the way the siren lights play with the dark blood streaking across your skin.

And as you focus on the warmth flowing through your body, swirling in your stomach and ebbing down your arms, red sparks at your fingertips.

“Everything used to be normal,” you whisper, closing your fist tight. Crescent moons imprint on your skin as you close your eyes. Steve’s arms tighten around you and you let out shuddering cry. “What happened to me?”

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” He pulls you back by the shoulders, makes sure you meet his eyes because they are sure as stone. They anchor you and you cup his face, feel his heat. He feels so real.

You nod. The sirens stop and you can hear people walking, murmuring to each other, words you can hear that they might as well have screamed in your ear. Freak accident, crazy, broken.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, hand tilting your chin up as he half-smiles. “We’ll figure it out, and I love you, and I promise you I will fix this, okay?” Your eyes widen and you suck in a helpless breath as his smile shrinks. “What is it? Are you hurt?” He looks down at your body, still sopping wet and freezing, but you can barely feel the numbness tingling at your feet. Heat shoots through your veins as you fling yourself at Steve again, wrapping arms around him.

“You love me?”

And he laughs, laughs and laughs against you until all you know is the sound of him in your ears and the feel of his heart against your chest. “Of course I do.” He turns your face so he can kiss you and you smile into his kiss, a wet smile that he doesn’t care about because any smile of yours is… priceless.

“I love you, too,” you utter and he smiles against your mouth, eyes closing. “I love you so much.”

“That’s perfect, ‘cause I plan on staying around for a while.”

You roll his words in your head before smiling to yourself. Melting into his arms, you press your ear against his chest as red wisps curl coyly around your fingers and you look into your lap, stained with the black you’d coughed up and the slick of blood.

“Thank you, Steve,” you whisper above the sirens. You can barely hear yourself think, but Steve merely holds your head to him, supports you in ways you cannot.

“Anytime.”

It’s 2014.

You pace the length of the glass, pulling at the electrodes connected to your head while Thor, Steve, and Jane all yell at you through the intercom to stop. It’s been twenty four hours and you haven’t slept in any of them. Instead, you refreshed yourself on French, Croatian, and Finnish.

Instead, you’ve recreated your room to look like scenic Sweden in the middle of summer and you’re strolling through the streets of Stockholm.

It’s a neat little trick, that.

“Look, if this Malekith wants to come get me,” you say, planting your hands on your hips as a bird flits past your head, “he can come get me. Can I at least get a breath of fresh, non-filtered air? It tastes stale.”

“Sorry, doll, but no.” Steve’s voice filters through the speakers in the room and you let out a frustrated groan, your fist flaring up as you throw him a glare. Or at least where you think he might be standing. The illusion burns away by red flames and you face the mirror and pale white walls you can see in the reflection. Your boring test chamber. Prison. “I know, it’s New Year’s, but—”

“Steve, save it. It is New Year’s, and Tony and I were supposed to go to Peter’s party because I promised him.”

You haven’t seen Peter in months. You wonder how he is, and you think it would be enough to hear voicemails, but instead it isn’t. Your phone is flooded with voicemails from him, voicemails you’ve saved and listen when it gets hard to sleep, and you want to show him the newest thing you’ve learned in your detention. The hopeful smile he’d have… the one full of wonder and his eyes…

Thinking of him just makes you miss that boy more, and you want to scream at the top of your lungs, but then Steve would tell you to be quiet and that Malekith can hear you, and whatever it is — the Aether — will flare up and you’re just so sick of sleeping in a glass cell like a test subject.

Whatever.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea how to make this easier for you, but you just gotta look on the bright side.”

Not whatever.

If anything, you’re so sick of false promises. You’ll be out once we’ve run some tests, you’ll be okay, whatever’s inside you isn’t hostile and Viper, Viper, Viper, someone wants to come in and do another round of blood tests, maybe your chemistry has changed and—

You want to snap.

“You’re right! I’ve only been here ever since you guys found me passed out in London. I can’t leave, I have fucking powers I can’t understand and apparently I can make anything I want become reality.” Whirling around, you spot the croissant you haven’t touched from breakfast yesterday and grab it as a surge of energy flows up to your palm. Immediately it flickers in your hand like some hologram, distorting until a croissant no longer rests in your palm, but a rich red apple. You show it to the three watching you, show them the fruit of your labour. “See that? I’m doing great controlling this thing, huh.”

“Doll, stop. Power spikes might tip off Malekith on your location and—”

“You know it’s real,” you comment, cutting off Steve coldly. Biting into the apple, flavour bursts on your parched tongue and you swallow down the fruit before you toss it in the air. Letting it land in your hand like a baseball, you look down at it. “Or, I think it is. It tastes real, and at this point, any type of reality feels better than this, y’know?”

“My lady, you must control your temper.”

“Thor’s right.” Jane’s soft voice makes you pause and you rip your gaze away from the bitten apple in your palm to the mirror. You can only stare at yourself, at how much you look like some insane asylum patient. The electrodes, the issued white jumpsuit in a white room with a white bed and everything burning white or silver, the ankle tag in case you walk out of your cell, because everyone knows you can.

After all, if you can literally turn water into wine when you want to, what else can you do?

“Thor’s right,” you repeat dully, a terrible smile etching itself into your face. “Yeah, he’s right. ‘Cause I’m crazy, right? And some dark elf is trying to kill me, but I should stay the sunshine girl, right?” If your every word was corrosive, you know the glass would have melted. Would’ve been fitting, and for half a moment you are tempted to burn the whole building down.

The searing heat singing in your arm balls at your wrist and you glance down to see bright red smoke spiralling down to the floor, kissing at the apple you have dug fingernails into and juice leaks down between your fingers. You let out a heavy breath when the heat is blown away, cool conditioned air puffing against your bare skin. At how everything is regulated, even the temperature, what you eat, your calories, your oxygen levels, everything tiny little thing you don’t know about.

A knot in your chest twists harder and you want to throw a bed across the wall or shoot something, or just go for a round of sparring but instead you settle for throwing the apple hard enough it splatters on impact. Bits of fruit go everywhere and you watch the juice track down your reflection as apple seeds clatter around you. You didn’t try to break glass, but you think you can hear something crack as you close your eyes.

“We could give you a few hours,” Jane says, apprehensive for a potential galactic war, maybe, worried about your sanity and her safety, definitely, “right?”

“Malekith will take any chance he has to reach the Aether. There is no time for whims of the one,” Thor says.

“Doll, I’m sorry—”

“No, shut up! I miss kissing you, Steve, okay? I’m horny! And I’m supposed to be normal, you know? As normal as I can get!” You fling your arms out to the side and you spin around from the bed where you have a tray of food that was pushed in the flap in the door resting atop your blankets. You slam a hand against the glass, red smoke running along the surface. Your breath comes out ragged and you look at your own reflection, eyes wide and your shoulders heaving. “I’m… I’m supposed to be Natalia’s pain in her ass, and I’m supposed to wake up in the morning next to you and bring Tony his coffee or tell him to sleep because Pepper’s out of town or help Peter with his homework.

“I’m supposed to be there for him,” you whisper, eyes closing as a burning in the corners of your eyes track down your skin. Pressing your forehead against the mirror, you swallow down the lump in your throat. “I’m… I’m supposed to be figuring out whatever the hell they did to me with you, Steve, not… not alone. Not as some lab rat for S.H.I.E.L.D. to poke and prod.” Your hand runs flat along the cold surface and you look up at your own reflection, at the mess your hair is, at the paleness in your face and how gaunt you look. At the red that seems to flow through your veins instead of blue and how utterly witch-like you look. “I’ve had enough of that in the Red Room, and I thought I switched sides for a reason.”

“I’m right here, okay?” Steve murmurs through the speakers and you sniff, trying to imagine him on the other side of the glass. His blue eyes staring back at you — eyes you have not seen in months. His blond hair swept off to the side and maybe he’s wearing a white tee-shirt and that dark jacket you bought him as a parting gift when he got reassigned to Washington. “I swear, we’re going to get this son of a bitch, but for now, you’re just a walking dart board, and I know they won’t miss. I miss you so much, but I can’t lose you.”

“Steve.” You slide down onto the ground and it’s almost as if you can feel his heat. If you close your eyes tight enough, maybe you can imagine him just on the other side of glass you’re not too afraid to break. “I miss you, too.”

“We’ve had quite a courtship,” he teases and you chuckle, pressing your cheek against the mirror. “Long distance, then London, isolation, and hell, I promise I’ll take you wherever you want as soon as this is done. I’ll take one of Tony’s jets and we’ll go, fix this, find someone who can fix you. Marry you, if that’s what you want.” Red smoke flares brightly at your fingertips and you shove them beneath your thighs, snuffing it out.

Some part of you wants to feel grateful.

Another part of you wishes he told you there’s nothing to fix instead. Wishes Steve can just accept that this is who you are now, as you have.

“A wedding sounds nice. Like a jailbreak party,” you whisper and he laughs, crackling over the comms. “But I need a ring first.”

“Give me a few hours.”

When dinner rolls around, the door beeps and swings open to reveal Steve Rogers in sweatpants, one of his hoodies he bought in some Brooklyn corner store, and dinner.

You smile and invite him down to your cot where a TV hung on the wall plays Aliens.

“What do you say to a movie night?” He pulls the hoodie over your head. Tucking hair away from your face, he kisses you sweetly. He tastes like sugar and heat, and you plant your hands flat against his cheeks.

The hoodie smells ripe of him and you dig your nose into the collar, inhaling deeply before looking up at him. “It’s sweet but how’d you convince Coulson to allow you in here?” The blond doesn’t respond except for another few quick pecks and you pull away from his seeking lips with a scandalized gasp. “He doesn’t know?”

“Would it kill you if I said no?” he mumbles and you laugh into his next kiss as he sets down the tray of food on the floor and plucks something off it. He slides off the bed, sinking to one knee before you and you rake hair away from your face, the elated smile freezing on your face as he cracks open a velvet box. “‘Cause it would kill me if you did.”

“Steve?” His name stutters in your throat as you stare at the diamond ring way above your pay grade. You have a sneaking suspicion that Tony had something to do with it but it sparkles, glimmers in the artificial light. “Steve, I was joking—”

“I wasn’t.” In sweats and a grey hoodie, Steve has never looked more like a god. The white light plays in his hair, turning it silver-gold and his eyes are alight with pure hope that you nearly melt as you sit on the edge of your bed, just… speechless. “I love you, and I’m here for you. Sickness and in health. So… what do you say?”

“Yes, but also, we can’t get married here,” you warn and he laughs, leaning over to kiss you as he picks the ring out from between the cushion of velvet. Sliding it onto your finger, he pushes you over against the bed and wraps an arm around your waist. Draping himself over you, he kisses your chin, your lips, down your neck and you giggle, outstretching your arm as the red mist curls around the ring, curious to what this new thing is.

“Doesn’t have to be now, ‘s long as I got my yes,” he mumbles and you close your eyes. All of a sudden, the walls in your prison have pushed themselves out by three inches. Letting your hand fall back, you run your fingers through his hair. “And what was that again? You said you were horny or was that my imagination?”

“Rogers,” you warn, but you can’t help the way he chases away the weights sitting on your chest as he brushes kisses up and down your neck. “C’mon, they’re watching.”

“Oh, no, they’re not.” His fingers poke teasingly into your sides and you let out a squeak as he chuckles, lips meeting yours again. “Forgot how ticklish you are, doll.”

“Steven Grant Rogers—”

“Shhh,”

“But dinner—”

“Can you forget about the stupid dinner? I’m trying to take your clothes off.” You wiggle beneath his body, hair splaying beneath your head and he growls, nipping lightly at your jaw just as his phone vibrates and he jerks back. Bracketed between his legs, you prop yourself up on your elbows and frown, the joy slipping away like oil. Weights crush down on your shoulders as Steve’s eyebrows knit together and you reach up to cup his cheek just as your vision flickers.

Like a faulty TV, it breaks with red and you blink at how Steve’s face seems to fizzle as your fingers meet his cheek. His blue eyes meet yours immediately, drowning away the red and you let out a sharp breath.

“Steve?” Your voice catches and he flinches back, stung. “Steve, what happened?”

“Something in Washington,” he whispers and he stumbles off the bed as you sit up. The heat of him leaves a chill on your body and you stand up. He texts furiously on his phone and you walk after him as he gets the door to open. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Can I help?” You reach for his arm and you can’t help yourself from wondering what on Earth is this important. You know Tony’s in town and Natasha can handle Washington. Hell, S.H.I.E.L.D. is based in Washington and whatever it is, surely— “Captain America doesn’t need to go, does he?”

“Look, I have to go.” He shakes off your hand and hurt slams into you like a truck at how he doesn’t so much as spare you a glance before he pockets his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says and you think he almost means it by the way his blue eyes widen inconsolably. “I’ll be back.”

“Steve!” He pushes you back deeper into the room just as everything flickers red and you let out a gasp as something digs into your brain. “Steve, wait!” Your hands clutch at your skull as you fall to your knees and you squeeze your eyes shut. The pain blisters, pulsing like a heartbeat inside your spine before it drains away as quick as it came, and you let out a shaking breath.

When you open your eyes, you see everything outlined in blood red, their edges flickering like TV static. The ring on your finger burns cold and you rip it off, flinging it into the glass.

It cracks, shatters your reflection, and you turn away so you do not see your own tears fall.

It’s 2015.

You breathe new air for the first time in ages and your lungs spasm in your chest as you feel the sun on your face. With your bags packed and ready, you stand at the entrance of the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound and wait.

Sokovia was two months ago and you have some new teammates to meet, apparently.

“Steve said he’d come pick me up, right?” you ask the agent standing next to you. He’s swiping on some datapad but turns to look at you with a smile. “A hundred percent?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Cool.” You twist the ring around your finger and pretend not to notice the imaginary ants you have crawling on your boot. It’s not like you’ve told Steve. You know he’s been busy with whatever made him run out on you the first time and you know he said he might be a little bit late picking you up, but you didn’t think Captain America believed in being tardy. Not really.

A part of you wants to be angry that he’s a hero, and another part of you wants to just go home on your own.

Thirty minutes roll by.

“Do you have any cars I could borrow?” you ask. Sighing, you don’t wait for an answer and pick up your bags. “I’ll just drive back on my own. New York isn’t too far from here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The man smiles and you half-smile before you fish out your phone. “I’ll have someone bring one around to the lot.”

“Thank you for waiting with me,” you call and he merely nods before heading back in. A disappointed pang hits at your stomach as you walk over to the lot, and you try not to let it bite at your heels until you’re bleeding.

You’re sure your heart already is.

You drive back to the Avengers facility where Tony’s working with Bruce on something and the welcome you deserve resides in Tony’s arms. Nearly two years since you’ve seen him and some very exhausted part of you jumps at the sight of him. Even if he’s visited, you know nothing will ever compare to seeing the exhausted eyebags beneath his eyes.

“Welcome back, Little Miss!” he cheers and you grin, holding onto his neck tight. “Welcome back to society.” You nestle your head against him, holding on for a second more before pulling back.

“Hey, Bruce,” you whisper, turning to hug him quickly and he smiles like how you think your dad might’ve when you came back after an unruly tussle when you pull back. Or maybe that was the Red Room and how the madame would smile when you beat every opponent in your class. Parts of Bruce’s face stretch too wide, and his eyes narrow when you blink, and you wonder if it’s your mind playing tricks or he really looks like a stone-cold killer behind warm brown eyes.

You don’t even want to think about it.

“Cap didn’t pick you up?” Tony asks and your gaze darts to him warily. His face flickers red and for a moment, there’s two of Tony in your field of view before it’s gone. “You okay?”

“Yeah. A lot’s happened, y’know?” you say with a slight smile and he smiles, then, too, sad and bittersweet. “Uhm, can you show me to my room, Tony?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He claps and the lab lights turn on systematically, revealing more than what’s illuminated on the table Bruce turns back to. “Bruce, if you could work on the… the thingy.” He doesn’t stop to hear the answer, guiding you out of the lab.

“So…” You descend down the steps, your sneakers slapping against the tile as you pull yourself together. Red wisps, barely there and faint as steam, play at your fingers as you try to come up with a reason Steve just… disappeared. You’re getting good at that, making up excuses. “Steve didn’t pick me up, and I was wondering if you knew where he was?”

“Steve didn’t come?” Tony’s eyes land on you and you press your lips together as you shake your head. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you turn to look at your friend. “I—”

“It’s fine. Two years — basically — of solitary confinement and he just… doesn’t come to see me out. It must’ve been important.” You shrug then, and Tony frowns. “It’s okay, Tony. I love him, like not-crazy love him but close enough, and I know it had to be something important because we’re getting married, y’know?”

“Yeah, congratulations to the happy couple,” he says but it’s half-hearted. “You give Cap too much credit,” he adds under his breath and you frown, blinking as you look at the floor. Stomach the soil, seeds of doubt are planted deep in your gut as you run Tony’s words through your head. “He didn’t even text you?”

“Maybe it was a mission.”

“And he didn’t take Wilson?” Tony shoots back, and you look up jerkingly, eyes flashing to the man beside you as you stop at the lounge. He walks around to flop down on the couch and you nearly cringe at the crumbs littering the glass coffee table. Tony leans back, kicks up his feet, and slaps the space beside him.

“I still have to meet Wilson,” you mutter, crossing your arms across your chest and walking onto the carpet. Sitting down, you nearly sink into the cushion and let out a yelp. “Shit, this is comfortable.”

“Haven’t had luxury in a while?”

“I was in a detention facility, so no,” you retort and you lean in towards Tony’s heat. “I’m just gonna wait and maybe it’ll be okay, y’know?”

“Right.” Tony claps again before resting an arm along the back of the couch. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you show Vipe where her room is?”

“Right away, boss.” You sit up, tucking your feet beneath you just as the elevator dings. Looking towards the sound, you watch as the doors open and your mouth drops open as a blond and a redhead step out. “Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers have returned.”

“From where, exactly?” Tony calls out and Steve immediately whips around to the sound of his voice. Natalia is basically sleepwalking as she rubs at her eyes and you stand, grabbing an empty cup from the coffee table. Red smoke fills up white porcelain as it fills with warm tea and you rush over to her, offering her the drink.

“Hey, Tali,” you whisper as Natalia looks up sharply, blue eyes wide and sober. A face-splitting grin on her face, she knocks the white mug to the ground, hot tea spilling everywhere. It shatters, a sharp cacophony, and white shards go everywhere, hot tea splashing against your shoes.

“You’re out!” Her arms wrap around you tight and you let out a wheeze when she lifts you up but the smile dies as you meet Steve’s gaze. He looks stricken at the sight of you, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as your sister puts you back down. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay. I drove myself back,” you whisper and you cup her face, relishing in the warmth of her smile before a yawn on her part breaks the moment and you grin. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Promise,” she agrees and she heads up the stairs before you turn to Steve. Tony jogs past you, climbing the stairs after Natalia and you turn to watch them go before looking into his stricken face.

“Where were you?” you ask quietly, trying not to sound hurt. But you feel hollow, and everything is red when you’re not with Steve. “I really missed you these past few weeks.”

“Sorry. It got really busy with the new assignment,” Steve says with a shrug and you nod, pressing your lips into a smile as you open up your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” He walks into your embrace and you melt into his hold. “God, I’ve missed you.” His lips press against your hairline and you close your eyes.

“I love you,” you murmur and you tilt your chin up to look at him. His blue eyes are dark, tired, and he’s barely able to keep them open as you card your fingers through his hair. Just looking at him makes you feel so empty and whole at the same time that you know it has to be real. To feel such a paradox, such an oxymoron that you can’t even describe it, it must be real. “I love you, so it’s okay and you can tell me why you didn’t pick me up.”

“I needa tell you about Bucky,” he says and you thumb his cheek, feeling the soft swollen bags beneath his eye. He takes your wrist carefully, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyes meeting yours beneath the hood of his brow.

“Tomorrow,” you say and he sighs against your palm. You step closer, your other arm wrapping around his waist as you tilt your head. “Whatever it is you need to tell me can wait. For now, shower and get some sleep.” The blue of his gaze lightens and he leans down to press a gentle kiss against your mouth. Breathing him in, you nearly sob at how soft his lips are, the smell of him so overwhelming — the smell of sea salt and smoke — that you feel your sinuses sting.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and you pull back with a nod. As he goes, you let your hand drop with a shattered sigh. Turning to watch him ascend the steps, you feel something inside you ache.

He looks as hollow as you feel.

It’s 2016.

“Couldn’t they put this as a PDF or something,” you murmur, trying to get a hold of the thick-as-fuck Accords. Words spin in your head as you flip over another page and Steve, with his arm around your shoulders, ignores you to argue with Tony. You sneak an arm around his waist, running it up and down his side as you scan the next few lines. “Save the trees.”

“I really don’t think that’s the U.N.’s priority right now,” Natalia comments from across the way and you sigh, setting it down in your lap. You can’t help the weird feeling in your stomach as wisps of red weave between your fingers. They seem to want to drag your hand back to the Accords and keep reading, but your head spins.

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose,” Steve exclaims and you look up warily. Tony’s eyes meet yours for a moment before you turn your gaze back to the Sokovia Accords. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go?” You unweave your arm from around Steve’s waist and stand, tossing the Accords onto the glass table between them. Wanda and Vision, sitting on a bench, reach for it. “What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“Steve, I really think you need to read this,” you begin and razor sharp azure meets your eyes. “Look, if this doesn’t happen now, on our terms, they’re going to do this to us. That’s not going to be fun for any of us.”

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda begins, and you whirl around to face the girl. She holds the Accords, too large for her slim frame and her eyes glow as red as your veins do.

“We would protect you.”

“Look, Vision, that’s sweet, okay, but it’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“There are weapons of mass destruction in this room,” Tony continues, “and the government’s not going to allow a couple of nukes to walk in downtown New York. Ross had a point. Do we even know where Thor and Bruce are?”

“No.”

“Maybe Tony’s right.” Natalia sounds certain, and you turn to her, surprised as she breaks like static. Blinking, you see color other than red once again and try not to let it show on your face. Other than the fact that going from red-vision to full-colour still makes you surprised, you hadn’t expected her to pick a side so soon. You cross your arms as you sit down next to Steve once more. His arm falls around your shoulders as you tug at the skirt of your sundress. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off—”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“What?” You look sharply at your sister who shrugs helplessly. Shaking her head, she looks at Wilson with a fierce stare.

“I’m just… I’m just reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

Something vibrates against your leg and Steve’s arm slides from your shoulders. You turn to look at it, distracted as Steve grabs it and you slide your arm along his shoulder as he reads whatever message he was sent. Running your thumb over the curve of his shoulder, you rest your head on his shoulder just as he gets up. Your arm falls flat and you catch yourself just barely.

“I have to go.” Steve’s voice cuts clear across the tension and you watch the man leave, throat knotted. You feel something inside you twist and your eyebrows furrow as you try to come up with some reason, some way you can follow.

“I’m going to, uh, go see what that’s about.” You clear your throat, getting up to follow after him and you hear his footsteps echo as he descends the steps before stopping at the landing. “Steve?” He leans against the banister and bows his head with a heavy sigh, and you come up to him with gentle hands. “Steve, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Steve, is it Bucky?” You lean in beside him, trying to get a read on his state as he pockets his phone and you sigh softly, trying to figure out what to say. “Is it the Accords? Because you seem pretty adamant on not signing.”

“And you are?”

“I could’ve been the person who killed the Wakandans.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Someone did.” As soon as the words leave your lips, Steve’s head twists towards you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks whole in your eyes, not a flickering edge in sight and you sigh at how much relief it brings you. “I’m not saying Wanda meant to do it on purpose, but she’s a kid and kids need supervision.”

“She had it.” Steve crosses his arms tight across his chest, and you turn to him, planting a hand on the rail and another on your hip.

“Did she? Because I read the report, Steve.” You throw up your hand, turning back to lean against the rail again as you try not to let your anger simmer. Your brow furrowed, your chest begins to tighten. “Rumlow said Bucky and suddenly, nothing else mattered, did it?”

“Doll—”

“And… it feels…” You trail off, and you have no idea why. You think you’re softening the blow for him, but maybe you’re softening the blow for yourself.

“What?” Steve’s voice, sharp as daggers, sinks into you and you drag your gaze towards him. He looks shocked, pale as a sheet with rosy lips barely parted as you let out a soft exhale.

“It feels true.” You shake your head before meeting his eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter. What does is that I’m going to sign. Because we may not be kids, but we are dangerous and we need oversight.” Fingers reaching for his, you’re stung when he pulls his hand away. Clenching your jaw, you try to keep your voice hushed. “Steve, I don’t want to fight.”

“We can barely agree on when to get married, doll.” When he looks at you, it’s almost as if he stares right through you. “I don’t see how we can’t fight when we can barely make the small things work.”

“This isn’t some small decision! This isn’t choosing a winter wedding or a summer wedding, or whether the napkins should be folded in a Sydney Opera House or a lotus. This is whether or not we allow ourselves to get arrested or we play our cards right.”

“I’m not trusting a panel who won’t care about the people we’re supposed to be protecting.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s happened before.”

“Okay, but this isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.” Your voice sharpens and you bite your tongue. “This is something we can give input to. What do you think they’re going to do when we disagree? Restrain us?”

“It isn’t that simple! Just because you see everything black and white doesn’t mean I have to. We can’t just choose to give over our rights and be okay with it.”

“You’re the one who’s seeing things black and white! Because this is a fucking grey area and we are drowning in it. This is… It’s not easy to just hand over the keys to people who don’t know us but we need this.” You struggle to find the words. “Steve, open your eyes and just… just understand that I want us to stay together. And if you do this, it’s almost as if you don’t care.”

“I’m standing up for what I believe in. I thought you could respect that,” he whispers harshly and you hold back a groan in frustration. Planting a hand on your hip, you look at him with narrowed eyes.

“And you don’t believe in family? In staying together? Because we can make changes. I promise, and you can still search for Bucky, I just—” Your breath hitches in your throat and Steve looks at you, eyebrows quirked. “Bucky.”

“What about him?”

“It’s Bucky. It’s always Bucky,” you whisper so quietly under your breath you don’t know if you even said it. “Natalia told me that—” You turn to look at the top of the stairs desperately. You can’t begin to describe how much you want to run up the stairs, down the hall and never look back. But you’re an optimist.

You always have been.

“Told you what?”

“That I’d never be your first choice.” The words come out bold and burning, and you can feel the ash it has left in your gums as you clench your jaw. You can still hear your sister’s voice echoing in your skull, whispered in confidence the day after one of Steve’s secret missions when he was looking for Bucky. Specifically, the mission that caused him to miss your birthday. You can still taste the bitterness, the tears that pressed bruises into your throat. “And I think he’s part of the reason why you won’t sign the Accords. Because you’re afraid they’ll issue sanctions if you go on your secret, unauthorized missions.”

Steve sighs, and his eyebrows knit together as you wrap your arms around yourself. You stare at him, wait for him to deny it, but you know he won’t. Because you’re in love with a man who supposedly loves you, but clearly doesn’t love you enough.

“Ever since Bucky came back into your life, it’s all you ever think about,” you continue, leaning against the banister once more. You cross your legs at the ankles, and turn to look at him. Your eyes immediately soak in the shadows that play across his face, the way the pale blue light of the sunroof has cast him a god of wind and sea. “And even though I’m talking to you… you’re not even here.”

Steve’s gaze darts to yours and you hold it, searching for someone who you haven’t seen in years.

“I love you,” he insists and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you can breathe in his scent. He smells cool and clean, like sleep, and you want to go back to yesterday, last week, last year. You want to go back to when you were too afraid to break a bubble that you lived in, when the Accords didn’t exist. “I’m in love with you, but I’m so damn sorry.” His whispered words push into your mouth as you kiss him chastely, a barely-there kiss that makes your heart mend and break. His forehead knocks into yours and you hold him there for a moment, just watching the tiny little twitches of his face. Burning him into your head.

“It’s okay,” you say, hand stroking over his face and into his hair. His eyes half-mast, he just watches you as red runs beneath your palm, through your veins. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and it just makes you all the more aware of the hole he has carved in the shape of pieces he took from you. He won’t even touch you. “I can’t compete with what you and Bucky have.”

“I don’t want you to. You’re the only one I want—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you murmur and he closes his eyes pulling away to stare at his feet. He grips the handrail and you stare into your palms, red playing against your flesh. The silence is thick and you swallow, trying to think of something to say — anything. Your chest is smashed to ashes and an ache spreads in your lungs as you close your eyes, hot tears sliding over your cheeks. “Steve—”

“I’ve got to go,” he mumbles and you’re not quite sure if the salt on your lips is yours or his as he presses a quick farewell kiss to your mouth and pulls away. He wipes at his face with a sleeve, and you wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand as he turns away to hide his red-rimmed eyes and sniffing you can still hear. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, you always do,” you murmur and you watch him go as he bows his head, sleeve to his face. Sucking in a cold breath, you lean against the banister and tilt your head back. Closing your eyes, you try to ignore the migraine digging into your skull.

But you can’t. It only grows when you sign, and with the deadline to bring in Steve Rogers, and nearly tears you apart as you fly to Germany.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks as you walk to your position in the airport. He looks good in his new suit Tony had designed and you smile tiredly as he fidgets with the mask. You ruffle his hair, leaning over to kiss his forehead before trying to reinforce your weak smile.

“Yeah, I am. Watch yourself out there, okay?” you add and he nods as he opens up his mask. “If May finds out Tony smuggled you into Germany, my ass is going to pay for it.” He half-laughs, and you nudge him towards his hiding spot. “Go kick some ass.”

And you do, and he does, and you think maybe team Iron Man might make it work bringing in a rogue Captain America without J-SOC.

That is, until the giant.

“Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they’d like to disclose? I’m open to suggestion.” Tony’s voice echoes in your ear, adding to the headache balling up between your eyes as you throw yourself at Clint. The man catches you by the rod of his bow as you wind yourself around his waist and flip him over.

“Would it kill you if I said I have untapped energy potential?” you ask into your comms and Clint sends you a confused look as you roll your eyes through the pain. Everything is hazy red and red mist spills from your hand as you stop Clint from swinging at you with a baton.

“No, I like that idea.”

“Tony, it’s not a good idea.”

“It was a joke, Stark,” you growl, flinging Clint away. The rod of his bow skids a few feet away and you scramble towards it, snapping it open with a sling. As you pull the string taut, an arrow forms between your fingers and you let it fly, following after Hawkeye with a barrage of arrows and keeping him busy running. “I’m trying not to kill anyone today.”

“Understood, Madame Secretary,” Tony teases and you squint an eye, letting another arrow fly just as Clint jumps onto the walkway leg. It nearly tags him in the ankle and you draw the string once more, black metal materializing between your fingers just as someone tackles into you. You’re slammed into the ground with a hard groan, your head snapping back into concrete. You hear something crack and you groan as Sam Wilson’s voice rattles in your ears.

“I got her, Steve. It’s a go from me.”

Steve… you repeat in your head, dazed. Turning over, you watch as Sam takes off after a jet and you try to get up. When you blink, your world is covered in red film, breaking like faulty holograms and you let out a sharp breath, trying to rub it out. The roar of the jet echoes in your heart, weaves into your chest as you reach out a hand. Red energy curls against your palm, soothing a nefarious drilling digging deep into your brain. Steve is getting away, and I can’t stop him. No, no, no—

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together — to know Steve’s the one who put a target on your back. Blood shoves its way up your mouth as the ball of pure agony in your head explodes.

“They’re getting away.”

“Get up, Viper! Come on, get up! You can stop them!”

You can’t get up. You can barely see as you plant your hands against the ground. Blood slick against your palms, you roll onto your stomach as you try to push yourself up. Shockwaves shake your bones and you let out a painful groan when your head tips you over. Landing on your side, you feel something warm dribble down your chin.

“Vision, I got a bandit on my six.”

“What’s happening?” Peter’s innocent question makes you turn blindly towards him and you reach out just as strong arms hoist you onto your knees and you try to open your eyes only for white light to seep into your irises. “What’s happening? Are you okay? Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?”

“Vision! You copy? Target his thrusters, turn him into a glider.”

“Pete.” His name is thick in your mouth as you pat blindly and you come into contact with his face as you cough, black dotting the edges of your vision and you let out a groan when the blood pooling in your chest sloshes against your lungs. “It hurts. Shit, it hurts, Pete, it hurts so bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Oh, god, what do I do? Is there some way I can make it better?”

“Pete, you gotta go. You needa go, you needa go.” You can feel his arms holding you up as your hands trace down his cheeks and onto his neck, streaking blood all over his skin. You can barely see him but you know that he is smiling through his tears, tears that run over your knuckles and you think, brave boy. A brave boy who shouldn’t be here. “Pete, go.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here alone! You’re hurt, and I don’t know what to do. What do I do? Where does it hurt?”

“Rhodey!”

“Everywhere! Fuck, my head, Pete, you need to just… go. It hurts, it hurts. Make it stop,” you whimper as a ripple of agony travels across your skull. Jerking back, you rake your hands through your hair, trying to keep your eyes open through the tears. Everything is blinding white and red as you catch a glimpse of Peter’s face, brown eyes wide and tears dripping down his face as a double of him flashes before your eyes. A jackhammer digs into the center of your mind and you let out a scream, a pulse thundering through your body as you flare scarlet red.

“Tony, I’m flying dead stick.”

“No—”

“Leave me alone.” The words slip out of your mouth, incoherent, barely audible as voices begin to echo in your head. You half-recognize some of them, and others you barely know as frost sinks into your limbs, paralyzing you. Your whole body rigid, you fall to your elbows and knees as Peter’s hands hover around you. You can feel his warmth, every single molecule of his being, the racing of his heart and the soft whomsh of his blood. His breathing echoes in his ear, and you can hear his fingers twitching, the blink of his eye, the thickness in his throat, the roar of the quinjet and the sound of a body whistling through the air, falling faster and faster, too fast, and two men desperate to catch him—

You can barely hear your own thoughts and your breaths come in sharp, painful gasps as you try to sort through the storm in your head — your thoughts from whatever it is that lives inside you, or changed you, or whatever it did because you can hear voices in languages you don’t understand and everything turns red, static and breaking apart as your reality crumbles to pieces around you.

“Let me help—”

“Leave me alone!” Pushing him away blindly, a surge of heat sinks its teeth down into your bones as everything inside you breaks. You pitch forward, bones snapping as voices echo in your head, and the ground splits beneath your hands.

“RHODES!”

It’s 2023.

You wear a black sweater because Pepper said it’d look nice and the heels Tony bought for you after the Civil War that’ve been gathering dust in the apparent five years you’ve been gone.

A part of you wants to toss the heels into the lake when the service is down, and you want to see if you can siphon what is left of the energy you have to bring Tony back to life. But you can’t. So you don’t try. You sit at the edge of the lake as the water laps at your feet, and you send gentle wisps of red over the soft waves as they lap at your feet. Tony’s last message echoes in your head, and you can picture him so clearly. And Natalia too, her last words to you—

“Don’t go—”

The wisps take shape, mere figures of shadows of Tony and you and Natalia, memories playing like puppets on strings, jagged and sharp and all too wrong.

“Hey.”

The figures vanish, sink into the water, and you flinch at the sound of his voice. Putting on a smile, you turn around and he stands there, hands shoved in his suit pocket, face pale and swollen around the eyes. Wiping at your own tears, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Natasha’s service is tomorrow, so I was thinking we should all get some rest,” he says and you nod, turning back to the lake. He steps up to the shore beside you and you try your best not to look at him, no matter how much you want to. Your ring seems to cut off the blood to your finger as he breathes in quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m alive,” you reply softly. “Guess that’s what matters.”

“Doll—”

“Don’t call me that. Just…” You turn to him and stare into his glossy blue eyes, eyes that you haven’t seen in so, so long. Your heart nearly snaps in two as his lower lip trembles and you throw your arms around his neck, embracing him so tightly you can barely breathe. “I missed you so much, Steve. Oh, god, I miss you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, and then suddenly his arms are around you, squeezing the life you’ve just gotten back out of you and you run your fingers through his gelled hair. “Germany, I— I never meant for that to happen.” Cold water douses whatever warmth you feel and you pull back, face pulled back in a terrible mask of an empty smile. “I never meant to leave you in the middle of one of your breaks.”

“Steve, that was apparently seven years ago and… it was for Bucky. You’d do anything for him. Do anything for anyone from your past, apparently,” you whisper and he tries to smile, but even he can now see how finished you are. How you’ve given up, and you wonder if that can scare him any more than it scares you. “And it’s sweet, and admirable, and that kind of loyalty is rare. I wish someone was like that with me, but… it’s just… you were always the only one who could stop me and in Germany… in Germany you were the reason it happened.” His arms fall away and you step back, clearing your throat. “But it’s in the past, now.”

“Doll—”

“Steve, fighting Thanos was the fucking scariest thing of my life, and I wanted to kill him so badly I tore open what Stephen Strange thinks is a multidimensional tear. Because I lost control, and I didn’t want to come back.” You can still recall the feeling — like free falling and knowing the clouds will catch you — as you just let go of everything holding you up. Of falling into the darkness and just barely snagging the last of the light so you can pull yourself out again if you wanted to.

And you didn’t want to until it was over.

Until Tony was dead.

“Everything from the past doesn’t matter, because I have more important things to fix,” you continue blithely. Steve barely has time to open his mouth before you lean up to kiss his lips. “I love you, Steve.”

“I need to tell you something—”

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Steve. My best friends are dead, and it’s permanent. I’m not so lucky as you.” You force a smile onto your face and run a hand up and down his arm in farewell. “I’ll see you at the cabin.”

You don’t.

It is Bucky who tells you the man is gone.

You would laugh at the irony — Bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this. Like your world is ending and like you’re not good enough and like the ring on your finger was just a cheap way to keep you around.

Instead you thank him, and go to Natasha’s funeral. Because that’s what you do.

You look to the future. You are the sunshine girl after all. The Viper who can shed her skin and move on.

The Viper who is searching for someone. Who doesn’t know yet, but someone who doesn’t want to fix her, because she is not-fine-but-accepting of the way she is now. Who isn’t searching for someone else, someone from their past, someone you aren’t and can never be.

And you find him, weeks after the Battle, in one of New York’s finest bars.

Because if Steve Rogers is a loyal golden retriever, then Quentin Beck is the snake in the garden.

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hawksmagnolia · 5 years ago

Text

In times of sickness we all need a hero.

Darcy is sick so Clint, Nat and Sam send her a hero to save the day.

A/N: Based on the prompt: “What do you mean you’re sick? You’re my partner in crime!”

Warning: Fluff, bathtime snuggles, sweet Bucky

“What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime! Who else is going to encourage me to do dumb shit?”

Darcy sniffled through the phone. “Clint, you’re perfectly capable in doing dumb shit all on your own.”

Clint considered this. “Well, yeah. But it’s not as much fun without you. Plus who is going to warn me when Nat is coming? Wilson sucks at being the look out. He gets distracted.”

“Sam gets flirted with. You get distracted. You’re the walking, talking poster child for ADHD. You’re like one of those monkeys who ate all the cocaine at that drug lord’s house down in Miami. Although you’d probably be calmer on coke, pretty sure it’s just like super Adderall.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

She sniffed again. “I’m going back to laying on my couch in misery and watching Hallmark Christmas movies until I feel better. Stay out of Tony’s expensive espresso or you’ll die and we won’t know because you’ll be twitching for another 48 hours.”

“Spoilsport. Call me if you need anything.” Clint made kissy noises into the phone and hung up.

Clint looked over at Sam and Nat. Natasha looked bemused and Sam looked annoyed. Which was his normal state around Clint.

“I do NOT get distracted.” Sam grumbled.

“You do get flirted with a lot though.” Natasha pinched his cheek and he batted her hand away.

“What about me?!” Cried Clint and Natasha kissed him on his pouting lips. “I threaten to kill people who flirt with you.” Clint smiled fondly at her.

“Now what?” Sam eyed Clint suspiciously. “I know you’re up to something but since we have Nat here I feel much safer.”

Clint cut his eyes at Sam. “You feel safer with her? She’s an assassin!”

Nat thumped Clint on the back of the head. “So are you. Give me your phone. He won’t expect you to be capable of this kind of manipulation.”

Clint looked hurt and Nat kissed him again as she took the phone from his hands. “We all know the stupid is an act.” She held the phone to his face to unlock it and then began to type on the screen. Clint leaned over to watch her and a smile blossomed on the archer’s face.

“Oh Nat. When you’re good…you’re good.” He plucked the phone from her fingers and held the screen for Sam to read.

“Damn girl. You almost sound like Clint in that text. Except it has proper spelling and grammar.”

“Not many schools in the carnival life.” Clint shrugged. “Doesn’t affect my aim. Find bad guy, shoot bad guy. The end.”

“Will you two idiots shut up? I’m setting the trap, let’s see if he takes the bait.” She pressed ‘send’ on the text and then spun around in her chair to watch the monitor screen of the gym where their mark, also known as James Buchanan Barnes, was working out.

Clint pulled out a box of caramel popcorn and kicked his feet up onto the desk where Natasha immediately shoved them off.

“Really Barton? Popcorn?”

He held out the box to Sam. “Want some?”

“I’m not sure why I’m still surprised by anything you do.”

Natasha shushed them as she saw Bucky glance at his watch before re-stacking his weights and going to his bag to get his phone.

“Hook, line and sinker.” Natasha smiled smugly as they watched Bucky pack up his bag and jog out of the gym.

——————————

Darcy laid on her couch in a pile of blankets as she wallowed in self pity. She felt awful, with a congested head and fever. Everything ached. Downfall of living with so many super people? None of them got sick but somehow they managed to bring home many, many germs to those of the non-super people variety. She coughed and considered calling Clint back so she could whine and then guilt him into bringing her food. She had food here but it was not food she wanted.

She had just picked up her phone when there was a knock at her door. She looked back at it before pressing her phone screen to unlock the door.

When the door opened Darcy desperately wished she had died and this was now heaven. Because that was preferable to the reality of the super hot super soldier actually seeing her looking like a hot mess.

And, dear gods of thunder, he looked super hot. His hair was damp and loose around his face and he was dressed like he’d just left the gym. His tank top showed off every single defined muscle of his arms and was just clingy enough to give a hint of those abs while his shorts rode low on his hips. He was also looking at her oddly. Which is when she realized she was not only staring, but staring with her mouth wide open. She snapped her jaw shut and felt her face burn with something other than fever.

“Darcy? You okay?”

“Um. Yeah. Peachy.” She tried to flash a smile but ended up coughing again. She heard a thump on her table and then a broad, warm hand was rubbing her back.

“Jesus. You’re burning up.”

She waved a limp hand at him. “I’m not quite dead yet.”

“Clint said you were sick and asked me to check on you. So I brought that egg drop soup you like since you can’t get me sick.” He pointed to brown paper bag on her tiny kitchen table.

She peered up at him. “How do you know what soup I like?”

Bucky smiled at her. “You order it every single night we get Chinese.”

“Oh. Oh!” She yelped as Bucky reached over the back of the couch and scooped her into his arms. She hissed as his prosthetic pressed against her fevered skin.

“We gotta get you cooled down Doll.” He carried her with ease into her bathroom. She was suddenly very, very grateful that she’d actually put her laundry down the chute earlier instead of leaving it in a pile on the floor. Keeping her cradled in his arms, he sat on the edge of the oversized tub and turned the tap on.

“What are you doing?” Darcy’s voice was a little muffled from being buried into his chest. She peeked up at his face.

“Told you. Getting you cooled down.” He kicked off his sneakers and reached down to peel off his socks.

“But why are you getting…less clothing-ish?”

Bucky laughed as he checked the water. “I’m getting in with you. I can watch your temperature with my arm easier than any other way.”

Darcy squeaked. “In with me?!”

He laughed again and kissed the top of her head which sent little tingles all the way to her toes. “I promise your dignity is safe with me. I’ll keep my shorts on.”

“What if I don’t want my dignity to be safe?” Darcy mumbled and Bucky chuckled.

Bucky turned the water off and shifted her again as he yanked his tank top over his head. Darcy tried very hard not to stare but she was 1000% sure she failed.

He stood, her still cradled in his arms and against that gloriously naked chest, and stepped into the tub. He sat, putting her between his legs with her back against his chest. She shivered a bit and he wrapped his arms around her.

“Sorry doll. But this-“ He plucked at her tank top. “has got to go.”

Darcy felt herself blush, she wore nothing under it, but Bucky leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re gorgeous and should know that.” His lips grazed her ear as he slid his prosthetic hand over her stomach and lifted her shirt with his other. Once the soaked fabric was tossed aside he settled her back against him. His thumb slowly traced a circle on her abdomen while he used the other to run through her hair. Darcy practically purred as his fingers slid across her scalp.

“How long have you been like this?” His voice rumbled against her back.

“Mmm…I don’t know. A couple days? What day is it?”

“Have you been miserable the whole time? Why didn’t you call someone?”

“Clint and Nat have been checking on me. Steve came by too and dropped off some Gatorade and cold medicine. Sometimes you super people forget that not all of us have magic immune systems. Normally I’d have Thor bring me Asgardian medicine but he’s off in space doing space things.”

He pulled her a little closer and she snuggled into him. The water felt amazing on her skin and Bucky was warm enough to ward off the chill of the water and her fever finally breaking.

“Next time call me. I’ll come stay with you.”

Darcy craned her neck to look up at him. “Don’t you have world saving to do though? I’m pretty sure that’s way more important than babysitting me.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll decide what’s important.”

“Does this mean I’m important?”

“I don’t go climbing in bathtubs with just anyone.”

She sighed dramatically. “Of course you pick now to do it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. “You sayin’ you want to do it again?” His Brooklyn drawl crept into his voice.

“Only if you want to. But, I’d be either dead or a complete idiot to say no. Please know if I am asked about this later I will blame fever.”

“Then we will make a habit of this…especially when you’re better.” He flashed a wicked grin at her that made the heat she felt throughout her body have nothing to do with her illness. “But until then, out we go. I don’t want you gettin’ too cold.” He slipped from behind her and out of the tub, reaching to grab a towel. Darcy swallowed hard at the sight of his ass in water soaked clingy shorts. She crossed her arms over her chest self consciously.

“You done lookin’?”

“Um…no? I mean, I can lie and say yes but no. I’m not.”

Bucky smiled and held out his hand and Darcy slowly stood on unsteady legs as she attempted to keep her chest covered. Gently he wrapped her in a towel and sat her on the side of the tub before wrapping one around his waist. Grabbing the wet fabric of his shorts, he pulled them down his legs and tossed them aside.

Darcy gaped at him. Her brain shorted out and the only noise to escape her mouth was a wheezy gasp.

Bucky pretended not to notice as he grabbed another towel and tenderly began to dry the ends of her hair that had fallen into the water. She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her tangled curls until was able to braid it out of her face.

“Where did you learn to braid?”

Bucky was pulling a hair tie from around his wrist and he paused. “My sister. She was constantly running around with wild hair but she’d let me brush and braid it at night after her bath.” He secured her braid and stood. “Out of your wet stuff. I’ll be back in a minute, going to try and find you dry clothes.” He disappeared into her bedroom.

She heard him moving around in her bedroom. The idea of James Buchanan Barnes going into her underwear drawer was enough to make her yelp. He stuck his head back into the bathroom.

“You okay?”

“I..I can find dry clothes.”

He searched her face for a moment and then slowly nodded. “I’ll clean up in here.”

Darcy wobbled her way into her bedroom and stopped in surprise. Her bed had been carefully spread up with the quit and sheets pulled back so she could climb in. A bottle of Gatorade sat on her bedside- it wasn’t her normal flavor so she wondered if it was from him. She pulled on another tank top (this one with a built in bra) and dry boy shorts, kicking her wet ones aside. She was sitting on the edge of her bed attempting to get a pair of shorts up her legs when he came in still just wearing a towel around his waist. Without being asked, he knelt at her feet and slid them up for her. His fingers grazed over her bare flesh and it broke out into chill bumps.

“Into bed with you.” He gestured and she crawled up towards her pillows. He sat on the edge and pulled the blankets up.

“Are you leaving?” She whispered.

“Do you want me to?”

She shook her head.

“I’m going to put your soup up and grab dry stuff for me. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her forehead again and padded barefoot out of her room.

Darcy closed her eyes for just a second, she wasn’t asleep, just resting her eyes. She opened them again when her bed shifted. Bucky sat there in another tank top and shorts. His hair was scraped back from his face and the light from the bathroom cast shadows across his face.

“Hey. You good?”

Darcy nodded sleepily and he went to stand up but she grabbed his hand. “Stay.”

“I ain’t leavin’ doll. Just going to lay on the couch.”

She shook her head. “No. Stay here.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “In bed? With you?”

She nodded.

“You sure?”

She nodded again. He carefully went to the other side and slid under the covers behind her. Darcy sighed when she felt his body pressed against hers, her legs tangling with his. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Not exactly how I expected our first time in bed to go.”

“What?!”

Bucky laughed. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted to do this for months.”

“I’m sorry. I must be delirious. I could have sworn you said you’ve been wanting to get into my bed for months.”

“Well, me into yours or you into mine. I ain’t picky.”

Darcy shifted and then rolled to face him. Her eyes roved over his face and she traced the angle of his jaw with her fingertips. “So, why the hell haven’t you done something before now?”

Bucky shrugged a little. “Figured you weren’t interested.”

“Are you high? How would I not be interested in you? Have you seen yourself?”

“I’ve got…baggage.”

“So does everyone. But you also have lots of muscles, pretty eyes and a great smile. And you’re a good person. You’re here, in my bed, making sure I don’t die.”

“You’re not going to die from a cold.”

“I might. This is why you have to stay. To protect my life. It’s very important to my health that you stay.”

“Well, if it’s that important then I’ll stay.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and left them there. His warm breath slid over her skin and she pressed a little closer. “You keep that up and I’m makin’ no promises about your dignity being safe with me.”

Darcy picked up his arm and draped it over her side where he curled his fingers against her skin.

“What if I say I’m feeling much better? Like I’m almost cured?”

“I’ll still be here when you’re actually well.”

“But..!”

Bucky cut her off by pressing his lips to hers and when she gasped and opened her mouth, his tongue slid over her lips deepening the kiss.

When he broke off from her, she looked a little dazed. “You’re really good at that.”

He gently kissed her again. “I’m really good at a lot of things. But for now, you need to rest.”

“Promise you’ll show me?”

“Hell yes.”

——————

“Told you it would work.” Clint tiled the box of popcorn to dump the crumbs into his mouth. “Wasn’t expecting him to go wandering the halls in a towel though.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I have to admit Barton, I’m actually kind of impressed.”

Natasha tapped her fingernail against her lips. “I think this is exactly the push they needed. Bravo Clint.”

Clint shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a genius sometimes. Can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

“You just killed an entire box of Cracker Jacks. How the hell are you still hungry?”

“It takes a lot of food to power my big brain.”

“Come on Sam, let’s go feed him before he starts drinking coffee again on top of pre sugar. I don’t want to have to get him out of a tree again.”

“That was ONE TIME. And I could have gotten out. Eventually. I was almost out of my belt when Wanda got to me.”

“You were almost out of your pants and you damn near scandalized the poor girl.”

“Shut up Wilson. Food time. FEED ME SEYMOUR.”

Natasha, who had stood up, leaned over and kissed Clint. “If you shut up, I’ll buy a pizza just for you.”

“Deal.”

@the-ss-horniest-book-club @eurynome827 @cchellacat @daughterofsteven @sevans-is-my-weakness @sallycanwait68 @nano--raptor @buckys-broody-muffin @godofplumsandthunder @book-dragon-13 @fuckyeahdarcylewis @fuckyeahwintershock

#HBC #Wintershock #Bucky Barnes #Darcy Lewis

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