UNKNOWN GUEST

#58 The (Real)Man Out Of Time

James' POV-

Sitting here in my room, behind this closed door, it feels like I've hit a wall. It's like I'm stuck in the exact same spot I was when I first walked into SHIELD—just a stranger trying to find his place. I've been here for almost three years now, but honestly, it feels like nothing has changed. It's almost like I'm invisible, like I was never meant to be here in the first place.

I keep asking myself: Who am I really? What am I to her?  I feel like I've lost my footing, and it's worse than I ever imagined. I always thought my dad, Captain America had it tough, being a man out of time. But now, I'm starting to realize that my situation might be even more miserable. I'm from a different timeline, and here, I feel like I have no real place, no real value. Once I'm gone, who's even going to remember me?

I think back to that confrontation with Uncle Tony. I stood there, full of bravado, saying I wouldn't let anyone hurt my mom. It was a confident statement, but now it feels hollow. The reality hit me hard when my mom, in a way that felt like a punch to the gut, asked me who I was to her. I have no answer, no explanation that feels adequate. It's a shame, really. I can't even face the people around me, especially not Tony, after that.

It's awkward. I'm stuck in this limbo, and it's not just about the discomfort. It's about the impact my presence might have on the team, especially with the search for the scepter still ongoing. I know I could be more of a hindrance than a help, and that's the last thing I want to be. I can't afford to be a distraction or a liability. Maybe it's better if I just step away for a while.

I stepped out of my room and found Dad, Uncle Clint, and Uncle Tony standing in the hallway. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. Nobody seemed to know what to say. It was awkward, like we were all waiting for someone else to break the silence.

I cleared my throat, trying to muster up some semblance of confidence. "I'm leaving," I announced. 

Dad looked up from where he was leaning against the wall. "To where?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "Not certain yet. Probably... to the apartment Fury assigned for me." 

Uncle Clint frowned, clearly worried. "Hydra knows your whereabouts. It's dangerous." His concern was evident, and I could see it in his eyes.

I shook my head, trying to brush off his concern. "I can deal with it if it's the case." I didn't want to admit it, but the truth was I felt like I needed to be somewhere else, away from all the chaos.

I turned to walk away but glanced back at them one last time. "I'm sorry for meddling in the Avengers' business. I was out of line." The words felt clumsy, but I meant them.

Then I looked at Uncle Tony. "Mr. Stark, I'm sorry." He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I could see he was caught off guard, but there was nothing more to say.

I let out a long sigh, feeling the finality of the moment. I walked towards the elevator, the sleek metal doors sliding open. I stepped inside, and as the doors closed behind me, I felt a strange mix of relief and regret. 

Author's POV-

A few hours had passed, but Natasha couldn't shake the restlessness gnawing at her. She tossed and turned in bed, unable to find comfort. Earlier, she'd overheard Clint telling Thor that Jason had left, and the news hit her harder than she'd expected. She had wanted him gone, right? So why was she feeling so conflicted now?

She stood up, her mind racing. Jason had crossed a line, that much was clear. He shouldn't have gotten involved in matters that were her responsibility, especially when she was absent. She wanted the team to stay united, and she knew they needed both Hulk and Banner. She had hoped to help Bruce manage his anger so they could all work together more effectively. Something must have triggered the Hulk, making him react the way he did. Yet, as she replayed the confrontation in her mind, she realized she might have been too harsh on Jason.

The final words Jason had said to her echoed in her thoughts: "You don't look like my mother anymore." It was a statement that seemed to pierce through her, like a sharp sting in her gut. The weight of those words left her feeling uneasy.

Her gaze landed on Bruce's door. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to make her way toward his room. The hall seemed to stretch on endlessly as she walked, her footsteps echoing softly. She reached Bruce's door and paused, taking a deep breath before knocking gently.

A soft "Come in" echoed from the room, and Natasha pushed the door open, stepping inside. Bruce looked up, his face a mix of relief and concern, as he stood up. "Natasha..." he began, his voice carrying the weight of everything that had happened.

She forced a smile, trying to ease the tension. "Hi, Bruce."

He looked down, clearly burdened by what had transpired. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know how it happened."

Natasha shook her head gently. "It wasn't you. You need more time to get control over it." She meant it—she understood that Bruce was still grappling with the immense power and anger he harbored within.

Bruce sighed, nodding slightly, then gestured for her to take a seat on the couch. She complied, wincing internally as she adjusted her casted wrist on the arm of the couch. The pain was a dull reminder of how things had spiraled out of control.

Bruce sat across from her, concern etched into his features. "How are you feeling?"

Natasha let out a soft sigh, her voice steady but weary. "A lot better." 

Then, after a brief pause, she asked the question that had been on her mind. "What triggered you there? We had planned not to have a mass attack."

Bruce was silent for a moment, his eyes clouded with the memory of the incident. "I heard gunfire. I got worried about you...all of you. So..." His voice trailed off, but Natasha caught the underlying emotion.

There it was—he had been worried about her. That concern, that protective instinct, had likely been the trigger. She didn't want to push the idea too far, but a part of her couldn't help but think that Bruce's feelings for her might have played a role in his loss of control. It was something she'd suspected before, but now it felt more real, more tangible. She sighed, deciding to shift the conversation.

"I heard Jason was a bit angry with you. Sorry about that," she said, trying to steer the focus away from herself.

Bruce shook his head. "No, he wasn't really angry with me. I understand where he was coming from. He was just scared, really scared. I've seen it." He paused, then continued, "He came here a few hours ago, apologized."

Natasha's eyes snapped to his in surprise. Jason apologized to Bruce? That was unexpected.

Bruce sighed again, his expression thoughtful. "To be honest, what he said— I don't think I've ever thought about it that way. He said everyone gets angry, just that my anger has a far larger range than others. And it was pretty convincing." He smiled softly, a hint of admiration in his voice. "For a moment... I felt like Captain Rogers was comforting me. He sounded a lot like the Captain."

Natasha lowered her gaze, pushing back a lump in her throat. It was almost too much to process. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "He left."

Bruce's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Jason... left? Why?"

She shook her head, unable to provide an answer. "Don't know." The weight of the situation was pressing down on her, and she needed space to think, to process everything. She stood up, her movements deliberate. "I'll get going."

Bruce nodded, concern still evident in his eyes. "I'm glad to see you're getting better."

She returned the nod, offering a faint smile before turning and walking out of the room. But as she made her way down the hallway, Natasha couldn't shake the unease gnawing at her. What was happening to her? Why did everything feel so off-kilter?