THE INBETWEEN ~ STEVE ROGERS [5]

Hearts

Some things on Earth, like the sunrise, never seem to change. Sure, the colors shift with the seasons, and the clouds differ with the days, but the sun never fails to set. He is my constant, the sun. I know, with great certainty, that no matter how long I sit on the roof and stare at the stars, he will come along the horizon to bring me the light.

The hope I had for the return of our friends was much like the sun. I was certain of it, perhaps too certain. Steve, in his own way, told me I was in denial. I chose to believe it was faith. If I could watch the sun rise every morning, without fail, then surely we could correct our mistakes. Reverse the failure.

I stopped talking about it after a few months. I was only met with anger, great bouts of sadness and regret. My opinions were just my own. Nothing more.

When Tony returned, he couldn't look me in the eye. And after a few days he couldn't be in the same room as me. And then he left, with Pepper, and I hadn't seen him since. Eight months ticked past like the hands of a broken clock. Too slow, and too fast all at the same time.

2012 seemed like a distant lifetime, when it crossed my mind, as it often did these days. Back then I thought myself hardy, tough. But that girl was too soft for all this, even after all she had endured. The years had built the scar tissue up, covering my Achilles Heel, covering everything. I wondered, would I have made the same choices then if I knew what would happen in the years to follow? Would I have left my heart unguarded, throat bare? She was so vulnerable, that young version of me. Clay to be molded, shaped by the hands of those who love, who loved her the most.

Love. Such a key human component, the glue that binds us to each other. Some days I feel an abundance of it, heavy and thick in the air. And other days, when I am alone, it is sucked from the atmosphere as though into a black hole, transported to some other world.

I loved Tony. I wouldn't ever stop loving him. He had been a friend, an anchor, some twisted guidance in a time where I had none. But for eight months I couldn't bring myself to call, no matter how many times my finger hovered above the button.

In the end, it was Pepper who called me. Late one afternoon my phone went off, and a sleepy hand came out from under the covered and answered, voice groggy from sleeping all day.

'Come out and see him,' she said, hints of desperation in her voice. 'It would be good for both of you.'

That is how I came to be standing outside his workshop, my neck sore from the weight of my right arm in a sling. Stiff from lack of use, the ache was too much to bear some days. Just a reminder of what the price of our freedom had been.

I knocked on the door lightly with my knuckles, and hearing a faint 'come in', I pushed the door open and stood in the doorway, unable to go any further.

"What'd you do to your arm?"

Tony pointed a soldering iron at my sling. He was bent over a bench, bare arms and white singlet covered in grease and dirt. Even his back, his arms seemed weary, slumping in a way I recognized in myself, in Steve. It was the guilt.

My feet shifted, weight on the doorframe.

"It hasn't been the same since, you know, I had a building dropped on me," I replied. Tony rolled his eyes, but didn't look at me.

"If you're trying to get me to feel sorry for you, it wont work."

That hurt. We hadn't talked since he came back from space but I needed this. It had been too long. The comment left a sting.

"Did they tell you what happened to me on the prison boat?" I asked.

He stopped what he was doing, and looked at the ground.

"Rogers told me you almost died. And I mean, who wouldn't have, right? After Germany. You got a building dropped on you, as you mentioned." He went back to his work and continued to fiddle with it, the scent of metal thick in the air. "And you're fine, you're alive. So its okay, right? Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because you haven't spoken to me since you got back. Or even looked me in the eye." I shook my head and grimaced. My body ached. "And now you're out here, in this little wood cottage thing you've got going on, and you're married and that's great, Tony, but what happened? What happened to us?"

"What happened to us? You lied to me. You made me believe a story that wasn't even real. You're fake, Keight."

He looked me dead in the eye, fury in their depths, betrayal in his gaze. My chest tightened and my ears tinted red. I thought, after everything, that part of our lives had been forgotten. I was wrong.

"You're a fake and a liar. You. Are. A-"

"I KNOW I'M A LIAR!"

I didn't mean to yell, but I did, and it scratched my raw throat, and despite my efforts tears dripped down my cheeks and onto my neck. Tony didn't bat an eye. I sighed and my lungs shuddered with the effort.

"I know I'm a liar but you're the only one who still seems to care. Everyone else, they forgave me. I didn't deserve that but they did it anyway. And I don't expect you to forgive me, Tony. But the past is the past. What we went through, that kind of thing makes you want to stick together."

He was looking to the side now, eyes glassy. I bit my lip hard, tasting salt on my tongue. How familiar the taste was now.

"I lost my family. My brother, and my, my sister. They're all gone. Sam is gone. Wanda is gone. You guys are all I have left, Tony. I can't, I don't know-"

I had to stop. The lump in my throat was too big, the hole on my chest too deep. I slumped against the doorframe, and then familiar arms were around me, and he smelt like oil and aftershave and it was a comfort, and warm, and I melted into him and cried.

He cried too, tears on my shirt, grease staining the fabric. I didn't care. And then, as we cried enough tears for a lifetime, he leant his forehead against mine and he whispered.

"I lost the kid, Keight. I lost my kid. I lost Peter."