Into the War || A Captain America Love Story

3

STEVE

"Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor," Rhodey points out to Sam behind me, clearly arguing over the situation, "which is one more than you have."

I flip through the pages of the document, knitting my eyebrows at each one. The Starks sit on a sofa, rubbing their temples. Tori's face has gone almost sickly pale since we've been in this room with the Secretary. I can tell she's scared and anxious about our decisions. Then again, she's been like that since Lagos.

"So let's say we agree to this thing," Sam shoots back to Rhodey. "How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?"

"One hundred and seventeen countries wanna sign this. One hundred and seventeen, Sam," Rhodey spits, "and you're just like, 'no it's cool, we got it—'"

"How long are you going to play both sides?"

"I have an equation," Vision announces.

"Oh, this will clear it up," Sam remarks.

"Nothing will be cleared up until we all make up our damn minds about this mess," Tori hisses from the sofa. I glance up from the book, waiting for Vision to tell us his idea.

"In the eight years since Mister Stark has announced himself as Iron Man, a number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially," he says, leaning on the arm of the red couch. "And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate."

"Are you saying it's our fault?" I ask, becoming a little more defensive.

"I'm saying that there may be a causality," Vision says. "Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge insights conflict. Conflict brings catastrophe. Oversight...oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand."

"Boom." Rhodey looks over at Sam, whose arms are crossed in defiance.

"Tony, you are being characteristically non hyper-verbal," Natasha analyzes.

"For once," Tori mutters under her breath, glaring at her big brother. Well doesn't she seem peachy. Great.

"It's because he's already made up his mind," I state, laying my hand silently flat on the table.

"Boy, you know me so well," Tony says, sitting up from his resting position on the couch, taping Tori's leg with his foot on the way there. He brings his hand up to the back of his head, wincing in pain, as he gets up off the couch. "Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache. That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain. It's discomfort."

Tori rolls her eyes at her dramatic sibling. She just seems to be out of it, like she has been recently. She has just been done with all of this mess—with Rumlow, with me probably because of him, and now this. She's just had enough.

Tony snatches up a coffee cup, messing with something in the sink. "Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?" He places something on the countertop, clicking away at the projection. A picture of a smiling young man comes up in front of a sighing Tony, looking off away from the camera. "Oh, that's Charles Spencer by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service."

I catch him glancing at Tori with a cold stare, like she knew exactly what he's talking about.

"Charlie didn't wanna go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which I would do," Tony adds. "He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where. Sokovia.

"He wanted to make a difference, I suppose," he continues. "I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass. There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! In whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys."

"Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up," I say.

"Who said we're giving up?" Tony asks.

"We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions," I state. "This document just shifts the blame."

"I'm sorry. Steve, that-that is dangerously arrogant," Rhodey says. "This is the Untied Nations we're talking about. It's not the World Security Council. It's not SHIELD. It's not HYDRA—"

I shake my head. "No, but it's run by people with agendas, and agendas change."

"That's good," Tony says. "That's why I'm here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing."

"Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose," I say. "What if this panel wants to send us somewhere where we don't think we should go? What if there's somewhere we need to go and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own."

"If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later," Tony replies. I clench my jaw. "That's the fact, and it won't be pretty."

"You're saying they'll come for me," Wanda says solemnly.

"We would protect you," Vision responds.

"Maybe Tony's right," Natasha says as Vision and Wanda share a glance at each other. "If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer."

"Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?" Sam asks his disbelief.

"I'm just reading the terrain," she replies. "We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back."

"Focus up. I'm sorry, did I just mishear you or did you just agree with me?" Tony asks her, leaning over in her direction.

"Oh, I want to take that back now," Natasha whispers.

"No, no, no," Tony says, shaking his finger like a club. "You can't retract it."

I hear both Tori's phone and mine vibrate at the same time. We both exchange confused looks, but she slowly glances at her phone first, obviously puzzled. She swipes across the screen, and her hand flies over her mouth to mask a gasp. I quickly snatch up my phone, immediately taking it to the texting app. It's from a number that I haven't seen in a long time, since Tori was missing. I scan over it again and again, staring at it in disbelief—"She's gone. In her sleep."

"I have to go," I growl, standing up from my chair and placing the novel of our agreement onto the coffee table.

"S-Steve," Tori croaks out, her voice cracking like she's about to cry, which isn't often.

We both just read about Peggy Carter's death.