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dolly-on-the-dotted-line · 8 months ago

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Interlude: Dumbstruck

You face up to a very adult problem in Javi’s absence that leaves you questioning your future forever.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Angst, Discussion of Pregnancy, Pregnancy Loss, Miscarriage, Medical Setting.

A/N: Major trigger warning for this one. If you don't want to read this post, you will not lose anything from the story. There are no major plot developments or changes in their relationship. You can skip it out, or if you'd like a summary I will happily send you one. Further discussion under the cut.

Major confession that I've had this sat in the drafts for... years now due to the above, and not yet having anything lighter ready to publish to follow up... But today is the day. And happier things soon after!!

I've kept descriptors to a minimum for obvious reasons, as well as the fact that this is obviously only one experience based on personal anecdote- please don't take this as gospel, nor a universal experience. This was originally planned to be a whole chapter but I was struggling with the heavy themes and aware that it's not everyone's cup of tea. However, I still felt like it added some important insight so wanted to keep it in some capacity so have decided to post it anyway. Keeping it as an 'interlude' also felt quite representative of the experience, in the sense that often it's an event that happens unbeknownst to people on the outside, but is a weight you carry with you. Reader/ Bug will carry on with the knowledge of that experience with her, but others will continue to move on around her none the wiser, and you can choose to do the same if it's a post you don't wish to read.

New York, Spring, Age 30: Dumbstruck

The dial tone lasts for an eternity, you’re sure. You try to focus on the way your heartbeat thrums between the beeps, double time nearly, thud, thud, thud, like a bird throwing itself against a glass pane. The skin at the edge of your fingernail is worn clean, blood starting to pool in the cuticle.

You hear the scrape of the receiver being lifted and a voice finally calls, the raspy accent filling the line.

“This is Murphy.”

“Hey Steve, can I speak to Javi, please? Now. I need to speak to him now.”

“Bug? Are you alright? You sound like you've seen a ghost. If that were possible.”

Your interactions with Steve Murphey so far had been limited.

By that, you meant you had spoken to him on the phone maybe twice, and on both occasions, you were trying to get through to Javier. The fact he’s able to recognise you immediately in spite of that is intriguing to you, and at any other moment, you’d take the time to consider the tone of affection he takes with you in just one sentence.

You try to keep your tone light but it’s impossible, the panic rising up in you like a tidal wave. You must sound worse than you think because he’s onto it in a second.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you mumble to yourself and reach out to steady your frame against the wall in the hallway of your new apartment.

“Now,” you seethe, losing your guard completely, the tears starting to bubble at your eyelids as you lean your head back in frustration to rest on the setting plaster.

You hear the phone ripped from Murphy’s hand in a muffled frenzy and Javi’s there, breathing down the line.

“Javi-”

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

You sob then, immediately, hearing his voice, the weight of the situation finally hitting you with full force.

“I’m- I think I’m having a miscarriage,” you breathe, deadpan, utterly in shock as you hear the words pass your lips for the first time since you’d started to process.

“I can’t be sure, but…” your voice trails off quietly, giving up the guise.

It had taken you long enough to get your head around, already stunting the phone call by at least ten minutes as it was. In reality, there was no ‘think’ about it. You knew. It was impossible not to know.

Silence from the other end of the line. You hear something smash to the ground, Murphy’s indistinct words, the slow, rattling intake of Javi’s controlled breath.

“You’re pregnant?” he asks slowly, quietly, as though the words are arriving before the thoughts that spur them.

“No, I’m fucking not,” you yell between clenched teeth, trying to contain the overwhelming rage that’s bubbling up inside you. “Not now I’m not.”

Another devastating pause, and you feel the way your fingers instinctively grip the cord of the phone a little tighter, awaiting his response.

“Is it-?”

“Please, don’t,” you cut sorely, “don’t ask me that fucking stupid question right now. Javi, I’m so scared.”

You clap your hand to your mouth as the sobs start to pour out, giving in completely. The emotion is overwhelming, fear, shock, and surprise moving over you in relentless, intersecting waves, with no time to differentiate one from the next.

“Okay,” he replies firmly, taking the wheel in the only way he knows how. “Okay, it’s going to be okay.”

His tone is strong and soothing, and you can’t help but lean into its gentle familiarity. You wanted to give it up, to give over to him entirely and let him make it all okay.

“It must have been the couch,” he can’t help but shoot down the line, more to himself than to you.

“Javier.”

In the complex swell of your emotions, above all else you’re seething, unable to even fathom the possibilities surrounding what's happening right now.

You carrying his child. His baby. A life together, as forced as it may have been, suddenly wilting away without even a chance to romanticise the prospect. It was gone in the blink of an eye before you even knew you had it.

You’re furious. Like everything else, it wasn’t fair.

“I need to go home,” you sigh, trying to brush away the tears with a shaking hand as you draw together some kind of plan in your head.

You were already compartmentalising, packing away the thoughts you couldn't give yourself even a moment to dwell on.

“You need to go to the hospital. That’s the only place you need to be right now. I’ll call you straight back and I’ll be there as soon as I can but you need to get some help right now, baby. I need you to call someone who can help you out until I arrive.”

‘Baby’. In the heat of the moment, it was always ‘Baby’. Like it was a slip of the tongue reserved for special occasions; weddings that weren’t even yours. Anniversaries. Children.

But in your temperamental state, it knocks you sideways anyway, pushing you off kilter and bringing the tears to the brink again.

“Javi, please,” you keen, unsure of what you're even asking for.

You’re scared, achingly so, more so than you’d ever felt even when you were a child. This was something else, something new. You needed something stable and solid to hold on to, and he was a thousand miles away.

“I know, baby, I know. But you need to do this, for me. Just be brave and I’ll be back on the line in just a tick. Just make the call.”

You slam your fist against the phone cradle in frustration, resetting the dial tone without another word, and thumb in the number without even looking at the keys. As always, it rings once.

“Rosie?” Rasps Jack, ready and waiting, business smart except for the nickname, his favourite turn of phrase.

“Emergency,” you eke out, sinking to the floor now as you feel the sensation start to sink in, heartbreak rather than consternation hitting for the first time.

“Are you at home?” He’s deadly serious, the professional front fitting into place like a reflex.

“Yes. Medical, call Ginger. I need an ETA of 10 or less. Hospital transfer, the car will do.”

“Are you safe? Are they still in the apartment?”

“No external risk. Code O0-,” you hold your breath for the final digit, finally making it a complete reality, “3. Potentially 3.3, I’m not sure right now, I can’t remember the ICD codes.”

He hears your crying now. He understands. His heart breaks for you.

“Rosie,” he breathes.

“Please Jack, just deal with it. I’m failing every one of my training protocols right now, I know, but I just cannot handle what is happening right now. I can't do this.”

“I’m on it. Stay put. Just stay by the phone. Breathe.”

You can hear his pager going off, the shuffling of the papers moving across his desk as he stands to leave.

“And whatever you do,” he adds staunchly, “don’t look.”

“‘Don’t look’?” you repeat, but when you lift your hand from the plasterwork where you’d been steadying yourself, you see it, the way the harsh red seeps into the porous craftsmanship.

“How do you-”

“Just trust me, Darlin’. I’ll be there soon.” And the line rings dead.

Left alone, truly alone, you slump to the ground and ruminate in comfortless solitude. In the quiet stagnation of your apartment, you can only defer so far. It's fruitless to fight it. For just a moment, you let yourself sit, and think, and wait.

Jack had barely left your side in the ER, vigilant and dutiful.

His straightforward attitude was soothing and efficient, and allowed for a rare moment of surrender as he handled the overwhelming process of the inpatient clinic. Sitting by his side, you took a quiet comfort in the way his personal concern occasionally bled into his unrelenting professionalism, appreciating every squeeze of your hand, each cup of cold coffee, and every form you didn't have to read and sign.

When night came, Javi took his place, arriving on the first non-stop flight to Newark Liberty. He didn't even bring a backpack, just an unread paperback and his keys.

You try to picture the two men crossing paths in the hallway, shaking hands, nodding heads.

They’d never met. What absurd circumstances to finally come face-to-face, each an urban legend in their own right.

When he climbs up next to you to hold you close to him in the hospital bed, jacket, shoes and badge still in place, you break, the sobs wrenching from your chest like nothing you’ve ever known. There was nothing to hide, nothing to lose.

“Was it ours?” he eventually asks, his forehead never leaving your own, his voice a quiet whisper in the cavernous space of the dim room.

“Of course it was ours,” you sigh, bone-weary, drained and devastated.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know,” you say, frankly, the candour obvious in your upfront sentiment. “I wasn’t due for a medical until next month.”

“You didn’t suspect?”

“I’ve been busy. I didn’t really think, work has been a lot.”

“Would you have kept it?” he asks, more tentative still, aware of how precariously close everything feels as he reels off his pressing questions.

You hesistate, but not for long.

“Yes, probably. I’m in love with the idea of it more than anything. It’s irrelevant now, but-”

“It’s not irrelevant," he interrupts quickly. "Don’t say that. How can something we made be irrelevant?”

His fervour takes you back, even in its hushed whisper.

“Made by accident,” you huff back frustratedlym “it’s not like we knew-”

“Well, so what? We’d have been just fine. I know that. It wouldn't have mattered. We-"

“Mr. Peña," you hear from the open doorway, the tone firm but kind. "We don’t allow visitors overnight I’m afraid, only family.”

He doesn’t turn to the attendant before he replies, simply gripping you tighter, pressing his legs into yours as he holds your taut frame against his own.

“I am family.”

“Alright then,” she replies without complaint, clearly not seeing the merit in pushing it. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

You’d been alone for less than ten minutes before he came skulking back into the room, black coffee and another round of toast in hand.

He was reluctant to be away from you for longer than a minute at a time, you could tell. He used to get like this when you were sick, or when you’d be sent home to bed from gym with bad cramps.

They’d said the tub was the best place for you at home. The heat would help, the chaos contained. He kneels down on the floor next to you, resting his arm on the enamel and laying his chin on top.

"How are you feeling?" he asks again, and you caress his cheek with a wet hand.

"Not great, but better. The peanut butter is helping."

You crack a feeble smile, but you can see the look in his eye is heavy.

“Querida, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

You bring yourself closer through the water so that your head is resting next to his, close enough for your noses to touch. He brings a hand up to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear, and rubs his thumb across your cheekbone.

“What do you mean?” you ask, but you know what he's saying, what he's asking. The impossible situation.

His face says as much.

“Javi, please,” you sigh, but you laugh quietly as you say it, “you know it’s not as simple as that. If anything this has proved it.”

“I don’t care,” he replies candidly, but the frustration in his voice is the overriding detail. “I don’t want to care. It shouldn’t matter. Not after things like this.”

“Javi, you just moved. You’re fighting the war on drugs for goodness sake. You really think now is the time to have a baby? To be a father?”

“I don’t care. Whatever happens with us, whenever, is the right time. You’ve always said that. I should have been here. It could have been different.”

“Don’t talk like that. Not right now. Just tell me everything’s going to be alright. We’ll get it together one day. We’re young”

“Not as young as we were,” he scoffs.

“Twenty-eight! That’s certainly not old, Javier.”

“Why can’t you just… give in? I’d have left. If you asked. I will leave. If you ask.”

“No, actually, I don't think you would," you ponder, shaking your head slightly, "and I wouldn’t ask you to. Not even now.”

Your blunt words appear to stump him, and whatever the next line of his argument was is lost and replaced with a tender kiss to your bare shoulder, his bottom lip sliding along your damp skin.

“I’m sad, Ladybug."

“So am I, Javi,” you sigh, and when you feel his quiet tears on your shoulder, you let your own follow suit.

You shift in his arms, rolling onto your back to stare at the clear night through the skylight. It was a familiar reminder of home, one you were enjoying today.

“When are you off?” you finally ask, the question becoming the second most unavoidable topic in the room.

“First thing. I shouldn’t even really be here.”

“I’m glad you are. I hope you’re not in too much trouble.”

“If I am, I am. It's a hard one for them to argue with, really."

He curls himself around you and cradles your stomach, quietly mourning the loss of something that never really was. Another future together, gone before you even had the chance to consider it.

You fall asleep wrapped in one another, just like always. But before you drift off, for one night, you talk about a future that you’ll never have.

“We couldn’t call her that,” you scold indignantly.

“Why not?" he retorts, smirking innocuously. "We never call you it. It’s a nice name.”

“It’s my mother’s name. That’s exactly why you never call me that. What kind of narcissist names their child after them?”

“Most people. My Mother’s name, then. That makes more sense, surely. Everyone loved her.”

“Pa would weep,” you sigh, lovingly.

“In a good way.”

“Would you want it to be a girl?”

He smirks, rubbing his nose against your shoulder.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t care. I’d be too excited about seeing you big and fat. Carrying my brood.”

“Why do you make that sound so filthy?” you scold.

“I’m just trying to put a positive spin on the prospect of another shotgun wedding.”

You elbow him sharply in the ribs, and he laughs.

“I could be your little harlot. We could live out of wedlock. Social exile.”

“Not a chance," he scolds, feigning shock. "I’m a man of God. We don’t actually want to kill Pa."

You snuggle into him closer, turning in his arms to come and face him.

“Do you think our family has any idea, at all?”

The look on his face is passive, but you can see the words settling somewhere. You don't know if it's the talk of home, or of something bigger; the idea that your summer fling surmounts to so much more when you give it the space to exist.

“I don't know. I wonder sometimes if Pa knows, deep down. I feel like he’s asked me before, in more ways than one. I think he asked when I told him about Lorraine. Like it was a loaded question, you know?"

"They always are with him."

“Do you think they know?” he asks.

“I don’t think they’d be surprised, necessarily. Like it’s an inevitable thing, almost.”

He holds your face between his hands then, drawing it away from his so he can look at you clearly, pulling the damp strands of hair away with broad strokes of his thumbs.

“Do you think it is? Inevitable?”

“Yes," you whisper, a clean answer, cutting through the mirth.

He kisses your upturned lips, tracing them over with the pad of his thumb before finally letting you go.

“I hope you’re right.”

“You know I always am.”

A/N: I know I mentioned dates before but I’ve actually broken my own timeline here since technically Murphy wouldn’t be in Colombia until they were at least 30, but I figured for the sake of continuity it made sense here.

Also please let me know if I've missed anyone from the tag list! I has been such a very long time 🌚

Playlist Recommendation

Taglist

@furious-rogue-stuff

@athalien

@sara-alonso

@vanemando15

@chronic-nosebleed

@mashomasho

@hnt-escape

@angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@hylasposts

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darkmaga-returns · 3 months ago

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Ozempic Propaganda Roundup: Unpacking the corrupt motives and means behind hefty pharmaceutical propaganda.

Eli Lilly CEO vows to ‘fight for the FDA’ against RFK Jr., MAHA agenda

Like Brooks, Eli Lilly CEO David Ricks is an institutional man.

Via The New York Times (emphasis added):

“President-elect Donald J. Trump’s pick of Robert F. Kennedy Jr., a longtime vaccine skeptic with no medical or public health training, to be the next health secretary has sent a chill through the American public health sphere. Among drugmakers, there are already signs of pushback. David Ricks, the chair and chief executive of Eli Lilly, speaking at The New York Times’s DealBook Summit, said his $750 billion company would fight to defend* preserving the Food and Drug Administration as it stands today.”

*By “defend the FDA,” Ricks means, of course, preserving the self-serving institutional gravy train in which his industry continually schemes up new excuses to mass-prescribe what are shaping up to be the most lucrative drugs in world history, hijacking public money to generate revenue whenever possible.

Related: Feds Propose MASSIVE, Budget-Breaking Subsidy For Ozempic, Mounjaro as Pharma Stocks Surge

RFK Jr. accused of fatphobia for questioning Ozempic

The new incoming public health czar RFK Jr. is, according to pharmaceutical ad-funded CNN, fatphobic for suggesting human-walrus hybrids turn first to diet and exercise before injecting themselves with GLP-1 agonists that cost thousands of dollars per month.

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cfiesler · 1 year ago

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New research alert! Research about research, actually!

A couple of years ago we recruited here (and elsewhere) for interview participants for a research study about fat people's experiences online. As part of that study we also asked for thoughts about how to ethically conduct such research, both in online communities and in human-computer interaction research more generally. This short paper was presented as a poster at the ACM Conference on Computer-Supported Cooperative Work & Social Computing. Led by PhD student Blakeley Payne, this also won the conference's Best Poster Recognition! <3

"How to Ethically Engage Fat People in Research"

(1) Choose respectful language. Use participants' own self description in conversation and reporting. Consider the connotations of euphemisms and medicalizing language. We recommend "fat" as a default term to use until participants or the context indicates otherwise.

(2) Consider positionality and practice reflexivity. Fat people are not a monolith but are experts in their own lived experiences. Engage with the history of fat oppression, especially as facilitated by research and medical institutions. Consider your positionality with respect to this history.

(3) Rethink assumptions around weight loss. Don't assume fat people are unhealthy and/or want to lose weight. Interrogate "weight loss" as an embedded design value and its potential for harm. Use notions of health that are weight-neutral such as Health at Every Size.

(4) Engage fat people in research. Fat people want to be engaged in technology design and research! Center fat people's voices, needs, and desires when choosing research questions and methods.

Citation and (open access!) link to full paper: Blakeley H. Payne, Jordan Taylor, Katta Spiel, and Casey Fiesler. 2023. How to Ethically Engage Fat People in HCI Research. In Companion Publication of the 2023 Conference on Computer Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing (CSCW '23 Companion). Association for Computing Machinery, New York, NY, USA, 117–121. https://doi.org/10.1145/3584931.3606987

#research paper #fat liberation #body positivity #fat acceptance #haes #research ethics

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makehydrafictionagain · 12 days ago

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Public Relations: Foundations- Chapter One, Parts 1 - 3 (MCU x Reader)

I revised the entirety of chapter one because it needed it, but it's too long, so I'm gonna post it in 2 parts. You can find the whole series here!

Part one- Saturday, May 30, 2015

A low whisper rattled the thin window panes, the early morning wind pushing against the aged glass. It wasn’t harsh, just persistent enough to stir you from sleep a little earlier than you'd hoped.

The air in the room was cool, the kind of crisp that settled in just before the warmth of the day arrived. You stayed still beneath the heavy comforter, letting it cocoon you against the chill that had crept in overnight.

You blinked up at the window, watching as the soft, early sunlight stretched across the plaster, filtered through sheer curtains that shifted gently with the wind. Bratislava had already begun to wake outside, though at this hour, the city still carried the hush of dawn. You could hear the occasional sound of a car passing on the street below, but the steady rustling of the wind was the dominant sound.

It was peaceful.

You wanted to hold onto that peace as long as you could, given what the day would inevitably bring.

London was easy. Fun, even. A warm welcome, especially compared to the New York and D.C. stops beforehand. It was a press event that felt more like a celebration than an obligation. The English public had embraced the team, the royal family expressed their gratitude, and Parliament offered their formal recognition. There was no tension, no pointed questions- just appreciation.

Vienna, though, felt more tense. The smiles were there, but beneath them was something else, something… watchful. The press event went smoothly, but the meetings behind closed doors had a different tone. You weren’t present for them, but from what you were told afterward they were sprinkled with questions about accountability, concerns about unchecked power. Nothing direct, nothing outright accusatory, but enough to make the entire team feel the shift.

Seoul proved to be a relieving break. A chance to focus on progress rather than politics. Dr. Cho was highly honored for her contributions to medical advancements, and you watched as she accepted her recognition with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t need applause to validate her work.

She helped to heal you with an advanced regenerative treatment for your shoulder- nothing miraculous, just something to speed the process along. It was incredibly reminiscent of the day you met the team; Clint was all beat up, but had just been worked on by Dr. Cho and was almost instantly healed. You hoped it would be the same for you.

Steve sure remembers that day. Dr. Cho pointed out, both amused and confused, how often he watched you. She wasn’t quite ‘in the loop.’

Apparently, because you weren’t present for that conversation, either, he was quite flustered when Sam latched onto that comment like a dog with a bone.

It was honestly the closest thing to a moment of peace that this tour had offered.

Johannesburg...

Johannesburg was sobering. A necessary stop. An apology, carefully worded and heavy with the weight of responsibility. The city accepted their presence, but not without caution, not without reminders of the destruction left behind when Bruce had lost control by Wanda’s hand.

The city didn’t need to know that part, though.

The team visited relief sites, and spoke with the people who helped rebuild. When before there had been celebration, in South Africa there was acknowledgement. Of loss. Of damage. Of the reality that heroism didn’t erase consequences. It was also the first stop of the PR tour that Wanda joined; Steve made sure she knew she didn’t have to attend any of it if she wasn’t prepared for it. She took advantage of that permittance and stayed back for over half of the trip, leaving just her and Vision at the Compound for most of the week.

You knew she would come, though. As little as you knew her, you knew she would come.

Now, you found yourselves in another new place. ‘New’ may not be the right word.

The team got in late and went to bed pretty much immediately, Wanda was the first to retreat. You wondered about her all night, through tosses and turns on the firm bed that creaked everytime you shifted. With everything going on in your head… The press tour, your speeches, the pain your arm was giving you… Steve… Wanda was paramount.

Because, today was different.

Today is for Sokovia.

Your gaze drifted back toward the window, where the morning light was beginning to grow stronger.

Bratislava was peaceful in the early hours, far removed from the destruction of Sokovia.

But today, everything reminded you of a place that no longer existed.

It's just so… real.

You sighed and forced yourself to sit up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed. The room was still cool, the floor cold beneath your feet as you pushed yourself to stand. You rolled your shoulder, testing the mobility. It was certainly better now, thanks to Dr. Cho, but the stiffness lingered.

A quiet reminder that some things took time.

Padding toward the small desk, you picked up the handwritten welcome note from a Slovakian official, skimming over the carefully worded gratitude. You had received plenty of these throughout the tour, but this one felt heavier, more personal. You set it back down and made your way toward the closet.

Your outfit had already been chosen days before- a sleek and conservative black ensemble, fitting for the tone of the day.

No bright colors. No unnecessary embellishments. Just something professional, simple.

Respectful.

You dressed slowly, buttoning the last detail in place before stepping in front of the mirror.

Your reflection looked composed, but there was still a tiredness behind your eyes, one that no amount of sleep could shake. You smoothed down the fabric of your shirt, then ran a hand through your hair, fixing a stray strand before turning away. It wasn’t about appearances today.

A final glance at the window showed the sunlight had strengthened, casting longer streaks of gold across the floor.

Time to go.

The hallway outside your room was quiet; the dulled wood floors creaked underfoot as you made your way to the dining area. The scent of fresh coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the warmth of freshly baked bread. As you stepped into the room, you found it just as subdued as you expected.

The dining space was elegant, an antiquity that truly represented the town's history, with high ceilings and dark wooden furniture that felt more suited to a formal gathering than a casual breakfast. A long table had been set with a modest buffet: fresh fruit, eggs, flaky rolls, coffee, and tea.

Steve sat at the far end of the table, a cup of coffee in front of him, eyes scanning the newspaper that was delivered with breakfast, as if he could read it. He looked focused, but there was a distance to him, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Sam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to force himself to wake up.

Rhodey made it further than Sam, already halfway through his meal, flipping through some sort of notebook as he ate. He acknowledged you first with a polite nod which you returned with a warm smile.

Natasha entered just behind you, sharp as ever, already put together and observant as her eyes scanned the room for who she knew wouldn’t be up yet.

The mood this morning was different from the previous ones. In London and Seoul there was easy conversation, teasing, laughter. Today, it was quiet. Reflective.

You grabbed a cup of coffee and took a seat across from Steve. He barely looked up, only offering the most modest of nods before a quick double-take and softening of his expression. You weren’t offended.

I get it.

Sam was the one who finally broke the silence. “Well, this is the quietest we’ve ever been. Kinda eerie.”

Rhodey smirked, shaking his head. “Give it a few minutes. We’re still waking up.”

Natasha, now settled with her own coffee, made a quiet observation. “Wanda’s not in yet.”

You debated whether to check on her, but before you could make a decision, Steve spoke. “She might still be sleeping.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful.

You nodded, wrapping your hands around the warmth of your coffee cup. “Can you blame her?”

Sam exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand down his face. “If I were her, I don’t know if I’d even show up.”

Natasha took a slow sip before responding. “She will.”

She will.

The door to the dining area opened softly, and Wanda stepped inside, dressed in black. The energy in the room shifted- not with awkwardness, but with acknowledgment.

No one expected her to say much. No one pushed her to.

You watched as she poured herself coffee, fingers tightening briefly around the handle before she picked up a piece of toast, though she didn’t take a bite.

Steve broke the silence first, his voice even and directed at the room. “We’ll head out in about an hour.”

Wanda nodded once but didn’t look up.

The others made a conscious effort to steer the conversation elsewhere, letting her settle in without pressure. Sam and Rhodey carried most of the conversation- their tone lighter, more casual. Something about super-suits and robot sidekicks, a topic far above your pay grade and not nearly interesting enough to pretend to care about.

No offense to the boys.

When she caught your periphery by finally looking up from her mug, you met her with a warm smile that didn't quite meet your eyes- rather, your eyes were too tired to show it.

She gave you the same tired smile.

When the team arrived at the United Nations Event Hall they were stunned. Government officials, diplomats, and members of the press had gathered in front of a grand and imposing building adorned with Slovakian and UN flags, its large glass doors opening into a formal reception area. Cameras flashed as soon as they stepped out of the vehicles, the media eager to capture the moment.

You were last, following closely behind Wanda. Where previously you spearheaded the introduction, you knew that you were not the celebrity here. If Wanda would have wanted, she would be the key speaker, but you knew she wouldn’t.

Security was heightened but not oppressive, just an ever-present awareness of the significance of the event- of your team. The atmosphere inside was respectful, the room filled with dignitaries and survivors, all waiting to hear what would be said.

As the Avengers were led to their seats, lining the right side of the stage leading to the podium, the audience hushed, waiting.

The speeches began with UN officials, some of whom you recognized as having followed the team on your tour thus far, followed by Slovakian representatives expressing their gratitude for the Avengers' role in preventing further devastation. Yet, even as the words of thanks were given, there was an undercurrent of loss; the acknowledgment that, despite everything, Sokovia was gone.

Steve stepped forward to the podium, his expression solemn and composed. His voice carried the weight of the moment as he spoke, steady and deliberate, ensuring that each word resonated with those listening.

“We can’t undo the past. We can’t bring back what was lost. But we can remember, honor, and ensure that Sokovia is never forgotten.”

He took a measured breath, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “The destruction of Sokovia was a tragedy- one that no speech or dollar amount can ever make right. But what I’ve seen in the weeks since is something… truly remarkable. The people of Sokovia- you who lost your homes, your families, your sense of safety- did not give up. You did not allow your pain to define you. You stood together. You rebuilt. And in doing so, you showed the world the strength that has always existed here.”

His gaze moved over the audience, making eye contact with several of the survivors who sat near the front. “Strength isn’t just in battle. It’s in the way people come together, in how they refuse to let loss consume them. The people of Sokovia have shown a resilience that deserves recognition. Not just today, but always.”

He didn’t dwell on the destruction, nor did he try to shift blame.

Instead, he made it clear that this was not about the Avengers- it was about the people who had survived. “We stand here today not as superheroes or soldiers, but as people who witnessed your strength firsthand. And we promise: Sokovia will not be forgotten. Your stories, your losses, your triumphs- they matter. And they always will. You always will.”

His gaze, perhaps unintentional, rested squarely on Wanda behind him. Yours did, too.

Wanda hadn’t expected to speak.

She had spent most of the event in silence, listening, enduring. Feeling. But as Steve’s voice faded into quiet, as the weight of his final words settled over the room, all eyes turned toward her. She could feel them- watching, waiting, hoping.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she stood, but she stepped forward anyway.

She had faced worse things than this.

Taking a steady breath, she let her fingers brush the edge of the podium, grounding herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but unwavering.

“Můj bratr a já jsme se narodili ve světě, který nás nikdy neměl chránit.”

The hall was silent, every ear trained on her.

"Nikdy jsme neměli být zachráněni. To jsme se naučili jako děti- že pokud chceme přežít, musíme být silní. Ne pro sebe. Pro sebe jsme nikdy nic nedělali. Ale pro sebe navzájem. Protože jsme neměli nikoho jiného.” She swallowed, exhaling slowly.

"Pietro dal svůj život, aby zachránil dítě, které ani neznal. Protože to je to, kým byl. Nikdy nechtěl být hrdinou. Chtěl být bratrem. Chtěl být synem. A místo toho se stal symbolem, tváří na zdi, jménem na seznamu padlých.”

Her fingers curled against the podium. Despite not knowing what was being said, it was as if you and the others could read her mind. You knew what she was saying.

"Ale pokud musí být symbolem, ať je to toto: symbolem toho, co znamená být Sokovcem."

She lifted her head, her gaze finding the survivors in the front row- their grief mirroring her own, their pain woven into hers.

"Naučili jsme se bránit se, protože jsme museli. Naučili jsme se truchlit, protože jsme neměli na výběr. Ale dnes se nebudeme trápit jen kvůli tomu, co jsme ztratili."

Her voice strengthened.

"Dnes oslavujeme to, co nám zůstalo."

She turned slightly, looking toward Steve, toward the others behind her.

"The Avengers will not bring back my brother. They will not bring back my home. But they gave me something else- something I never expected. They gave me another family. People who did not give up on me, even when I gave them so many reasons to."

She glanced down the team, toward you.

"Without them, I would not be standing here today. Without them, I would have never seen who I truly am."

She looked back to the crowd, her chin lifting slightly.

"Sokovia may be gone. But my people are here. You are here."

She let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking one final time.

"A to vám přísahám. Ať jsme kdekoliv, kamkoliv jdeme- Sokovie žije v nás."

She stepped back. The room was still.

And then, the applause rose- not loud, not frantic, but steady, heartfelt. A recognition of something true.

Wanda didn’t turn to look at the others, but she felt them there.

She had said what needed to be said.

And, for the first time in a long time, she felt him again. Like Pietro heard it, too.

The team was escorted to a large banquet hall, where hundreds of Sokovian survivors had gathered for a community meal. The space was warm and lively, filled with the aroma of roasted meats, fresh bread, and traditional Sokovian dishes. The long wooden tables were lined with plates of steaming food, and for the first time today, there was laughter.

Tony Stark had personally funded the event, ensuring that no one in attendance went without a full Stark-branded plate. His contribution to balance out his absence.

It was a moment of warmth amid the grief, a time to simply sit, eat, and remember together.

Instead of sitting at a separate table, the Avengers chose to spread out among the people.

Steve sat with an elderly couple and their adult child, listening to their stories about what Sokovia had been like before the fall. He enjoyed the cadence of conversation between the four of them, only one of them being bilingual.

Natasha and Rhodey spoke with local community and leaders, discussing ongoing relief efforts and how the Avengers could continue supporting them.

Sam entertained a group of children, somehow getting roped into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with an ambitious ten-year-old, much to everyone’s amusement.

Wanda sat with a group of Sokovians who spoke to her in their native tongue, making her feel- if only for a little while- at home.

After observing quietly from afar for a while, you found yourself closely beside Steve; the two of you shared a table with a young family, their son asking him questions between bites of food.

"How strong are you really?" he asked, voice slightly muffled by a mouthful of bread.

Steve smiled, resting his forearms on the table. "Stronger than most," he admitted. "But not as strong as I’d like to be."

The boy frowned. "But you are Captain America. How can you not be strong enough?"

Steve’s smile faded just a little, his gaze flickering toward the other tables, where survivors were gathered. "Because sometimes strength isn’t about how much you can lift," he said. "It’s about what you can carry. And there are some things even I can't hold on my own."

The boy thought about that for a second, chewing his food slowly before asking, "Like what?"

His father chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Like all the trouble you get into," he teased, earning a small pout from the child.

Steve let out a low laugh, glancing at you for a brief moment before answering. "Like making sure the right things stay standing," he said simply.

The father nodded, his expression turning a little more serious. "We are lucky," he said, his accent thick but his words clear. "Lucky to be here. To have this moment."

Steve met his gaze, and something passed between them- an unspoken understanding, an acknowledgment of what had been lost, and what still remained.

As the conversation carried on, you felt a shift beside you. The mother, who had been listening quietly, leaned toward you, her dark eyes warm with curiosity.

"When will you marry?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant, her English broken but clear enough.

Your entire body tensed. "What?"

She gestured subtly toward Steve, a small, knowing smile forming on her lips. "You. Him." She tapped the side of her head as if searching for the words. "Together. When?"

Your face grew hot instantly. You stammered over yourself, barely managing a string of half-formed words. "Oh, um- I, well, we- that’s-”

The mother chuckled lightly at your embarrassment, patting your hand as if to soothe you. "Beautiful couple," she said, her smile widening. Then, with a small nod, she added, "Beautiful babies."

Your brain short-circuited.

The woman grinned knowingly but said nothing else, simply turning back to her husband and child as if she hadn’t just casually rocked the foundation of your entire existence.

Your face was still burning, and you chanced a glance at Steve, who had straightened in his chair, his jaw tightening slightly as he fought to suppress whatever reaction was threatening to break through.

You swallowed, trying to compose yourself.

"So, um-" you said, grasping for literally anything else to talk about, "-you were saying something about strength?"

Steve blinked, then slowly exhaled through his nose, a barely-there smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. He shook his head slightly, reaching for his glass again.

"Yeah," he muttered. "This is definitely one of those things I can’t carry alone."

You pressed your lips together, fighting back a nervous laugh.

The mother just smiled, clearly pleased.

You and Steve sat alone now, watching the room slowly diminish as families took their children home and press began to leave, satisfied with their bounty. Steve leaned in slightly, speaking low.

“This feels different.”

You nodded, taking a sip from your glass of water. “Less speech-y. More real.”

His eyes swept the room, watching Sam ruffle the hair of the last boy he had arm-wrestled in the line that had formed, watching Wanda nod quietly as a woman touched her hand and spoke softly in Sokovian.

“This is what matters,” he said.

You didn’t need to say anything in response. He was right.

The banquet continued for another half hour, laughter and conversation filling the hall in a last hoorah. When it was time to leave, you found yourself lingering a little longer, committing the warmth of the space to memory.

As the team gathered near the exit, ready to move on to the resting site of Sokovia, Wanda stood just beside you. She wasn’t smiling, exactly, but the tension in her shoulders had eased just slightly.

You nudged her lightly with your elbow.

“You okay?”

She exhaled, glancing around at the people still laughing, still living.

“Not yet.” A pause. “But this helped.”

You nodded, and with that, you all headed toward the transport.

Sokovia.

The transport ride was quiet. No one had much to say, and even if they had, the weight of the destination left little room for conversation. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, only hours before setting, casting sharp beams of light through the windows. The warmth did nothing to settle the unease sitting low in your stomach.

It wasn’t long before the vehicle slowed to a stop.

As you stepped outside, the wind hit you first- warmer than before, carrying with it the distinct emptiness of open land. Rubble.

You figured you knew what to expect, but seeing it was something else entirely.

There’s nothing left.

Where a city once stood, there was now only vast emptiness, an open landscape dotted with remnants of foundations too stubborn to be completely erased. There were no buildings, no streets- just a stretch of land that had begun the slow process of being reclaimed by nature. Nothing more than a scar on the earth.

The team spread out naturally, each taking in the space in their own way.

Steve stood at the perimeter of what had once been a city block, his hands in his pockets, looking out over the nothingness with an expression that was hard to read.

Natasha wandered toward a makeshift memorial that had been set up on the outskirts; flowers, candles, and handwritten notes left by those who had come before them. She crouched down, fingers brushing over a small framed photograph left among the tributes.

Sam and Rhodey spoke quietly with a small group of Red Cross and local volunteers who had dedicated their time to preserving what little remained, making sure the site was never completely forgotten.

Wanda hadn’t moved from where she stood.

Your eyes followed hers, tracking the way she stared unblinking at something in the distance: a structure, still standing despite everything else having been wiped away. You continued to follow her line of sight, and as you got closer, you saw it.

A mural.

Pietro.

The painting covered the entire side of the lone remaining wall, his likeness captured in motion, a streak of silver-blue trailing behind him. His expression was determined, focused, the same way he had looked in the final moments before he fell.

Beneath his image, in bold Sokovian script, were the words:

"Junak nikada istinski ne umire, sve dok ga pamtimo."

A hero never truly dies, so long as we remember them.

Wanda exhaled sharply, as if she had been holding her breath this entire time.

You hesitated before stepping forward. The others had noticed the mural too, but they stayed back, giving Wanda space.

She took a slow step closer.

Then another.

She stopped just short of the wall, standing still, her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold something in.

Steve approached next, following your lead, quieter than usual. He looked at Pietro’s face for a long moment before placing a hand against the stone.

"He would have hated this," Wanda murmured, her voice barely audible, but there was a faint, sad smile on her lips. "But I think… he would have been proud, too."

You swallowed. "He mattered. To all of us."

Steve nodded, his voice steady. "We won’t forget him."

Wanda’s fingers hovered over the edge of the painting, tracing the outline of Pietro’s face as if she could still feel his presence in the atmosphere through the brick on which he was enshrined.

For a long while, no one spoke.

The only sound was the wind moving through the empty space where a city once stood.

As the team slowly began to make their way back to the transport, Wanda was the last to turn away.

Her fingers stilled on the painted surface for just a second longer before she stepped back.

The team lingered near the transport, but no one rushed to step in. Leaving felt wrong- like stepping away would mean acknowledging that there was nothing more they could do here.

And maybe there wasn’t. Maybe there never had been.

Wanda stood a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest, gaze fixed on the crater she once lived atop. You stayed beside her, not speaking, just letting her exist in the moment.

Steve walked up to stand near the two of you, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t watching Wanda. He was watching the land- the open, barren stretch that had once been full of life.

Wanda looked to the two of you and with a sigh, stepped into the car, leaving you and Steve alone, the last ones standing.

“You okay?” you asked him, your voice soft.

Steve exhaled through his nose, his hands resting on his hips as he looked over the horizon.

“No,” he admitted after a moment. “But I don’t think that’s the point.”

You looked at him then, studying the tension in his jaw, the way he held himself like he was carrying the weight of something much heavier than just today.

Steve had always been good at moving forward, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the weight of what was left behind.

Heh.

You tilted your head back, your eyes searching the empty blue expanse above, and then you pointed toward it. He followed your gaze.

“I think we had our first kiss right… there.”

His eyes snapped to you, his lips parting slightly before they curled into something small, something almost reluctant.

“That was a hell of a first kiss,” he said quietly.

You smirked. “Not many people can say they had their first kiss while the city was falling out of the sky.”

Steve let out a breath of laughter. Soft, brief, but real. After a beat, he looked back up toward the sky, then back at you, his expression softer now.

“We survived that,” he murmured. “We’ll survive everything else too.”

Something tightened in your chest at the certainty in his voice.

You met his eyes. “You always so sure of everything?”

Steve held your gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Not everything,” he admitted with a small nod. “But this? Yeah.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the quiet settling between you like an unspoken promise.

Then, Steve tilted his head toward the transport.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

Part two - Monday, June 1, 2015

The room was still dim.

You were curled up in bed, clinging to the last remnants of sleep. It was the first morning in weeks that you didn’t have to wake up to press events, high-profile meetings, or some sort of battle you were highly unqualified to partake in.

You had earned this.

You had earned a slow morning, a peaceful-

The door to your bedroom flew open.

"Rise and shine, _____."

You groaned into your pillow as Romanoff, Agent of Chaos, strolled in like she owned the place.

"You have about ten seconds before I drag you out of that bed myself," Natasha announced, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorway.

You cracked one eye open, glaring. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Natasha smirked, approaching the side of your bed. “You really think I don’t know how to pick a lock?"

"That’s concerning."

"Only for you," she quipped, reaching over and yanking the blanket off of you.

You gasped as the cool air hit your skin. "Nat, what the hell?!"

"Training. Now," Natasha said, completely unfazed.

You groaned louder this time, flopping dramatically onto your back. "I am not an Avenger. I am a PR manager. I manage. I strategize. I do not-"

"-Make excuses?" Natasha finished, arching a brow.

You sighed heavily, rubbing your face as your eyes adjusted to the light of your clock. "It's six in the morning."

"Six-oh-four, actually. You’re late."

"Late to what?!"

"Your training schedule," Natasha said simply, like it was obvious. "The one I made for you."

You shot up in bed. "You made me a schedule?"

"You think I’m just going to let you sit behind a desk forever?" Natasha smirked. "Come on, _____. We both know you like being useful. You can strategize all you want, but if you ever get into a situation where you're out in the field, I’d rather you not die in the first thirty seconds."

You scowled. "I lasted long enough last time."

Natasha grinned. "Up."

You grumbled under your breath, but knew there was no escaping this. You threw your legs over the side of the bed and stood, your muscles already protesting the mere idea of what was coming.

"I hate you."

Natasha patted you on the shoulder. "You’ll love me by the time we’re done."

By the time you were dressed and made it to the training room, half awake and running on sheer spite, Natasha was already waiting, stretching like this was just another casual morning.

The training area was spacious, lined with sleek mats and reinforced walls, designed to handle superpowered individuals- not a semi-trained public speaker.

"Alright, let’s start simple," Natasha said the second you entered, motioning you toward her.

You rolled your shoulders, already feeling mildly regretful of your life choices. "Simple sounds good."

Natasha smirked. "Great. Hit me."

You blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Hit me."

You narrowed your eyes. This was a trap.

"You are aware that I’m not Steve, right? I do not possess veins full of super serum or unbreakable bones," you pointed out, full of attitude.

Natasha raised an unimpressed brow. "Then you should probably hit harder."

“Alright, but if I have to go to Dr. Cho about my shoulder again…” You sighed and shook out your hands.

You had some training- Maria had taught you how to handle yourself in a fight, and you had continued keeping yourself physically fit after your time at SHIELD… but this was different. Natasha was built for this. Literally.

I’m about to get my ass kicked.

You lunged, throwing a decent punch.

Natasha dodged easily.

"Slow," she commented.

You exhaled sharply, adjusting your footing. You swung again- faster this time.

Natasha deflected it like it was nothing.

"You’re hesitating."

You glared. "I'm assessing."

"Same thing," Natasha shot back.

You tried again, aiming for a feint before pivoting, attempting to catch Natasha off guard.

Of course it didn’t work.

Before you could even process what happened, you were flat on your back. The landing was softer than you expected, your breath was still in your chest and you didn’t feel the ache your muscles had instinctively braced for.

"Ow."

"Better," Natasha allowed, standing over you, one foot on either side of your waist. "But you’re still thinking too much."

You groaned. "Thinking is literally my job."

"Not when you’re fighting. Instinct, _____."

You exhaled slowly, pushing yourself up. Without hesitation, she charged at you.

Ow.

Half an hour later, you were sweating, exhausted, and fully convinced Natasha was actually trying to kill you.

And then, of course, Steve showed up.

At the most (im)perfect time, while you were mid-flip, upside down, milliseconds away from hitting the mat, you look toward the door and see him.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, amusement evident on his face. "How’s it going?"

You, currently panting on the floor, shot him the deadliest glare you could muster.

Steve smirked down at you. "You look like you're having fun."

Natasha put her fists on her hips and gleamed. “I am.” Steve looked to her and let out a subdued chuckle.

"Oh, this is good," Sam grinned, stepping in behind Steve with a cup of iced coffee, suspiciously over-creamed. "How long has this been going on?"

Natasha, completely unfazed, glanced at the clock. "Thirty-five minutes."

Sam whistled. "She still alive?"

"Barely," you muttered, rolling onto your stomach and pulling yourself up to your knees.

Sam took a long sip of his coffee, nodding in appreciation. "Good work, Romanoff."

“Good work Romanoff?” You huffed out, steadying yourself to your feet and pushing the hairs from your forehead.

Natasha smirked. "She’s got potential." You rolled your eyes in exasperation and turned around, catching your breath.

Steve, still watching incredibly closely as you walked around, tilted his head. "You’re actually doing pretty good."

You stared at him, utterly betrayed at the surprise in his voice.

"Well?!" He shrugged, palms out, defensively.

"She’s keeping up," Natasha shrugged. "Better than I expected, honestly."

Thanks?

"I’m not sure if I should be flattered or concerned."

"Both," Natasha said easily, grabbing your hips and repositioning them, then your elbows, then your shoulders. Your focus was brought back to Natasha almost instantly.

Maybe you weren’t hating it all that much.

Sam chuckled, nudging Steve. "Man, you are so lucky she likes you. Otherwise, I think she’d murder you for watching this."

Steve, still smirking, lowered his voice a little. "She’s doing great."

After Natasha graciously decided that you had suffered enough, she finally allowed you to crawl back to your room to clean up before the team’s first actual meeting since the PR tour ended.

Your body ached in a way that was almost comical.

You’ve been sore before- Sokovia had taken a piece of you, physically and emotionally. But at least then you had adrenaline, survival instinct, and feral willpower carrying you through.

This was pain with no purpose. No crisis, no battle, no threat- just Natasha Romanoff and her relentless training routine that left you feeling like you had personally offended her in a past life.

I bet she kicked my ass in that life, too.

After you managed to shower, you threw on your softest pair of leggings and an oversized pajama shirt, a clear silent protest against the hell you had just endured.

Fuck it, if I don’t get to sleep in, I’m sure as hell not dressing up for these jerks.

Your muscles protested every step as you made your way through the Compound, and the thought of sitting through a two-hour long meeting made you want to cry.

But at least you could sit down.

I’ll take that one win.

When you walked in the team was already gathered.

Steve stood near the front of the room, the picture of ease and quiet leadership, flipping through his notes. He looked up when you entered, eyes scanning you instinctively, as if already assessing whether you were okay.

I am NOT okay.

You shot him a look that was both threatening and inadvertently cheeky, he smirked just enough for you to want to throw something at him.

Throw myself at him.

Shut up, oh, my god.

Rhodey was seated near the projector, a stack of reports beside him that just looked like they were going to give you a headache.

Sam was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed while Wanda sat quietly near the side, occasionally glancing over at you with a quiet smile.

Natasha, completely unaffected by the fact that she had just spent an hour and a half actively ruining your life, was also seated, flipping through her own notes as if nothing had happened.

And then there was Vision. Just… floating.

Because of course he is.

You dropped into a chair, trying not to wince aloud at the soreness in your muscles.

"Are you wearing pajamas to a meeting?" Sam asked, raising an instigatory brow.

You, without missing a beat, shot back, "You saw me in tights and a sports bra earlier. You're lucky you even have eyes to see my work pajamas."

Natasha grinned into her coffee mug.

Steve, clearly biting back a laugh, just shook his head.

"Fair enough," Sam muttered, moving his attention to Rhodey hoping to stifle his own laughter.

Steve looked at you again, this time with genuine concern. "You good?"

Instead of responding, you shot him a faux angry expression, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the smile from showing.

Before he could respond, Rhodey mercifully took control of the meeting.

"As you all know," he started, his voice the perfect amount of military authority, "we have a responsibility to ensure that the Compound remains one of the most secure locations in the world."

You nodded along.

It was standard stuff; security protocols, monitoring unauthorized access, ensuring classified information remained classified.

It was all going well until Rhodey clicked to the next slide, revealing a graph labeled: ‘Security Breach Analysis: Causes.’

Your eyebrow raised immediately.

Rhodey exhaled and pointed at the screen. "I’d like to direct everyone’s attention to Exhibit A."

Sam leaned forward, already grinning. "Oh, boy."

You squinted at the graph. The leading cause of security breaches was…

"Friendly Fire?"

Rhodey nodded, deadpan. "I would like to note that, according to the compiled data, 74% of our security issues in the last month were caused by our own people."

Steve, completely unbothered, just nodded. "That seems accurate."

"DOES IT?" Rhodey said, exasperated.

You closed your lips tight to stop the laugh from escaping your bruised ribs.

"Let’s review," Rhodey continued, clicking to the next slide. "Incident One: Sam bypasses security clearance to sneak in post-mission takeout."

Sam raised his hands. "Look, I was doing everyone a favor."

Damn right.

"Did you need to reroute security drones for that?" Rhodey deadpanned.

Sam shrugged. "I mean, I could have let them scan the food. Didn’t want to risk them vaporizing the dumplings, though."

You snorted.

Rhodey ignored him and continued. "Incident Two: Steve sets off multiple alarms because he refuses to carry his security badge."

Steve leaned back in his chair. "They should recognize me by now."

"STEVE," Rhodey said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sam barked out a laugh.

Before Rhodey could move on, he paused, glancing around the room.

His expression softened just slightly as he looked at you and Wanda.

"You know," he said, "I’d just like to point out that the only people here who haven’t caused a security breach are Wanda and _____."

Sam let out an exaggerated gasp. "Are you saying they’re better than us?"

"Obviously," Rhodey shot back.

Steve glanced at you, his lips quirking up slightly. "That’s fair."

You leaned back in your chair, resting your arms on your lap. "Finally. Some recognition."

“Standing ovations after your speeches isn’t enough recognition?” Natasha looked over at you with a twinkle in her eye and a sarcastic smirk on her mouth, earning a friendly eye-roll from you.

Rhodey smirked. "Don’t get too comfortable. You’re just less of a problem than the rest of them."

Sam, offended, crossed his arms. "I feel like this is favoritism."

"It is favoritism," Rhodey admitted. "They’re the only two I don’t have to babysit."

Sam groaned. "Unbelievable."

Rhodey clicked to the final point, looking directly at Vision. "And finally. Incident Three: Vision phases through walls without warning, repeatedly triggering lockdown protocols."

Vision, hovering mid-air, tilted his head. "I fail to see why this is an issue."

"It’s an issue, Vision," Rhodey sighed, "because when anyone else phases through a wall, it means we have an intruder. You single-handedly caused three security lockdowns last week."

Vision blinked and nodded once. "A fair point."

Rhodey sighed, flipping to the final slide labeled ‘Solutions.’

"Moving forward, please use your security clearance correctly. Steve, carry your damn badge. Sam, no more rerouting drones. Vision- I don’t know… knock?"

Vision nodded. "Noted."

"Good," Rhodey sighed. "Meeting adjourned."

As the others dispersed, you remained seated, flipping through your notes with a sigh. Just not quite ready to stand up, yet.

Steve lingered, watching you with an amused but knowing expression. "You survived."

You glanced up, deadpan. "Did I?"

Steve smirked, stepping just a little closer, arms crossed over his chest. "Barely. But I gotta say, for someone who spent the morning getting their ass kicked, you looked pretty good doing it."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. "Are you flirting with me, Captain Rogers?"

Steve shrugged, that damn smirk still lingering. "Just stating the facts."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "I think I liked it better when you were just making fun of me."

Steve leaned down slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your heartbeat stutter. "Oh, I was doing that too."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Sam, impeccably timed, walked by and clapped a hand on your shoulder. Steve shot up straight, changing his tune instantly.

Cute.

"Go take you a nap, _____." Sam said as he motioned for Steve to follow him. He did, reluctantly, not before looking back toward you with an awkward smile on his pinked face.

You sighed and half-spun in your chair.

Despite all of the stress, the grief, the pain, you knew you wouldn’t change a thing.

After the meeting, you dragged yourself back to your room and immediately collapsed onto your bed.

The second you hit the mattress, your body practically sighed in relief.

Against your better judgment, rather, ignoring your better judgment, you let your eyes close.

Just for a minute.

Two hours later, you woke up. Drool crusted the corner of your lips and your leg was awkwardly dangling over the side of your bed.

The best minute of my entire life.

You groaned, rolling onto your stomach, silently cursing Natasha, Rhodey, Steve- everyone.

Alas, you knew it was time to rise.

Your body still ached all over, but at least it didn’t feel like you were going to collapse mid-step.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on the first sweater you could find, and trudged out of your room toward the dining area.

The Compound’s dining area was mostly empty; Steve and Rhodey had already eaten, Sam was nowhere to be found (which was either a good sign or a really bad one), and Natasha had probably gone to train again, because she’s insane.

You grabbed a plate from the cupboard and made yourself a portion of whatever was neatly set aside on top of the stove, intending to eat alone in peace.

Just as you were settling in on the island stool, you caught movement in your periphery.

Wanda.

She hesitated for a moment, then, without a word, Wanda slid into the seat across from you.

A few beats passed before Wanda, without looking up from her plate, spoke. “Did I understand incorrectly, or did Natasha nearly kill you this morning?”

You, surprised and amused, let out a breath of laughter. "Oh, absolutely. It was brutal."

A small smile tugged at Wanda’s lips.

You ate in comfortable silence after that, Wanda making no move to leave.

Eventually, you risked a glance up to her, finding her expression unreadable.

“…You okay?” You asked quietly.

Wanda took a moment before responding, but when she finally did, she gave a small nod. "I am not sure, yet," she admitted. Then, after a pause, she added, "I feel… both out of place, and where I belong."

Wow.

Your eyebrows raised at the sentiment, like she was reading your mind.

Is she reading my mind?

You cleared your throat, trying to come up with the words to respond.

“You… have no idea how relatable that is.” You looked down at your plate and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know if you know this, but-” you cleared your throat again, suddenly feeling parched, “I don’t have anyone left, really.”

Wanda looked up from the counter and at you with soft, but wide eyes.

“I- uh, I lost my parents when I was young- like 14, 15. I didn’t have any siblings- I always wished I did.” You allowed yourself to get lost in your words, letting them come out one after another. “My grandmother was amazing, she was the only other family I had- I moved in with her and she helped me through college and got me my first job.”

When you blinked, you realized, despite a small smile, your eyes were fogging. You cleared your throat one last time, hoping it would give you some finality.

“So, yeah- uh, I guess my point is, I think I understand sort of what you mean.” An uncomfortable chuckle left your throat and you looked at Wanda, hoping you hadn’t scared her off with your sob story.

She didn’t say anything, but her eyes did. You looked at one another for a normally uncomfortable amount of time, had it not felt so right. She reached over and placed her hand over top yours on the counter and smiled, a sad, understanding smile. You smiled back.

Then, both of you ate your dinner.

After offering to wash Wanda’s plate alongside yours and encouraging her to get some sleep, you found yourself walking toward your room with Steve beside you.

It wasn’t planned, it had just… happened. You fell into step naturally, the hallway quiet around you, the dim lighting making everything feel softer.

Steve, hands in his pockets, glanced down at you. "Feeling any better?"

You scoffed playfully. "Oh yeah, I’m thriving."

He smirked. "You’ll get used to it."

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. "You’re telling me there’s more of this?"

Steve chuckled. "Have you met Natasha?"

You sighed dramatically. "Go back to pretending to flirt with me, no more reality checks, please."

Steve, in the most insufferably casual way possible, responded with, "I was never pretending."

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

You almost tripped over your own feet, looking down at them to make sure you were even walking correctly- avoiding Steve’s gaze altogether.

Left foot, right foot, left foot-

Before you could come up with something remotely clever in response, or fall on your face, the two of you reached your door.

The air between you shifted just slightly- still light, still easy, but something else lingered underneath as you scrambled for your keycard.

Steve hesitated for a second before stepping just a little closer, gently taking the card from your hand and pressing it to the scanner.

"Get some rest," he murmured. "You did good today."

Your heart suddenly did a weird little thing you didn’t have time to analyze, and you kept your eyes on your door with a shrug. "I’ll get ‘er next time."

Steve smirked, aware that you were intentionally not meeting his eyes. "I bet you will."

A beat of silence.

And then- intentional and calculated, he leaned in.

His lips brushed yours before pressing in only slightly.

Soft. Brief. Very real.

Your breath caught slightly, barely processing the warmth of his lips against yours before he was already pulling away.

Steve didn’t move too far back- he lingered just for a second longer, watching you, waiting.

You weren’t sure what he was waiting for.

Maybe for you to say something, to make a joke like you had finally found yourself comfortable doing- but you couldn’t find one.

Your fingers curled slightly against the doorframe you leaned back against as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes.

His expression was unreadable at first. Maybe even to himself.

But then, his lips tilted upward into a small, almost shy smile.

"Goodnight, _____."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

You stood there for a long moment, your fingers brushing over your lips, wondering if that actually just happened.

No, it definitely happened.

You exhaled a sharp breath, finally stepping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Leaning against it, you let your head fall back against the wood, eyes slipping shut for just a second.

You had so many thoughts you didn’t know what to do with.

That makes two kisses. I’ve kissed Captain America two times.

As much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, the only thing you could think about was the undeniable fact that you wanted him to do it again.

You swallowed hard, pushing off the door and moving toward the bed, willing yourself not to overthink it.

Just sleep.

That’s all you needed.

But as you climbed into bed, exhaustion finally catching up to you, you had a sinking feeling that your dreams weren’t going to let you forget it anytime soon.

You hope.

Part three - Thursday, June 11, 2015

The training room was already set up when you walked in, expecting to see Natasha waiting for your usual morning torment. Instead, you were met with the sight of Steve and Sam standing near the mats, casual but clearly readying for something.

You stopped short, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “Where’s Romanoff?”

Steve barely looked up from where he was adjusting the padding on his hands. “Out.”

“Out,” you repeated slowly, folding your arms.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Sam grinned, stretching his arms over his head. “We’re here to help.”

Your ever-growing skeptical gaze flickered between them. “With what, exactly?”

“Reflexes,” Steve answered simply with a small smile, now focusing his attention on you from across the gym.

Sam nodded. “Reaction time. Agility. Quick thinking.”

Your eyes narrowed at the new training set-up. “Stark-branded humiliation, I see.” You motioned toward the obstacle course set up behind them- full of shimmering Stark logos stamped across every available surface.

Sam clapped his hands together. “Now you’re getting it.”

You rolled your eyes, but moved to stretch. “I’ll send him a ‘thank-you’ note.”

The course started simple- duck, weave, dodge. Move fast, adjust faster. At first, it wasn’t bad. Jumping over padded barriers, ducking under swinging obstacles, keeping your footing steady as the course required quick shifts in movement.

One of your strong suits had always been agility; it was the one thing you were almost better than Maria at… almost.

Then Stark’s additions came into play.

Semi-soft, padded projectiles launched from seemingly random directions. The challenge was to dodge and deflect, all while keeping pace, keeping yourself light on your feet.

Steve and Sam stood at the sidelines, offering corrections, though Sam was a little less constructive.

"Don't let it hit you!" Sam called out, grinning.

"Wow, thanks!" You shot back, barely dodging a projectile aimed low.

Steve, helpfully, called out a tip. “Stay on the balls of your feet- quicker pivots.”

You adjusted so, shifting your weight forward, and found it worked better.

No surprises there, I guess.

Despite your increasingly sarcastic responses and sharpening complaints the entire time, you were doing surprisingly well.

It was fun, actually.

You knew these guys weren’t going to hurt you, unlike Natasha who seemed to get some sort of sadistic joy from seeing you suffer- or ‘grow,’ as she puts it.

Then they moved on to the next stage.

Hand-to-hand combat. With weapons.

Semi-soft, of course.

You groaned the second you saw Sam pick up his training staff. “Do I not get a break?”

Sam smirked. “Life doesn’t come with breaks.”

“Mine would if you kids would stop causing trouble.” You huffed with a smile, bending down to adjust the elastic hem of your shorts.

Steve strolled to you, standing in front of you until you were upright, meeting your eyes immediately. The moment, despite the task at hand and your team mate observing, was oddly intimate. After a beat of eye contact, he handed you a similar training weapon, stepping back with a nod toward Sam.

“The goal here isn’t strength,” Steve said. “It’s reaction. Read his movement before he makes it.”

You rolled your shoulders and adjusted your grip, shaking the blush off your face from the warmth of his proximity. "Right. Read his movement. Got it."

Sam grinned, spinning the staff. “Try not to cry when I win.”

“Try not to cry when I hit you where it hurts,” you shot back.

The fight started slow. Sam tested your footwork, you tested his reach. This style of training was new to you, but it wasn’t particularly hard.

You dodged a few of his swings, getting into the rhythm of it, until-

A sharp hit to your side sent you stumbling back.

Not too bad. Nothing too painful.

You shook it off, refocusing.

The next strike, you caught.

The one after that, you redirected.

Steve gave a small nod of approval.

That’s right, Cap. I’m a badass.

You smirked. “Starting to regret picking this fight?”

Sam scoffed. “Not even a little.”

He moved again, feinting right before coming left.

You reacted, raising your staff to counter, but misread the movement.

The hit caught you off balance, knocking you into a roll- straight onto your shoulder.

The pain was sharp and immediate, shooting through the joint, but you bit down on the reaction, rolling onto your back and catching your breath.

It really was not a big deal.

Sam’s expression immediately shifted. His grin disappeared, hands up like he could take it back, his weapon falling to the ground at his feet. “Oh- oh, shit. Are you okay?”

Steve was already at your side, kneeling down, hands frantically hovering like he was seconds away from checking you himself.

You exhaled sharply, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Well.” You forced a small chuckle, shifting on your elbows to sit up. “That sucked.”

“Man- I’m sorry-” Sam continued, now standing over you alongside Steve. “I didn’t mean to go that hard-”

“I’m fine,” you interrupted, rolling your shoulder to prove it, despite the sting. “See? Moving.”

Steve didn’t look convinced, his brows furrowed together as his eyes darted between your mildly pained smile and the shoulder you were intentionally not using to stay in the nonchalant position on the padded floor.

“Here,” you sighed, reaching out with your good arm for Sam’s- immediately tightening your grip and hoisting yourself up to your feet. “Seriously. I’m okay. No harm done.”

Sam still looked guilty, but he sighed in relief, stepping back as you rolled your shoulders and hyped your body up for some more sparring.

Steve was still knelt to the ground where you had been moments ago.

His jaw was clenched, his hands lightly curled into fists. His eyes were fixed to the ground, like he was watching something you couldn’t see.

“That’s enough training for today.” He said finally, stopping you mid-hop.

You blinked, surprised by the abruptness.

“What- come on, I deserve some pay back.” You put your wrapped fists on your hips and cocked your head up at him.

“We’re done.” He stood, unwrapping the gauze from his fists. The tone of his voice carried a decisiveness that you didn’t want to fight. Your brows lowered, then raised at the realization that he wasn’t amused.

Sam, frowned, looking between you.

You caught Sam’s eyes and rolled yours, shaking your head with a small smile.

It’s fine.

“So, if I remember correctly; Sam knocked me over, and Steve got so upset he called it quits.”

Steve sighed as the three of you continued out of the corridor and through the dining area.

Sam groaned. “Jesus, I knew you were gonna make this a thing.”

You grinned. “Oh, it’s absolutely a thing.”

Steve ran a hand over his face as you entered the common room, where Rhodey sat reading the newspaper.

He took one glance at your expressions; first, yours, a bright, sarcastic grin that was begging him to ask. Steve’s expression was harsh, but not… angry. Concerned, perhaps, stressed. Sam’s, though, had guilt written all over it, avoiding eye contact and shifting on his feet like there was no comfortable position with which to exist in.

“What the hell did you idiots do to her?”

Your smile grew as you pointed at Sam. Sam shook his head and pointed at Steve.

Rhodey sighed, lowering the paper. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“Oh, Rhodey,” you beamed, “you will not believe the trauma I just endured.”

Sam groaned. “Please, don’t start-”

Rhodey set the paper down and crossed his arms. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”

You milked it, clutching your shoulder dramatically.

"Colonel," you smiled, bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead, really channeling those dramas you used to watch with your grandma. "Wilson just- out of nowhere- attacked me. I was defenseless. Helpless. Innocent."

Sam threw up his hands. “You literally had a weapon-”

“Helpless,” you repeated, completely ignoring him.

Steve, sighed, rubbing his eyes almost hard enough to get the image of it out of his head.

“Damn. What’s the damage? Emotional? Physical? Psychological?” Rhodey joked, though he had a disproportionately unamused air in his voice.

You nodded gravely. “All of the above.”

Sam dragged a hand down his face. “Oh my God-”

Rhodey looked at Sam, eyebrows quirked up. “You know, if we had an HR department, I’d be filing paperwork right now.” He finally chuckled, shaking his head. “Sam, congrats, you might be our first official workplace injury case.”

You looked over to Sam, a teasing twinkle in your eyes. “Oh, I’m absolutely taking you to court. Full damages. I’ll never have to work again.”

Sam finally cracked a smile and couldn’t help but break your eye contact. “You wish.”

Rhodey chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly? I’d pay to see that trial.”

At that exact moment, Vision, who had been casually phasing into the room, like he does, chose to provide his input. He tilted his head, observing your expression.

“I detect that _____ is being facetious.”

A beat of silence.

You huffed out a small chuckle at that and shook your head. “Thank you, Vision.”

Vision nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Steve, who had been trying not to indulge any of this, rubbed his temples to suppress a chuckle.

Rhodey barely stifled a laugh, flipping his newspaper back up. “Y’all are a mess.”

The afternoon passed in a blur of hovering and annoyingly consistent reassurance.

You had never considered yourself fragile.

You lost your parents young, helped your grandmother survive- just the two of you. You got through grad school and several unfortunate jobs. SHIELD, and all that came with. You faced down crowds of press and politicians and public with a smile on your face, despite it being their job to ruin yours. You survived a city falling from the sky with only a dislocated shoulder and shattered radius.

And yet…

Getting knocked on your ass once meant that Captain America and The Falcon had to become your personal security detail for the day.

Steve wasn’t overly obvious about it, but it was pretty clear. He kept an eye on you, lingering just a little too long whenever you moved. Whenever you reached for something, he reached first. Whenever you approached a door, he got there before you.

You leaned against the kitchen counter with your head tilted, watching him as he very deliberately grabbed a mug out of your hands and placed it in the sink before you could.

“You know,” you started, “if this whole super soldier thing doesn’t work out, you have a very promising future as a PR assistant.”

Steve gave you a look. “I’m not hovering.”

You folded your arms and smiled. “I didn’t say hovering.”

“You implied hovering.”

Wanda, who had only just come out of her room a while ago, spoke up. “You are hovering.” You shot her a thankful smile and looked at Steve with a winner’s expression.

Steve exhaled heavily through his nose, not amused.

Sam walked in at that exact moment, looking even more guilty than he had earlier.

You groaned. “Oh my god.” The fun was quickly fading.

Sam did not acknowledge your suffering. Instead, he sat down next to Wanda, arms crossed. “You good?”

You scoffed at him. “I have answered this question thirteen times today.”

Sam nodded, peeking up at you and Steve through eyelids weighed down by shame. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Sam-” you rubbed your temple and took a steadying inhale “Sam. I am fine.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I knew I was swinging too hard-”

“Sam.” You dropped your arms to your sides in exasperation, looking around the room for some help.

Rhodey snorted from across the common room. “Man, she’s gonna be fine. You, on the other hand? You’re never gonna live this down.”

Sam groaned. “I know.”

Steve was still standing. Still watching. Still tense.

You noted it with a sigh.

Later that afternoon, as the sky started shifting toward evening, Natasha finally returned.

You caught sight of her as she entered, immediately noting the stress in her posture.

Something was wrong.

There was something about the way she moved, the stiffness in her steps, the way she barely acknowledged anyone as she passed.

She was in her head. Something was going on in there.

You, long able to recognize the signs by now, figured you could either ask what was wrong, or distract her.

You chose the latter.

As Natasha grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, you casually leaned against the counter beside her.

“Hey, so, I had a great time getting beat up earlier,” you started, your tone light. “Would love to get my ass kicked by a real professional, though. You down?”

Natasha turned, finally looking at you. Something almost amused flickered in her gaze.

You smirked. “Wilson already got his hit in; I’ll let you beat me up, too, if you need.”

She didn’t immediately respond. She exhaled, shaking her head, but her lips quirked just slightly.

“Tempting.”

Hm.

But before you could push further, Natasha took a slow sip of water, then without another word, turned and left the room.

Ouch.

You followed.

The hallway was quieter.

“Nat,” you called softly.

Natasha didn’t stop at first. You didn’t push; you stopped, staying a few paces behind, letting her decide.

Finally, after a long silence and several steps more, she stopped. She didn’t turn to look at you at first. Then, slowly, she did, crossing her arms.

“Still no trace of him,” she said, simply.

You didn’t need to ask who.

Bruce.

You exhaled softly.

“He’s just gone.” Natasha’s voice didn’t waver. But there was something under it. You knew what it was. “No one has seen him. No signals. No patterns. Nothing.”

You hesitated.

“Did he say anything? Before Sokovia?”

Natasha’s lips pressed together in thought, like she was deciding what words to share.

Then, carefully, “He said he wanted to leave.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “Disappear. I thought he’d take me with him.”

The weight of that statement settled between you. You weren't sure what to say.

So, you simply stayed. Standing there. Existing in the silence.

Awkward, maybe, but Natasha didn’t leave.

Despite all her walls, she didn’t walk away.

After a long pause, she exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

Then, switching gears entirely, she put her hands on her hips, tilting her head up to look down at you slightly.

“You said I could beat you up?” She asked.

You opened your mouth in surprise, then closed it with squinted eyes.

“…Yeah.” You immediately took an almost imperceptible step backward.

Natasha narrowed her eyes.

You turned.

And then, you ran.

“You LIAR!” Natasha called after you, laughing.

Dinner at the compound was a rare but welcome thing.

The team, so often pulled in different direction: missions, training, meetings… sat together around the long wooden dining table, plates full, the atmosphere light. It reminded you of your first week with them at Stark Tower, when everything still felt new and uncertain.

But now, it felt like home.

Natasha sat to your left, picking at her food between glances at the others, observing.

Wanda was across from her, listening to Sam tell a dramatic retelling of the afternoon’s events.

Rhodey occasionally chimed in, rolling his eyes but clearly amused.

Steve sat at the far end of the table, quiet, but engaged, smiling as he listened.

Finally.

You spent most of the meal fielding jabs from Sam who had now taken it upon himself to find pride in your stumble, rather than shame.

"You sure you’re okay?" Sam asked, taking another bite of his food.

You rolled your eyes with a groan. "Wilson-"

"I just wanna make sure," he interrupted, feigning innocence. "I mean, after the absolute beatdown I gave you-"

Rhodey snorted. "You hit her once."

"And it was an accident," you added.

Sam ignored them both, nodding sagely. "Tragic. Taken down by your own teammate. What a loss."

"You pushed me, and I tripped. That is not a beatdown," you argued.

Natasha smirked into her drink. "For the record, I’d have defended your honor if I were there."

"My hero," you said dramatically, sparkling your eyes at her.

Sam grinned, unrepentant. "Next time I won’t hold back."

You turned and pointed your fork at him. "Next time, I’m tripping you."

Steve shook his head, catching the corner of your eye. He was amused, it seemed, but there was a pain in his expression as he lingered on you.

Not hovering anymore. Just… watching.

It wasn’t long before the team started trickling out, Wanda excusing herself first, then Rhodey, followed by Natasha, who patted you on the shoulder before disappearing toward the training room.

Steve lingered, standing when you did. You shot him a sweet smile and turned, ready to head toward your room, when his voice stopped you.

"Take a walk with me?"

You turned to him. It wasn’t a demand. Not even really a request, but an invitation.

You didn’t hesitate. "Sure."

The air outside was cooling, the sky shifting into deeper blues as the sun set.

You walked in comfortable silence at first. You tucked your hands into the sleeves of your sweater, glancing up at the sky. There was something peaceful about it- just walking, neither of you feeling the need to fill the quiet. You thought, perhaps, he just needed company.

And then, after a long pause, Steve exhaled deeply.

“Seeing you fall today...” he murmured. “It really threw me.”

You huffed a small laugh, tilting your head toward him. “You call that a fall? I can take Wilson.”

Steve didn’t laugh.

You nudged him lightly. “I promise I’m not gonna fall off a floating city again.”

Still, nothing.

Dang.

You slowed your steps slightly. “…Steve?”

He stopped walking, leaving himself a step behind you.

You turned toward him, waiting.

Steve’s jaw flexed, his hands braced on his hips as he stared at the pavement for a long moment before finally looking at you.

“This is… new for me,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t want to rush it, I want to take it slow. I want to get it right.”

You watched him carefully.

You weren't sure what you had expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.

“…What do you mean?” You asked, softer now, any teasing wiped from your tone.

Steve shook his head slightly, glancing away.

“I can’t… risk you getting hurt,” he admitted, voice tight. “I can’t imagine it. If I have to see you hurt again, I-” he exhaled sharply. “I just don’t think I can handle that.”

You hesitated, then stepped closer, brows drawing together.

“Steve,” you murmured.

He looked at you.

And there it was.

That weight. That burden he always carried.

The fear he didn’t talk about.

You swallowed, then reached for him, fingers lightly brushing his arm. Just enough to get his full attention. He stilled at your touch.

“I’m fine,” you said gently. “That’s what the training is for. I’m learning.”

Steve’s lips pressed together.

“I’ll probably never be able to fight off an army on my own,” you admitted, smiling slightly. “But I can handle myself. Or-” you corrected. “I will be able to handle myself.”

Steve searched your expression.

The tension in his shoulders didn’t fully disappear, but something about his stance shifted.

Less rigid.

Less haunted.

You smiled.

“So, by ‘take it slow,’ do you mean you’re gonna court me?” You teased. “Write me letters, take me on dates?”

Steve exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh, and stepped forward, resuming his position beside you to continue walking.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He murmured, shaking his head.

You grinned.

Maybe.

You didn’t need a label on what you had. You just wanted to have it.

The feeling was mutual.

#captain america #mcu #steve rogers #avengers #fanfic #marvel #iron man #public16relations #fullpublic16relations

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democracyunderground · 3 months ago

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TO PAY FOR TRUMPS TRILLIONS IN TAX CUTS FOR THE RICH.

"Oz will succeed Chiquita Brooks-LaSure, the current administrator of CMS, to lead programs including Medicare, the federal health insurance program for people aged 65 or older, and disabled people, and Medicaid, the state-based health insurance program for lower-income people, which is jointly funded by states and the federal government. The two programs provide health insurance for more than 140 million Americans.

Also in the CMS fold are the Children’s Health Insurance Program (Chip) and the Health Insurance Marketplace, which was created by the Affordable Care Act under Barack Obama in 2010.

Trump’s economic advisers and congressional Republicans are currently discussing possible cuts to Medicaid, food stamps, and other government welfare programs to cover the costs of extending the president-elect’s multi-trillion-dollar 2017 tax cut."

Dr Oz, best known for his daytime talkshow, leaned heavily into Trumpism during his failed 2022 run for US Senate. Donald Trump has chosen Mehmet Oz, best known for starring in his eponymous daytime talkshow for more than a decade and leaning heavily into Trumpism during his failed 2022 run for a Pennsylvania Senate seat, to lead the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS). The cardiothoracic surgeon, who faced immense backlash from the medical and scientific communities for pushing misinformation at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic, will oversee the agency that operates on a $2.6 trillion dollar annual budget and provides healthcare to more than 100 million people.

“I am honored to be nominated by [Donald Trump] to lead CMS,” Oz posted on X on Tuesday. “I look forward to serving my country to Make America Healthy Again under the leadership of HHS Secretary [Robert F Kennedy Jr].”

In the announcement of Oz’s selection, Trump said that Oz would “make America healthy again” and described him as “an eminent Physician, Heart Surgeon, Inventor, and World-Class Communicator, who has been at the forefront of healthy living for decades”.

Oz has been on US television screens for nearly 20 years, first appearing on the Oprah Winfrey show in 2004. In that time, he has talked to his audience about losing weight with fad diets and what it takes to have healthy poops and, toward the end of his run, touting hydroxychloroquine as a potential remedy for Covid-19.

Here’s what to know about the New York University professor and surgeon turned television show host, and now Trump appointee.

Mehmet Oz, 64, is a Turkish American Ohio native best known for The Dr Oz Show, which ran from 2009 to 2022. His father was a surgeon in Turkey, and after Oz graduated high school in Delaware, he was admitted into Harvard. He also served in the Turkish military in order to maintain dual citizenship, the Associated Press reports.

Before entering US homes via daytime TV, he had more than 20 years of experience as a cardiothoracic surgeon at Presbyterian-Columbia medical center in New York. He was also a professor at Columbia University’s medical school.

His bona fides at the prestigious institutions earned him quick credibility with viewers, and his popularity garnered him nine Daytime Emmy awards for outstanding informative talkshow and host.

Though his show ended in 2022, Oz maintains a YouTube channel filled with old episodes of his shows where he interviews guests such as Penn Jillette about his weight loss and Robert F Kennedy Jr about his 2014 book about the presence of mercury in vaccines. He also has an Instagram account that boasts more than a million followers, where Oz shares photos of his family and sells products from iHerb, an online health and wellness brand for which he is global adviser.

Oz’s questionable medical advice and time in politics. Throughout his TV tenure, Oz dabbled in the hallmarks of weight loss culture like detoxes, cleanses and diets that promised rapid weight loss. He also faced a grilling by senators in 2014 over claims he made and alleged false advertising on supplements he promoted on his show. When the Covid-19 pandemic hit, Oz regurgitated misinformation that came from the fringes of the right and medical communities.

These comments continued when he threw his hat into the race to represent Pennsylvania in the US Senate in 2022 against John Fetterman. At the time, the Guardian wrote:

“Oz was dogged by questions about his actual connection to the state during the campaign. Oz lived in New Jersey for decades before he moved to Pennsylvania in October 2020, into a home owned by his wife’s family. He announced his bid to be the state’s US senator just months later.”

Following Fetterman’s stroke, during which he said he “almost died”, the Oz campaign launched unsavory attacks against him, with one Oz aide, Rachel Tripp, claiming Fetterman might not have had a stroke if he “had ever eaten a vegetable in his life”.

Oz ultimately lost to Fetterman, who garnered 51% of the vote compared with Oz’s 46%."

#Medicare #Medicaid #Childrens Health #Disabilty #ACA #Health Insurance #Obamacare #Marketplace

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arlana-likes-to-write · 2 years ago

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I Hate Myself By Florence Pugh

Summary: Loosely based on a song in Florence Pugh’s new movie A Good Person. You are struggling with grief and guilt of your fiancé. Life seems to be going down hill when a blonde Russian forced her way into your life.

Warning: This story contains some heavy and possibly triggering themes. Heavy drinking, addiction of opioids, attempted suicide, guilt, grief, mention of death, overdose

Word Count: 2.9k

It’s crazy how life could change in an instant. A month ago you were planning your wedding. You were trying on wedding dresses, tasting cakes, and designing wedding invitations. A month ago you were celebrating with friends and brainstorming destinations for your honeymoon, and you decided on Japan. A month ago you were happy. But a car accident caused by a truck driver falling asleep at the wheel took your happiness. You were driving. You woke up from a two-week comma and your fiance never woke up. Her family never blamed you like you expected them to. No, they did the opposite and kept being there for you. They brought you to doctor appointments and helped pay for medical bills when they were grieving the loss of their daughter. But the guilt and the grief became too much and you did what you used to do before meeting Courtney, you ran. You left South Carolina and moved to New York City. Her family tried to call you and you’d send them a text to confirm you were alive. You were, barely, surviving on cheap pizza, buzz, and prescription medication.

It was lightly raining on your nightly walk around the neighborhood. You weren’t wearing a jacket, only a T-Shirt and sweatpants. The rain didn’t bother you. You loved it. On some days, Courtney would drag you off the couch into the backyard to dance in the rain. You missed her. You missed her so fucking much. You wondered if this pain was ever going to go away. Would the weight feel lighter to heavy? When would it hurt less to breathe?

You felt someone grab your arm and drag you into a nearby alley. You were so startled you didn’t even scream as you were pushed up against the brick wall. You stared at the girl in front of you. She was blonde, with striking green eyes, and she was a little shorter than you. But you didn’t miss the gun in her hand. “Do you have a death wish?” You asked. Was she Russian?

“Maybe,” you said. She lowered the gun. “Well, I mean we all die one die right,” you chuckled nervously. She put the gun on her hip and let you go. “I made this extremely awkward. Look if you are going to kill me, can you get it over with?” You had to admit it wasn’t how you thought you’d go out. Would you see Courtney? She pulled back her hood and her blonde hair was braided.

“Do you live close?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah,” you said. “Most girls take me to dinner first before I show them where I live,” you joked. She didn’t laugh. “Right, this way.” In hindsight, it wasn’t the best idea to show a mysterious blonde in your apartment that was just holding a gun but life worked in weird ways. The rain picked up and by the time you unlocked your apartment door, you were drenched. You toed your sneakers off and walked into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home,” you said, over your shoulder. You heard the door close and lock as you grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured your guest a drink. She was looking around your apartment. It had the bare minimum, no photos or decorations, all that was left in South Carolina.

“You live alone?” She asked.

“Yup,” you said, taking the bottle to the couch and laying down, not caring about your wet clothes. You took a generous sip, liking the way it burned down your throat. Your guest walked softly, you barely heard her walking over to the drink and then to the couch. You stared up at her. “Want more?” Offering the bottle.

“Stay off the streets for the next few nights,” she said. “It’s dangerous.”

“Whatever you say,” you turned on the TV. She spared you one more glance at you before exiting your apartment. “Odd,” you mumbled, taking another sip from the bottle. You hoped that would be the last you saw of the Russian.

However, life had other plans for you. Every time you left your apartment you saw the blonde. At the corner store. The pizza place. The shitty dive bar you worked at. But it was brief because when you looked away and back again she was gone. It wasn’t until Friday night, 5 days after your meeting with her did you see her again and this time when you looked at her she didn’t disappear. You had the night off. So, you were sitting on the couch, wearing only a sports bra and sweatpants. You were high, drinking beer and eating pizza with Criminal Minds on the TV. You were high. It was a glorious feeling because you felt floaty and free. You heard the handle of your apartment jiggly and when it opened you were staring at the blonde. “I should call the cops,” you told her.

“You won’t,” she closed the door. “Not when you are high on oxycodone,”

“Vodka is on the top shelf,” you opened the beer bottle and faced the TV.

“I know it is,” you heard her move around your kitchen. “Do you not have food?” She asked.

“Pizza is food,” she huffed, mumbling something under her breath that you couldn’t make out. She sat down next to you with a Gatorade and a protein bar.

“Drink this,” you looked at the blonde down to the drink then back at her. You didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a stranger. You took a sip of the beer instead.

“You’ve been stalking me,” she took a slice of pizza.

“No,” she said. “Just watching.” You chuckled.

“Yeah, that makes it sound better,” you sat back on the couch and focused on the episode. You felt her eyes on you, mapping out the scars from the accident. You would have them covered but sometimes clothes irritated your skin. Walking around in a bra was easier plus you never had anyone over. “Take a picture, it'll last longer,” you mumbled.

“Thanks for the pizza,” she said, standing up.

“Yeah, no problem. Let me know when you're gonna stop by and I’ll have dinner ready for you,” the blonde opened and closed the door. “What a freak.”

The next morning you found a bag of groceries at your door.

Some days were better than others. You could make it throughout the day without your hands shaking and wondering when you were going to get high next. On days like that, the weight on your chest felt manageable. Those days were few and far between. Lately, the guilt was becoming heavier and the nightmares invaded your mind. It was harder and harder to stay sober and leave your bed. The bar fired you but you didn’t care. You had no energy. But like clockwork each week there were groceries at your door. It’s been a few months since you’ve seen the Russian. You tried not to think about her but it was impossible. It was annoying. Why did she care?

You were drunk. Music blaring in your apartment and you were dancing around when the door opened. There she was. “My favorite Russian,” you ran over to her and put your arms around her. She caught you, stumbling slightly which caused the door to close. You rested your head on her shoulder, taking a deep breath in. “Mhmm. You smell good,” Whatever perfume she was wearing had an earthy scent to it like the smell after it rained. You leaned into her more.

“Are you hanging out with more Russians?” She chuckled, stepping back from you slightly but she kept her hands on your hips. You giggled.

“No, silly. You are the only one but still my favorite.”

“Why don’t you go sit down and I’ll go get you water?” She went to move away from you but you stopped her.

“I don’t want water. I want to dance with you,” you pulled her into the space between your living room and kitchen.

“No dancing. You need to go sit down,” you scuffed, rolling your eyes.

“You're no fun,” you mumbled, stumbling into the kitchen. “Aren’t Russians supposed to be big partiers?” You twisted off the cap of the bottle and took a large sip of vodka.

“I think you’ve had enough of that,” she took the bottle from you.

“I don’t like you telling me what to do,” you pulled the bottle back but she was stronger than you. “Whatever,” you let her have the bottle and open your cabinet. But she came around and closed it. “You are starting to piss me off.”

“What else have you taken?” She asked. Your jaw clenched.

“Nothing,” you walked over to your fridge to pull out a beer.

“So you haven’t taken hydro or morphine today?” She was pulling out the bill bottles. You took a hydro this morning. You woke up screaming from a nightmare. What were you supposed to do? “Courtney wouldn’t want this.” Your blood went cold.

“What-what did you say?” She rolled her eyes.

“Did you think I wouldn’t research who you are?” She asked, facing you. “You and your fiance Courtney Smith were in a car accident caused by a truck driver 4 months ago.”

“Shut up,” you said.

“You woke up from a coma but she never did,” she continued. You wanted her to stop talking. “After the funeral, you packed everything up and ran to New York. You found employment at a local dive bar and spent your free time downing yourself in alcohol and prescription medication,” An anger was building inside of you, blinding you. How dare this stranger walk into your life and feel as if she had your whole life figured out? “Courtney wouldn’t want your life to be like this.”

“Stop saying her name as if you knew her because you didn’t,” you snapped. “You wouldn’t know what she would want,” you squeezed the beer bottle, afraid the glass would shatter in your hands. “I think you need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Get out of my fucking apartment before I call the cops and have them arrest you for stalking and harassment,” she didn’t move. “Leave me the fuck alone,” you threw the bottle at her. She barely dogged it and the bottle shattered on the cabinet. You took off towards your bedroom, slamming the door closed, and locking it. You slide down the door and brought your knees to your chest as the blonde banged on the door pleading with you to let her in. But you couldn’t face her when somewhere deep inside of you believed everything she said. You crawled over to your nightstand, the banging becoming a distant memory and pulled out a polaroid picture. It was of you and Courtney on your third date. She took you camping in the Adirondacks. You didn’t have any photos of her as you left all of them in South Carolina.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “It should have been me,” you kept repeating as you pulled out a pile bottle and uncapped it. You swallowed the few pills dry. You fell to your side and cried, holding the picture to your chest.

You woke up in a bed and room you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t a hospital but you were attached to an IV drip. You were wearing a sweatshirt that wasn’t yours but it smelt like the blonde. You took the IV out of your arm and swung your legs over to the side. Your legs were shaky and it took you a minute to feel confident to stand up. On socked feet, you walked to the door and opened it. You were in a house and it was quiet as you walked down the hallway into a living room. You should have tried to find a way to get out but your eyes were glued to a piano. It was a beautiful, white Steinway model. You sat down on the bench and opened it. The keys were cold underneath your fingers but there wasn’t any dust on them. It was well taken care of. You couldn’t remember the last time you sat at a piano, it felt like a lifetime ago. You began to play, afraid you wouldn’t be able to but it was like riding a bike. It came back to you without much thought.

“I woke up today, at least that much is true,” you sang. Your throat was raw and it hurt but you kept going. “I saw what people see, what a year this made of me? I tried a hundred times but each time I thought of you,” you closed your eyes. You saw yourself sitting at the piano playing while Courtney sat on the couch studying. “I hate myself. I hate myself. I fucking hate myself.” She supported you in your dreams of wanting to be a singer-songwriter.

“And I want days of pain. Oh, to feel the things I need.To pay off this shame. And I know that makes me broken. I know that makes me weak. I guess I'll put my armor back on now,” you asked her instead of doing a first dance if you could write her a song and play it. To your surprise, she said yes but she made you promise you would dance with her at some point. You promised her. You would have done anything for her if she asked.

“I found a way but I turned around. One step to start but I’d rather fall. Too much of a coward to say, ‘I’m wrong.’ Too much of a coward to admit I need help me, please.” When you opened your eyes, the blonde was leaning against the wall. She was wearing a sweatshirt with SHIELD written on it. It was so different from the clothes she wore when she was at your apartment. You ended the song.

“That was beautiful,” you felt the tip of your lips turn into a smile.

“Thanks,” you ran your hands across the keys. “It’s been a while since I sat down and played.” She nodded, pushed off the wall, and sat next to you on the bench. “What happened?” You asked.

“You overdosed,” she played A-C#-E on the piano. You copied her. “You’ve been out for 7 days.

“Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” She played C-E-G and you did the same.

“Hospitals ask too many questions,” she smiled. “I figured you wouldn’t have to deal with questions. Your safe here,” she added. “An old friend owns this house.” You nodded, and you played E-G#-B. She tried to copy it but her last note was off. You smiled, placed your hand on top of hers, and arranged her fingers to the correct keys. It reminded you of when you tried to teach Courtney when she had free time.

“I tried to teach Courtney how to play,” you told her. “She wasn’t very musically inclined. Her head was filled with math and science. She was in medical school when she died,” she didn’t respond but you knew she was listening. “You were right. She wouldn’t be happy with me.” The blonde sighed.

“I should have handled that differently. For that, I’m sorry.” You played F-A-C and she copied it perfectly.

“Why do you care?” You asked. “I’ve tried to rack my brain around it. You don’t know me.”

“Do you know who I am?” She asked. You looked at it. She didn’t look familiar. You shook your head. “My name is Yelena. My sister was Natasha Romanoff.” You knew the name. Even in your small town, you knew who the Avengers were.

“You're an Avenger,” she nodded. “What does that have to do with me?” She sighed, playing G-B-D but you didn’t play it back.

“The truck that caused the accident didn’t fall asleep. He was murdered,” your stomach dropped. You could hear your heart pound in your ears. You had a vague memory of overhearing Courtney’s brother, who was also a truck driver, said he thought it was odd that a truck driver with that much experience would fall asleep at the wheel.

“Did you-?”

“No,” she said. “No, but I was responsible for trying to stop the group. I was too late,” it clicked. She blamed herself for what happened to Courtney and in turn what your life became. You wanted to ask more but you sensed she didn’t want to give the specifics. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t to blame for her death,” she didn’t look convinced. “Did you stop them from hurting other people?” She nodded. “Good, that’s all it matters.” Yelena seemed lost in thought so you continued to play to fill the silence.

“Her parents miss you,” she said, causing you to stop mid-song. “They called and I told them you weren’t feeling well and that you’ll call when you are better.”

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” your hand shook. “My parents weren’t supportive of my relationship with Courtney or my career choice. They looked after me even after the accident. I-” she placed her hand on top of yours.

“It’s okay,” she said. “In your song, you said you were scared to ask for help. I want to help.”

“I don’t want you to help me because of guilt or pity,” you said. “What will you get out of it?” She smiled.

“Well, you could provide pizza,” you laughed. A real laugh that sounded foreign. “And you could teach me piano.” You stared into her green eyes and saw something you hadn’t let yourself feel in a very long time. Hope.

“Okay,” you whispered. “When do we start?”

“Play something for me,” you did. You played for her and she sat and listened to you. You poured your heart and soul into these songs hoping a stranger would help you put your armor back on.

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misrawellness · 2 months ago

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Prioritizing Women’s Health: Expert Care and Support at Misra Wellness

Women's health encompasses a range of physical, emotional, and hormonal factors that play a vital role in overall well-being. At Misra Wellness, we are dedicated to empowering women through personalized care tailored to their unique needs. Whether addressing Perimenopause Symptoms, providing Hormone Therapy For Women, or supporting Women’s Sexual Health LA, we are here to guide you toward a healthier, more balanced life.

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mobonyc · 2 years ago

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Why MoBo NYC's Weight Loss Doctor in NYC Are The Best?

MoBo NYC's weight loss doctors are some of the best in the industry. They are highly qualified and experienced professionals who have helped countless individuals achieve their weight loss goals. Their approach is holistic, meaning that they focus not only on the physical aspects of weight loss but also on the emotional and mental aspects. They understand that losing weight can be a difficult and emotional journey, and they are there to support their patients every step of the way. Additionally, MoBo NYC assigned a dedicated weight loss doctor in NYC to each patient who took a personalized approach to each patient, tailoring their treatment plan to fit each individual's unique needs and goals. They offer a range of services, including nutritional counseling, medical weight loss, and behavioral therapy, among others. They also utilize cutting-edge technology and the latest research to ensure that their treatment plans are effective and safe. Overall, MoBo NYC's weight loss doctors in NYC are the best because of their expertise, personalized approach, and commitment to helping their patients achieve their weight loss goals in a healthy and sustainable way.

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neighborhoodtrainerr · 7 months ago

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Personal Training NYC: Elevate Your Fitness Journey

In the bustling metropolis of New York City, where time is a premium and the pursuit of wellness is ever-growing, personal training has emerged as a pivotal solution for achieving fitness goals. With a plethora of options available, finding the right personal trainer in NYC can be a game-changer for those seeking tailored fitness plans and expert guidance.

Personalized Fitness Plans

One of the primary advantages of Personal training NYC is the customization of fitness plans. Personal trainers in the city offer personalized programs that cater to individual goals, whether it’s weight loss, muscle gain, improving athletic performance, or enhancing overall health. These customized plans are based on a thorough assessment of each client’s fitness level, medical history, and specific objectives.

Expert Guidance and Motivation

New York City’s personal trainers are renowned for their expertise and diverse specializations. From certified strength and conditioning coaches to yoga instructors and rehabilitation specialists, NYC boasts a wide range of professionals who can provide expert guidance. These trainers not only offer instruction but also serve as a source of motivation. Their support helps clients stay committed to their fitness routines, especially in a city where distractions are abundant.

Flexible Training Options

Flexibility is another key benefit of personal training in NYC. With the city’s fast-paced lifestyle, personal trainers often offer various training options, including one-on-one sessions, small group training, and virtual workouts. This flexibility ensures that clients can fit their workouts into their busy schedules, whether they prefer training at home, in a gym, or even outdoors.

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Many NY Personal Trainers operate out of state-of-the-art fitness facilities equipped with the latest technology and equipment. These facilities offer a motivating environment where clients can engage in a wide range of exercises, from high-intensity interval training (HIIT) to functional fitness. The availability of advanced equipment and amenities enhances the overall training experience and helps clients achieve their fitness goals more efficiently.

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Personal trainers in NYC often adopt a holistic approach to wellness, addressing not just physical fitness but also aspects like nutrition, stress management, and overall lifestyle. Many trainers offer additional services such as dietary advice, mental wellness coaching, and recovery strategies. This comprehensive approach ensures that clients receive well-rounded support, promoting long-term health and well-being.

Community and Support

Joining a personal training program in NYC can also foster a sense of community and support. Many trainers create an inclusive environment where clients can connect with others who share similar fitness goals. This sense of community can be incredibly motivating and make the journey towards better health more enjoyable.

How to Choose the Right Trainer

Selecting the right personal trainer in NYC involves considering several factors. Potential clients should look for trainers with relevant certifications, experience, and a track record of success. It’s also important to find a trainer whose training style and personality align with one’s own preferences. Many trainers offer complimentary consultations or trial sessions, allowing prospective clients to assess whether a particular trainer is the right fit.

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dozemax · 7 months ago

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RX Slim Care Semaglutide Reviews Risky Complaints Revealed Alert! 2024 MY TruthFull Experience

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RX Slim Care provides very discreet services for those who might find weight-related discussions to be a delicate issue. The company values users' privacy and has customized its solutions to be respectful and personal. Via online assessments and medication delivery to your home, users can work towards their weight management goals without really feeling vulnerable or

RX Slim Treatment offers a personal and non-judgmental area for individuals to address their weight, helping those who may feel embarrassed or distressed about looking for help to take control of their health with

Potential Drawbacks

Cost

While RX Slim Treatment supplies various benefits, it is vital to consider the prospective drawbacks, consisting of the cost related to the service. The program's beginning price is $299, which may be a substantial investment for some people. While numerous users locate ineffective medications and personalized care, others might be prevented by the ahead-of-time cost

Moreover, as RX Slim Treatment does not take insurance, individuals ought to anticipate paying for their entire treatment expenses themselves. This absence of insurance policy support might hinder access to certain potential clients, particularly those handling monetary troubles.

One possible constraint of RX Slim Treatment is its restricted schedule. Although the online system offers ease, there are some geographical restrictions. Specifically, homeowners of Louisiana, Mississippi, and New Mexico are not qualified for the program, which might prevent them from

Furthermore, online consultations need a steady internet connection and a compatible tool, which may present challenges for those who are much less acquainted with innovation and absence regular on the internet access.

Negative effects

Like any type of medication, Semaglutide and Tirzepatide include prospective negative effects. While lots of users tolerate these medications well, some might experience adverse responses, such as gastrointestinal issues, queasiness, or modifications in appetite. It is necessary for people taking into consideration RX Slim Care to recognize these potential negative effects and discuss them with their doctor during the examination process.

Understanding the feasible dangers related to these medications is essential for making notified choices about weight reduction treatment. RX Slim Treatment provides users with thorough information about the drugs and encourages open communication with healthcare specialists to address any type of problem.

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How to Get Started With RX Slim Care

Starting your trip with RX Slim Care is straightforward and practical. If you want to manage your weight or enhance your diabetes mellitus management using Semaglutide or Tirzepatide, RX Slim Care uses a very easy means to obtain these prescription drugs. Below is a comprehensive on how to start your experience with RX Slim Care:

· The initial activity to take is to visit the RX Slim Treatment website discovered at www.rxslimcare.com. Right here, you can check out information on the solutions offered and the types of medications that come.

· To start, you should develop an account as the 2nd step. Look for the "Subscribe" or "Get Begun" option, usually found on the main web page. You will certainly after that be asked to input personal details such as your name, e-mail, and password. By setting up an account, you obtain the capacity to monitor your progress, view appointment history, and connect with a physician.

· As soon as your account is established, you need to complete an in-depth clinical questionnaire. This action is critical as it supplies the healthcare providers with crucial info about your health condition, medical history, present medications, and weight-loss goals. Be honest and comprehensive in your responses to make sure that the doctor can make an enlightened choice about your suitability for Semaglutide or Tirzepatide.

· Next, set up a virtual consultation with a certified healthcare professional through our telehealth system. Throughout this remote video session, your carrier will certainly examine your case history, and discover your wellness objectives, issues, or queries you have regarding the suggested treatments.

· Throughout the telehealth appointment, the medical professional will certainly evaluate whether you get Semaglutide or Tirzepatide. They will certainly discuss the advantages and feasible drawbacks of the medication and determine if it fits your health condition and goals. This is likewise a possibility for you to elevate any inquiries or share any type of fear.

· If the healthcare provider figures out that Semaglutide or Tirzepatide fits you, they will certainly provide a prescription. This prescription is sent electronically to the pharmacy connected with RX Slim Care.

· Upon completion of the prescription processing, the medicine will certainly be sent to your home address. RX Slim Care ensures inconspicuous product packaging and punctual delivery so you can start your therapy efficiently.

· RX Slim Treatment gives constant support throughout your therapy journey. You will certainly have access to follow-up examinations with healthcare providers who can monitor your progression, adjust your therapy strategy if essential, and address any concerns. You can also contact the support group for support on drug usage and handling adverse effects.

Tips for an Effective Experience with RX Slim Treatment.

1. Be Honest and Thorough: When finishing the medical survey and throughout the telehealth consultation, supply exact and comprehensive information about your health condition and objectives. This ensures the doctor can make the very best choice for your treatment.

2. Ask Concerns: Don't think twice about asking concerns throughout your telehealth examination. Recognizing how Semaglutide or Tirzepatide works, prospective side effects, and what to expect during therapy can help you feel more confident and prepared.

3. Screen Your Progression: Track your weight reduction and any modifications in your health while using the drug. Normal monitoring aids you and your doctor assess the effectiveness of the treatment and make any kind of needed adjustments.

4. Remain in Touch: Utilize the follow-up appointments and support services offered by RX Slim Care. Continuous communication with healthcare providers ensures that you get the most effective possible treatment and can address any issues immediately.

5. Stick to the Therapy Plan: Comply with the suggested dose and use guidelines for Semaglutide or Tirzepatide. Uniformity is key to achieving the preferred outcomes and reducing possible negative effects.

Starting with RX Slim Care is a basic and effective procedure developed to give you with accessibility to effective weight-loss and diabetic issues management medications.

By following the steps outlined over, you can begin your trip towards much better health with the support of experienced healthcare providers and the comfort of on-the-internet clinical services. Keep in mind to be detailed in your first consultation, remain involved with follow-up support, and abide by your therapy to prepare for the most effective and feasible results. RX Slim Treatment offers an appealing remedy for individuals seeking to handle their weight and boost their total health from the convenience of their homes.

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Customer Experiences

▶️Testimonial from Sarah M. of Austin, TX

On her experience with RX Slim Care's online fat-burning program: Originally reluctant, Sarah discovered the examination process to be simple and the medical professionals to be extremely motivating. With the help of Semaglutide, she efficiently dropped 30 extra pounds within a short period leading to enhanced power levels and enhanced confidence.

▶️Testimonial 2: James R. from Seattle, WA

"After fighting with my weight for years and trying countless diet plans, I ultimately discovered RX Slim Treatment. The telehealth consultations were convenient, and I valued the individualized technique. The medicine functioned marvels for me, and I'm down 25 extra pounds. I very much recommend this program to any person wanting to make a real change."

▶️Testimonial 3: Emily T. from New York City, NY

"RX Slim Care has been a game-changer for me. I liked the service's discreetness; the ongoing support made a significant distinction. The group was constantly available to address my questions. I used Tirzepatide and lost 35 extra pounds in six months! I finally seem like I get on the ideal track."

Final Verdict for RX Slim Care

In summary, RX Slim Care supplies a convincing selection for those looking for reliable and easy ways to manage their weight. By supplying customized care and tested medications, this service makes it possible for users to start their fat-burning efforts with the assistance of a seasoned doctor. The added convenience of virtual examinations and home shipment of medications boosts the total procedure, making it possible for individuals to concentrate on their well-being without the problem of in-person medical professional checkouts.

While there are possible drawbacks, such as cost and availability, the countless benefits of RX Slim Treatment make it a worthwhile consideration for any person dealing with weight management. Real consumer experiences demonstrate the program's efficiency, with lots of individuals accomplishing considerable weight loss results and boosting overall health.

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FAQs about RX Slim Care

Q. What exactly is RX Slim Care?

RX Slim Treatment is an internet-based healthcare provider that provides weight control choices using recommended medications such as Semaglutide and tripeptide, as well as virtual clinical assessments.

Q. How do I get started with RX Slim Care?

Begin your RX Slim Treatment journey by taking the online health assessment on their website, which will certainly be adhered to by a virtual consultation with a certified healthcare professional.

Q. Start your fat-burning journey today by completing the test!

Using RX Slim Care doesn't require you to have insurance policy coverage. Instead, the firm supplies a self-pay alternative, where you can straight purchase and pay for your therapies without needing to include an insurance policy service provider.

Q. How does the medication delivery process work?

After getting your prescription, RX Slim Treatment will deliver the medication to your doorstep within 24 to 48 days.

Q. What kind of support can I anticipate after signing up?

Users can access endless messaging with U.S.-based medical professionals for ongoing support and support throughout their weight loss journey.

Q. Are there any kind of negative effects connected with Semaglutide and Tirzepatide?

Yes, feasible negative effects might consist of gastrointestinal problems, nausea, or modifications in appetite. It is very important to go over any concerns with your healthcare provider.

Q. How much weight can I expect to lose with RX Slim Care?

On have taken Semaglutide or Tirzepatide together with maintaining a balanced way of living have seen a substantial decrease in body weight, with losses ranging from 15

Q. Is RX Slim Care available in all states?

RX Slim Treatment is not currently available in Louisiana, Mississippi, and New Mexico. Can I help with anything else?

Q. What is the cost of the program?

The program's price begins at $299 and covers the preliminary examination along with medications.

Q. Can I cancel my subscription at any moment?

Users can cancel their memberships anytime, supplying flexibility and peace of mind.

#weight loss #official website #better results #weight loss diet

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makehydrafictionagain · 28 days ago

Text

Public Relations: Foundations- Ch. 1 Pt. 1 (MCU x Reader)

Note: While I work on Public Relations: Civil War, I decided I'm gonna throw a new part at y'all. Just to give us a better... foundation. <3

Summary: As the team navigates a day filled with public appearances, quiet reflection, and deeply personal moments, they are reminded of the weight of their past and the resilience of those around them.

Here is the prequel to this, Public Relations: Age of Ultron.

May 30, 2015

A low whisper rattled the thin window panes, the early morning wind pushing against the aged glass. It wasn’t harsh, just persistent enough to stir you from sleep a little earlier than you'd hoped.

The air in the room was cool, the kind of crisp that settled in just before the warmth of the day arrived. You stayed still beneath the heavy comforter, the warmth cocooning you against the chill that had crept in overnight.

It was peaceful.

You wanted to hold onto that peace as long as you could, given what the day would inevitably bring.

Vienna, though, felt more tense. The smiles were there, but beneath them was something else- something… watchful. The press event went smoothly, but the meetings behind closed doors had a different tone. You weren’t present for them, but from what you were told afterward they were sprinkled with questions about accountability, concerns about unchecked power. Nothing direct, nothing outright accusatory, but enough to make the entire team feel the shift.

She helped you with an advanced regenerative treatment for your shoulder- nothing miraculous, just something to speed the healing along. It was incredibly reminiscent of the day you met the team; Clint was all beat up, but had just been worked on by Dr. Cho and was almost instantly healed. You hoped it would be the same for you.

Steve sure remembers that day. Dr. Cho pointed out, both amused and confused, how often he watched you. She wasn’t quite ‘in the loop.’ Apparently, because you weren’t present for that conversation, either, he was quite flustered when Sam latched onto that comment like a dog with a bone.

It was honestly the closest thing to a moment of peace that this tour had offered.

Johannesburg, though... Johannesburg was sobering. A necessary stop. An apology, carefully worded and heavy with the weight of responsibility. The city accepted their presence, but not without caution, not without reminders of the destruction left behind when Bruce had lost control by Wanda’s hand.

The city didn’t need to know that part, though.

You knew she would come, though. As little as you knew her, you knew she would come.

Now, you found yourselves in another new place. ‘New’ may not be the right word.

Because, today was different.

Today is for Sokovia.

Your gaze drifted back toward the window, where the morning light was beginning to grow stronger.

Bratislava was peaceful in the early hours, far removed from the destruction of Sokovia.

But today, everything reminded you of a place that no longer existed.

It's just so… real.

A quiet reminder that some things took time.

Your outfit had already been chosen days before- a sleek and conservative black ensemble, fitting for the tone of the day.

No bright colors. No unnecessary embellishments. Just something professional, simple.

Respectful.

You dressed slowly, buttoning the last detail in place before stepping in front of the mirror.

A final glance at the window showed the sunlight had strengthened, casting longer streaks of gold across the floor.

Time to go.

The dining space was elegant, an elegance that truly represented the town's history, with high ceilings and dark wooden furniture that felt more suited to a formal gathering than a casual breakfast. A long table had been set with a modest buffet: fresh fruit, eggs, flaky rolls, coffee, and tea.

Sam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to force himself to wake up.

Rhodey made it further than Sam, already halfway through his meal, flipping through some sort of notebook as he ate. He acknowledged you first with a polite nod which you returned with a warm smile.

Natasha entered just behind you, sharp as ever, already put together and observant as her eyes scanned the room for who she knew wouldn’t be up yet.

The mood this morning was different from the previous ones. In London and Seoul there was easy conversation, teasing, laughter. Today, it was quiet. Reflective.

I get it.

Sam was the one who finally broke the silence. “Well, this is the quietest we’ve ever been. Kinda eerie.”

Rhodey smirked, shaking his head. “Give it a few minutes. We’re still waking up.”

Natasha, now settled with her own coffee, made a quiet observation. “Wanda’s not in yet.”

You debated whether to check on her, but before you could make a decision, Steve spoke. “She might still be sleeping.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful.

You nodded, wrapping your hands around the warmth of your coffee cup. “Can you blame her?”

Sam exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand down his face. “If I were her, I don’t know if I’d even show up.”

Natasha took a slow sip before responding. “She will.”

She will.

The door to the dining area opened softly, and Wanda stepped inside, dressed in black. The energy in the room shifted- not with awkwardness, but with acknowledgment.

No one expected her to say much. No one pushed her to.

You watched as she poured herself coffee, fingers tightening briefly around the handle before she picked up a piece of toast, though she didn’t take a bite.

Steve broke the silence first, his voice even and directed at the room. “We’ll head out in about an hour.”

Wanda nodded once but didn’t look up.

No offense to the boys.

When she caught your periphery by finally looking up from her mug, you met her with a warm smile that didn't quite meet your eyes- rather, your eyes were too tired to show it.

She gave you the same tired smile.

As the Avengers were led to their seats, lining the right side of the stage leading to the podium, the audience hushed, waiting.

The speeches began with UN officials, some of whom you recognized as having followed the team on their tour thus far, followed by Slovakian representatives expressing their gratitude for the Avengers' role in preventing further devastation. Yet, even as the words of thanks were given, there was an undercurrent of loss- the acknowledgment that, despite everything, Sokovia was gone.

“We can’t undo the past. We can’t bring back what was lost. But we can remember, honor, and ensure that Sokovia is never forgotten.”

He took a measured breath, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “The destruction of Sokovia was a tragedy- one that no speech or dollar amount can ever make right. But what I’ve seen in the weeks since is something… truly remarkable. The people of Sokovia- those who lost their homes, their families, their sense of safety- did not give up. You did not allow your pain to define them. You stood together. You rebuilt. And in doing so, you showed the world the strength that has always existed here.”

He didn’t dwell on the destruction, nor did he try to shift blame. Instead, he made it clear that this was not about the Avengers- it was about the people who had survived. “We stand here today not as superheroes or soldiers, but as people who witnessed your strength firsthand. And we promise: Sokovia will not be forgotten. Your stories, your losses, your triumphs- they matter. And they always will. You always will.”

His gaze, perhaps unintentional, rested squarely on Wanda behind him. Yours did, too.

Wanda hadn’t expected to speak.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she stood, but she stepped forward anyway.

She had faced worse things than this.

Taking a steady breath, she let her fingers brush the edge of the podium, grounding herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but unwavering.

“Můj bratr a já jsme se narodili ve světě, který nás nikdy neměl chránit.”

The hall was silent, every ear trained on her.

"Nikdy jsme neměli být zachráněni. To jsme se naučili jako děti—že pokud chceme přežít, musíme být silní. Ne pro sebe. Pro sebe jsme nikdy nic nedělali. Ale pro sebe navzájem. Protože jsme neměli nikoho jiného.” She swallowed, exhaling slowly.

Her fingers curled against the podium. Despite not knowing what was being said, it was as if you and the others could read her mind. You knew what she was saying.

"Ale pokud musí být symbolem, ať je to toto: symbolem toho, co znamená být Sokovcem."

She lifted her head, her gaze finding the survivors in the front row- their grief mirroring her own, their pain woven into hers.

"Naučili jsme se bránit se, protože jsme museli. Naučili jsme se truchlit, protože jsme neměli na výběr. Ale dnes se nebudeme trápit jen kvůli tomu, co jsme ztratili."

Her voice strengthened.

"Dnes oslavujeme to, co nám zůstalo."

She turned slightly, looking toward Steve, toward the others behind her.

She glanced down the team, toward you.

"Without them, I would not be standing here today. Without them, I would have never seen who I truly am."

She looked back to the crowd, her chin lifting slightly.

"Sokovia may be gone. But my people are here. You are here."

She let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking one final time.

"A to vám přísahám. Ať jsme kdekoliv, kamkoliv jdeme- Sokovie žije v nás."

She stepped back. The room was still.

And then, the applause rose- not loud, not frantic, but steady, heartfelt. A recognition of something true.

Wanda didn’t turn to look at the others, but she felt them there.

She had said what needed to be said.

And, for the first time in a long time, she felt like Pietro had heard it too.