Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This mission was beneath them .

 It was the only thought that all team members managed to agree on before they had left to complete it. A small, barely active Hydra base was located somewhere in some mountain range that nobody aside from Steve had bothered to commit to memory. It could have been handled by internal SHIELD units, yet, here they were. No amount of complaining or questioning could accomplish the disassembly every member was aiming for. They were simply sent off, no assignments other than ‘blow the thing to high hell’ from a less than amused Nick Fury. 

“There is a possibility they’re harboring a weapon we’re not prepared for.” He’d said. “If so, a team of superheroes is going to withstand it better than my task force.” It was monotone, and condescending in nature; Fury never spoke any other way. It was barely any information at all, a chewed up bone tossed to ravenous dogs. Just something to stimulate their curious appetites without painting a full picture. 

It was cold so deep in the mountains, and painfully windy. Tony, from the safety of his helmet, avoided the red burn of frost across his cheeks that the rest of his team were pridefully bearing. Steve led them in, as he often did. His shield was cocked out in front of him in case something fired straight on. It wasn’t what they had expected to find. There were no guards, no booby traps or angry super soldiers. Just cold, and emptiness. A deserted base, seeming to have been evacuated in the middle of operations, as far as the scattered papers and blown outlets could tell. A scramble to leave the base, but keep the people. They could always rebuild somewhere else.  

The sound of glass crunching beneath the ruddy boots of an exploring Steve was the main soundtrack of the sullen crime scene. They walked all around the base, looking under tables and over stacked folders. Any sign of life would have been identified if it was here, and clearly it was nowhere to be found. 

“Shit-” Natasha’s voice followed the sound of fabric descending from a surface, reminding Tony of the many dramatic unveilings he’d done when he was still in the weapons business. It was an exhale of surprise, one that called the urgent attention of everyone in the room. 

“Oh my god-”

“Jesus-” 

“Is she alive in there?” Out of all the panicked remarks, Steve’s voice sounded out. He was clear, and fixed, issuing a command within his question. Is she alive? Somebody find out. 

There was a large pod with a small window that stood vertically in a carved out corner. When the cover had been draped over it, the team would have assumed it was the weapon Fury had brought up. Looking at their situation, they suppose the possibility still couldn’t be ruled out.

 You were out cold within the chamber, head lulled to the side and eyes shut. The window was too tiny and too covered in ice to reveal any movement of your chest, any twitch of your fingers. There was no way of knowing who or what you were. And, looking around, no monitors or flashing numbers to tell them if you were breathing. Steve reached for the latch on the side, starting on the path to put his fingers where the two halves met and pull it open. 

Tony felt his covered hand wrap around the man’s wrist before he even knew he was doing it, opting to reveal his face so the accusing expression he wore could be seen. “ Woah , Cap. Slow your roll.” Steve’s head turned to look at him. “We have absolutely no idea what this could be, we’re in a deserted Hydra base ; and you’re just gonna open the weird frost chamber with a woman in it?”

“Tony-” 

“She’s just a woman, yes?” Thor, who had been forced quiet out of boredom, piped up for the first time all mission. “I don’t see the big deal.” 

Tony’s expression morphed from apprehension to dramatic bewilderment, and his sight shifted away from Steve in favor of piercing into the God. “Hey, hammer, look around. ” He flicked his eyes around the room to illustrate his point. “Am I the only one who recalls the ‘ possible weapon’ that Fury was so scared of his own team encountering? What if this is it, hm?” 

His eyes went back to Steve, who had yet to remove his hand. Posing the question more to him than Thor. “Well, we won’t know unless we open it.” 

“Our orders are to torch the base, Cap.” There were few times Tony got to call Steve out for not following the rules, and each time he was handed the opportunity, he relished it. He knew it got the deepest under Steve’s skin when he didn’t get to be the golden boy. “Elsa and her castle here are part of the base. You think Fury’s gonna let us off because one of the staff members was a little chilly?” 

Steve stiffened. “She could be a hostage, Tony.” 

“She could be an alien. Or an ancient God from a mythology that opposes the lightning junkie over there.” His eyes widened slightly as he rambled, flashing to Thor momentarily when he mentioned him. “ Whatever she is, she’s obviously not going to be a normal person if we open that. You’re making more work for us down the line when she inevitably tries to blow another hole in New York.” 

This time, Natasha stepped up, voicing disagreement and joining the bandwagon of freedom for the stranger. With all votes except Tony going to the ‘open it’ decision, he paused in annoyance before stepping out of the way. “Fine.” He raised his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender. “But I'm gonna say ‘I told you so’ when we have to kill her anyway.” 

The chamber cracked open slowly, rusty hinges crying out as they were forced to bear through the friction of movement. White, frosty air trickled out in a billowing cloud, but cleared up after a few moments of exposure to the outside warmth. You didn’t stir. With full sight of you, they could see the subtle movement of your chest. It was so minor that nobody was positive they even were seeing it. Just a slow crawl up, and a collapse as it went down. The clothes you were in looked halfway between pajamas and a prison uniform, visibly scratchy and rough. The dull tan of the fabric was routinely interrupted by blotches of deep crimson, dried and tacky after so long in the cold. The team stared, had you bled out in there? 

Steve put the finger of his glove in between his teeth, pulling his hand away from his mouth and sliding the fabric off. With his shield still held tight, he stepped forward and put his fingertips on your pulse point. He could feel the fleeting beats of a heart that was undeniably trying . Your skin was ice cold, but the warmth of life still thrummed beneath it, even if it was hardly traceable. “She’s alive.” It was said medically, mixed with an audible relief at the predicament. Living it was one thing, seeing it was another. 

Natasha raised her eyebrows, “So, are we gonna take her back-”

A coughing fit interrupted her. You had jolted awake, hacking like you were trying to get water out of your lungs. You shoved Steve’s hand away from you forcefully, barreling out of the pod, panting and backing away like a cornered dog. In a way, you suppose you were. 

“ Woah.” Steve backed away, dropping his glove and extending his arms in an attempt to be disarming. The whole team stiffened - waiting for attack, but praying for cooperation. “ Hey, you’re ok. We’re not gonna hurt you.” 

Tony spared a brief, patronizing look to Steve. “She’s not an animal, Rogers.” He looked back to the quivering limbs of your hunched body, a recognition stirring deep within his gut, not quite breaking the surface of his consciousness. “What’s your name, ice queen?” Steve just looked flatly at him, silently asking if there was any situation his Stark sarcasm couldn’t permeate. 

You looked wildly at the people around you, nearly hiding behind the cage you’d just been let out of, and scraping desperately at the walls of your brain for any semblance of memory, for any substance you could hold. It felt like sand slipping through your fingers. You could feel the electricity shoot through your internal wiring, but no images, no words, no faces, nothing. The things you needed were buried beneath the rubble of whatever had collapsed your past. The panic transcended any conceivable human level. You felt fear like your skin was made of it, covering the expanses of your body, and wrapping every other bit of you in it’s grasp. The shaking of your extremities got worse, the people in front of you nearly blurring into one. There was a heat licking up the entirety of your body, even through your tattered clothes. You felt it like fire, burning away any emotion you could muster that wasn’t terror.

Steve’s eyes grew wide. “Um-”

“She’s glowing , right? I’m not the only one who sees that?” Tony was equally cautious, beginning to back up with the rest of the team. The parts of his helmet that had been folded up to allow sight of his face snapped back into place to protect him from the build up that was happening. 

There was a steady, searing purple swallowing your figure, growing brighter with the seconds that ticked by. Alarmingly, waves of the same shade were pulsing away from you every couple of moments, hitting the rest of them as they spread out. Tony, in his peripherals, saw Natasha fall to her knees. Steve and Thor letting out the smallest sounds, pausing their retreat to whimper , making noises that rivaled a kicked puppy. Tony realized, in the same vein, he was petrified. The kind of scared that solidified your limbs, that made you feel like there was ice water in your lungs. It wasn’t that the team wasn’t moving, it was that they couldn’t. He wanted to ask JARVIS what was happening, if this was some sort of bioweapon that could toy with your brain; but he couldn’t get the words out, nothing but tiny grunts as the fear became so severe it hurt.  

He looked from his shaking hands to you, bent over and burning . The color was so bright he could hardly look at it, blazing like the sun. You were choking out sobs, collapsing on to your hands and knees in a failed attempt to rein in what you hadn’t meant to let loose. You hadn’t meant to do this, whatever this even was. You just felt the fear, as tall and wide as a tsunami as it swept you completely under. You were drowning , and everyone else was coming with you. 

The center point, a lit-up, violet flame in your chest, poured undiluted horror out of you in a final surge of energy. The force of such a blow knocked the entire team on their asses, and threw you so hard your back hit the wall. Your skin abandoned the glow in favor of returning to normal. You didn’t bother to look at the injured people in front of you, choosing instead to crawl forward, away from the wall and back to the pod, using it as leverage to get your bruised body standing again. You had never felt such exhaustion, you think. Maybe you had. You couldn’t recall any internal limit you’d ever found before you’d been brought here. All you knew was that this felt like the lowest point any human could live at. Were you even human?

Your head was spinning, a warmth in your ears and a blur over your vision stopped you from trying to walk away. You could vaguely see the figures of the 4 people in front of you trying to recuperate, finding their footing much quicker than you were managing to. 

“ Hey .” The man in the metal suit wheezed out the word, putting one hand out as he shakily stood back up. He acted similar to the man he’d made fun of earlier. “We’re…we’re here to help you, ok? Help .” He was out of breath, pausing not only to pant, but seemingly to consider his wording.

You said nothing, keeping your hand on the pod and trying to focus your vision on the man. He was the closest to you, though his body was still decently far. Your throat was so dry that you weren’t sure any words would even come out if you’d wanted to talk. You weren’t sure if you even knew how. You could understand what these people were saying, what their words meant, but could you say them? 

With the hand that had been extended, he tapped an area of his suit, and you heard the sound of whirring metal. The metal that was encasing his head was pulled into the material that surrounded his neck, bearing his face to the charged air. It was an attempt to appeal to you on a human level, you gathered. He, along with everyone else, probably wanted to avoid another fear bomb . “We can take you away, alright? Back with us.” He was speaking at a snail-like pace, pointing, and gesturing his hands to illustrate his words. He seemed under the impression that you didn’t speak English because you’d yet to say anything, or give any indication you knew what any of them were saying. “Just… please chill out. ” The last part was whispered, said more to himself than anyone else. 

There was something almost familiar about him. Not even a conscious thought and certainly not a memory, but a feeling. It was like a little spiral in the waters of your brain, something moving and almost asking for attention. It was the quietest whisper of something. It made your guard come down too easily, like your internal defense had already given him clearance when no other part of you had agreed to. You would have listened to him speak longer, almost wanted to. He was the only thing in this room that triggered anything in the mush that was your mind. Maybe he was famous. Maybe you’d seen him in a coffee shop before you’d ended up wherever you were. Was there even a before? Had you been born here?  

You were so transfixed that your vision blocked out the others getting to their feet, blocked out the large man clad in star-spangled polymer staying low in order to get behind you. You registered none of this until your neck was slotted in the crook of his elbow. A pristine meeting of tender flesh to unforgiving strength. You heard him mumble out an apology as your hands reached for his forearm, as though you could stop the action with atrophied muscles. With your already weak body and empty lungs, it was barely a minute of this before you passed out. You felt that same fear coat your spine, tingling through your body, but you were asleep before it could fester. 

-

The floor was extremely unforgiving on your shoulder.

 It was the first thing you noticed as your consciousness slowly slipped back into your body. You had been dumped unceremoniously on your side, and left there to cramp up for however long you were out. The second thing, becoming more apparent by the second, was a blue light that forced it’s way past your closed eyelids and into your perception. You could feel the heat of another person close to your chest, radiating softly from them to you. 

As soon as this information caught up to you, you opened your eyes and pushed yourself up enough to lunge. The person, who you could now unfortunately see was the man who’d spoken to you before, jumped back in surprise. You had almost managed to grab him when a barrier pushed you back. He had crossed it just fine trying to get away from you, but it lit up red when you made contact with it. 

The man took his time standing and smoothing out his t-shirt from where it had ridden up. “You’re rude, you know that?” You took notice of his presentation, he’d foregone the suit for jeans and his previously crumpled shirt, but around his wrist was machinery of the same design. That was the blue light, you realized. It was projected from the little device, displaying a multitude of different medical scans and numbers. “Second time I’ve done something nice for you and been attacked for it.” His hands moved slightly as he spoke, the holographic images moving with them. You followed it with your eyes, standing as still as you could, crossing your arms.

As you raised them, they rubbed against something considerably softer than what you’d last been wearing. You looked down at yourself, a different attire covering your form. There was a large word across the center of your shirt. ‘Avengers.’ It didn’t ring a bell. 

You glanced quickly around in alarm. You were just in a room. There was a bed, a nightstand, and a large empty space on the floor that you were stuck in. Your eyes looked to him, then back to your clothes as it dawned on you. Had he been the one to change you?

“Don’t worry.” He spoke as soon as you’d thought it, not leaving you long to dread the answer. “We had our local femme fatale do it, so no danger of men peeking at you.” At the lack of understanding in your eyes, he clarified a bit. “The girl you saw before in your creepy Hydra dungeon.” He nodded his head once in the direction of the door, as if pointing to the woman who wasn’t in the room, and you briefly remembered the redhead who had been there with the men. Your shoulders relaxed minutely. 

“Well - peeking at your body , at least.” You tensed right back up at that. “I did do some peeking at your brain while you were out.” He held up his wrist - and the machine, by association - as though that would be enough of an explanation. “Your emotional receptors are huge . I mean, it’s honestly a scientific miracle you don’t look like Megamind.” The remark did little to sweeten your sour mood. Despite lacking the knowledge of who or what Megamind was, his inability to take you seriously was not helping. The man was beginning to wear on your patience, and he’d barely been talking for five minutes. “They messed you up good, huh?” He looked at you in a way that was off-putting. Along with apprehension and slight annoyance, there was a curiosity there. An entertainment. That put you on edge without you really knowing why. Something about the man led you to believe it was worse to peak his interest than it was to be disliked by him. Your jaw clenched involuntarily, and you held his eyes. You didn’t know who they were or how badly they had messed you up . 

You sighed, nerves clawing up your throat as you cleared it, then cleared it again. The dryness seemed like it would make speech impossible, but you were willing to try. “I don’t know.” It was painful, and rugged. Your voice sounded like it crawled through broken glass just to make it to his ears. Just to give him something to go off of. 

The expression he made looked like his own face was confused on how it wanted to display his feelings. His eyebrows went up in shock, while the rest winced at the grating of your vocal cords against your moisture-barren esophagus. “Little young to be a smoker, no?” There was a comedic tilt in his voice, and he certainly seemed amused by his quip. You didn’t join in on his joy. “Tell you what, answer a few questions, and I’ll get you all the water your cold heart desires.”

You weren’t exactly in a position to refuse. If you said no, he’d most likely walk away; and that would mean sitting there in silence. Maybe this way, you could also get some information. You nodded, just once. A tiny movement of your head down and back up. It was stoic, you thought. Something innate buzzed inside you, making you feel like it was uncharacteristic, like it wasn’t how you’d normally act. That lowered defense from earlier remained stubbornly apparent. You despised the lingering hint of safety. 

“What’s your name?” 

Nothing came to mind. “I don’t know.” 

“How long have you worked with Hydra?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What’s Hydra?”

“ Jesus. ” The word was doused in exasperation. “This isn’t cute , frozone. Or even particularly effective.” His way of speaking morphed from comedic to sarcastic, a matter-of-fact assertiveness. “We found you in the secret lair of Nazi scientists, and you went all purple people eater and knocked out my team.” He stared at you flatly. “You have to know something. ”

You didn’t respond immediately. Taking time to pry at the confines that your memories were locked up in. Trying to dig up anything you could tell him. You could sense there were at least a few things buried deeper than you could reach. It felt like the entire recollection of your past were papers beneath a paper weight, and you just couldn’t get it off.  You took to scanning the room, scanning him, looking for anything that might jump start an image, even just a word that you could grab on to. 

“I have a shirt like that.” The realization wasn’t a grand domino effect that granted you the key to everything you were missing. It was like a mosquito bite. You barely felt it as it happened, but the aftermath of knowing something - something personal. It was all you could focus on. 

The shirt was one of Tony’s many band tees, the first one he saw hanging in his closet when he’d gotten up this morning. It read ‘Hatful of Hollow’ along the chest with the corresponding album cover. He’d gotten it a couple years ago, for nostalgia’s sake. He’d had a similar shirt when he was a teenager. “You being a Smiths fan is not at all helpful.” He crossed his arms, feeling weirdly vulnerable with the knowledge that your eyes were on him. Not just looking, but analyzing . It made him tense up. “Though, it does make me like you more.” Something shifted slightly, muscles in your stomach clenching subtly in a way you didn’t understand. In an effort to distract himself from the weird tension in his shoulders, he leaned into this completely insignificant revelation you just had. 

“I saw them live once.” He tapped once on the glossy print of the album, referencing the band as though you’d forgotten. “1995, I think. Don’t know how I made the time.” 

Your eyes widened. Something about what he’d said felt incorrect. Somewhere close to the core of your being pulsed out the recognition to the rest of you. Somehow, beyond the lack of knowledge regarding your family, life, or who the president was, you knew the year. Or, at least, you’d thought you knew it. He was speaking like it was ages ago, some fond childhood memory he held like something that was long over. But for you, that was your now. He noticed the abundance of confusion that pooled on your face, asking a simple ‘What?’ as a prompt. “Is it not 1995?”

His eyes squinted slightly in an assessing look that was mixed with slight confusion. Not necessarily at the situation, more at the fact that you remembered the year and not your own name. “Uh… no . No, it’s not.” He watched as your lips parted in surprise, your already wide eyes practically bulging. “It’s 2014.”

You felt like the floor caved in beneath you. Clearly you’d been in that chamber far longer than you thought was possible. You’d missed nineteen years of societal evolution. Of life. Of your life. How old even were you? 

You barely registered the mumbling of some half-apologetic, half-sarcastic quip directed at you as he’d realized the situation. Barely registered anything before the piercing click of boots, and the silk of a new, higher pitched voice entered the room. 

“Why didn’t you tell us she’d woken up?” Her annoyance towards your interviewer was an incredibly refreshing sight. She seemed to take all your swirling feelings of anger, and actually express them. You hadn’t even needed to make eye contact with the woman. Right now, you were on the same page. 

“Well-” He held her eyes for a second before trailing them away and meeting your own. “We just hit it off so well.” He shrugged like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I couldn’t bear to part from our beloved prisoner. It was simply too riveting of a conversation.”

You wanted to retort, wanted to say something to defend yourself, but you couldn’t. Your tongue froze solid, caught behind the cage of your teeth as your jaw tightened. It turned from muscle to concrete, stretching down the expanse of your throat and locking the air inside your lungs. Your old clothes, beige and bloody, were clenched in the closed fist of the woman. There, simple and stained in her right hand, were the only tangible remnants of your past that existed at the moment. And it burned. 

It was a lesser fear than before, angry lilac bleeding into the color of your irises. You could see it more than you could feel it. The chill of the air against the pudge of your bare adolescent body, stripped of your old clothes, stripped of your identity , and stuck  in the glorified jumpsuit that was sitting flaccid and bunched in the hand of a stranger. The unforgiving sting of unfathomable electricity shot directly into your brain. 

Forget. Comply. Submit. 

Your body hit the caged-in floor of the room as your mind stayed stuck in a loop. The grubby hands of adult men tearing away the morality of your teenage mind, carving out a hole, and filling it with purpose . 

Forget. Comply. Submit. 

The pain pulsed off you in bright purple waves, bypassing the invisible barrier, but fizzing out before it could reach the scrambling people. You heard a shout for a man named Steve , but your head was too entrenched in the unforgiving scenes that were being shown to you. Two sets of hands rolled you over, one on each arm to hold you down. Where your back should have met the floor, it arched up. Fever and ache making it impossible for you to lay flat. You would have been convulsing if not for the steady weight of the fleshy restraints.

The only sounds that were circling the room were the varying grunts of pain pouring out of mouths, both male and female. Up so close, the energy you exuded was slamming into the three of them, frying it’s way into their chests, and seeping outwards like poison. You could feel two fingers prodding at your neck as it involuntarily jerked away from the touch. The man who had spent the last ten minutes trying to question you held a syringe of something in the hand that wasn’t on you. 

“ God - hurry up, Tony-” The voice was feminine, forcing the words between her teeth like she couldn’t open her mouth without more sounds of agony falling out of it. The man holding your other arm down - Steve - just groaned in what could only be taken as agreement. 

The prick of the needle entering your neck was comparable to the touch of a feather when rivaling the searing boil of your past. The sedative hit your blood in an instant, shushing the visions of torture and training, leading you quickly into a euphoric pit of inky black. It was a relief to have nothing after having that. You would have mentally thanked the man if you had been competent enough to do so. Tony , you’d heard. That was his name.  

Panting, and borderline sore from how much they’d tensed up when they were under fire, both Natasha and Steve left the room. They spared little attention to Tony, simply taking slow steps back to their bedrooms to try and sleep off the brutal sting making home under their skin. Tony didn’t move. He sat in that sting, looking down at your unconscious features. He took the moment of solitude to truly take you in.

He’d been in love, once. The same year he’d been born, his dad’s friend had a little girl, and the rest was history. They were best friends throughout the years where everything feels too big; their forming brains not sure of anything except the presence of each other. They’d bonded over juice flavors in kindergarten, and then promises of forever when they hit grade school. As though a fifth grader could truly comprehend the meaning of forever. They’d sneak around in middle school, riding bikes to forbidden parts of the forest, and holding hands when watching horror movies they weren’t supposed to be watching. He’d taken her to homecoming in freshman year, despite the both of them ridiculing the concept like they were getting paid to do it. She’d been his first kiss in a desolate school parking lot, where they stood waiting for a ride home as some cheesy love song leaked out of the gym and onto the asphalt. They both had shaky hands, and the stupid smiles of two kids in love . The kind of love that doesn’t come with liability. Not yet. 

And then she’d moved away. Missed one day of school without calling to say so, and when he went to check on her, there was nothing but an empty house and a glaring ‘for sale’ sign to be found. His dad confirmed it, saying her father told him they couldn’t bear staying here any longer, and more or less cut ties. He’d been so hurt . And angry. But something beneath that was suspicious more than anything else. She wouldn’t just leave, he was sure of it. She wouldn’t . Even if she didn’t want him. It would have crushed him, but she would have told him. 

He’d asked his dad, ‘you don’t find that weird?’ and was met with the usual philosophical avoidance that he often got. Something about the conditions of the human mind, and how it responds to routine rather than an actual answer. So, he gave up. 

For most of his life after her, he was the kind of man who could find anyone if he wanted to. She was simply the one person he’d never let himself look for. He was scared of the possibility she didn’t just move away, and perhaps even more scared of the possibility she had . That he wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t even anything to her. Everyone else seemed content with the given story, who was he to dig into things that weren’t his business? 

So, yes, he’d been in love once. With a girl that looked strikingly like you. With a girl that made his skin spark every time he touched her, much like yours did when your powers forced his hand. You carried maybe ten more years on your frame. The cold had dulled your color, wrung you out completely. Your lips were cracked, and your skin was dry to the touch; but it was a frightening resemblance. You didn’t look at him with warmth, or recognition, not like she used to. He wasn’t even sure if  he was recognizable now. He had thirty years of growth and brutality on the boy who’d given his heart away. Who’d been given her heart in return. 

He swore for a while that if he ever saw her again, he’d question her - ask her why she did it in a way that allowed him to keep his dignity. He never needed to wonder if he’d recognize her. But, he’d lived with that skeleton for so long that he couldn’t be sure anymore. Even buried deep in the closet, those bones pulsed with life when he looked at you. Begged to be removed, to be shown the light of connection again. 

But you couldn’t be her, he decided. He turned back to look at your limp figure as he neared the doorframe. He couldn’t spend all day staring at you like a creep, lost in his thoughts. Just like he couldn’t spend the rest of his life waiting for her to show back up and wash away his bitterness, his longing. You weren’t her. 

You just weren’t.  

Chapter Text

“That one looks like a lizard.” 

The words had been giggled out of the boy to your right. His arm was raised above him, pointing his index finger at the cloud he was referencing, like he could poke it if he tried hard enough. The sun was taking shelter behind one of the many clouds that chose today to make home of the sky. A slight breeze whistled through the trimmed grass that the both of your small backs were laying on. A deeper voice, slightly gritty and caramelized with age, rambled on about the weather from behind you. A couple monotonous responses were hummed by a higher pitched voice. You couldn’t see them, but you knew they were there because of you. 

You and the boy were sweaty, but peaceful as you rested. The wispy tendrils of crystalized water grazed slowly against the vast blue as you stared. The shapes practically begged your imaginative young minds to assign arbitrary meaning to them. To make them your own. The boy turned his head to look at you; and you found yourself mirroring his action to meet his eyes. 

He’d asked, “Do you think we’ll be together forever?” 

You could feel yourself scoff, intertwining your grass-stained and dirt-caked hand with his, straightening your neck to gaze back at the universe. 

“Duh.” 

–

The second time you’d woken up in the glorified dog kennel powered by machinery you didn’t understand, you were more annoyed than concerned. You took note of the tiny square Band-Aid on your neck, no doubt covering the minuscule wound you were sporting from the puncture of the needle. Classy.

You pushed the upper half of your body off the floor in an attempt to survey the room better. It was empty. No sarcastic night in iron armor to prod at you while you regained your senses. A table and chair had been moved into your allotted perimeter. It was a flimsy, foldable surface, barely big enough for a plate, but it was something. There was a bottle of water and a bowl of fruit sitting on it, the chair pushed in. You had been frozen for nearly twenty years. You suppose it would make sense for them not to risk your digestive system shutting down if you attempted a full meal. The water was heaven, you decided. Pure ambrosia.

The sound of your peace being interrupted made your head snap to the door. It opened with an efficient hiss, the man of the hour waltzing in like he had nowhere better to be. He looked different than the last time you saw him. Different clothes, his lines of his facial hair more strategic, shorter than your previous interrogation. Had you been out that long?  

“You know, I was starting to think I killed you.” He stood a few feet away from you, safe and sturdy outside the limits of your restriction. His arms were folded like before, his weight rested evenly on both legs. It was the appearance of confidence, but your skin crawled with anxiety that didn’t feel entirely your own. He had a malleable assertiveness. An attempt at authenticity. He reminded you of a cardboard box left in a puddle; pick it up and all your stuff breaks through the bottom. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to know that about him. “Didn’t know if your DreamWorks brain would even react to the sedative. It’s like saline to Boy Wonder out there.” He nodded his head towards the closed door, presumably in the direction of said man.

His nicknames didn’t make it any easier to know who was who. “ Boy Wonder.” It was more of a grumbled mimic than a retort. “Is that Steve?”

“ Wow. ” His voice was lined with faux amazement. “Look at you knowing names.” He had the hint of a smile on his face, a snarky twist of his lips that tied a knot in your stomach. Something almost familiar. “Just don’t let Steve hear you knew his name first. It’ll go straight to his ego.” 

His genuine enjoyment of the wit that left his mouth was almost contagious. If he was less arrogant, you might have been amused. “How long was I asleep?” Surely at least a day, judging by the light beaming in through the curtains, and his new appearance. 

He puffed air through his lips in a thinking gesture, tilting his head to the side slightly as if mentally arguing with himself. “Thirty six hours, give or take.” He shrugged as he spoke, making peace with the uncertainty of the estimate. “I was really close to getting Happy to sing something.” His chest moved in a small chuckle. “If you didn’t wake up to cover your ears, we would have known it was curtains.” 

You stared at him, an image forming in your head of a random man trying to serenade you back to life. “Happy?”

“Driver.” He wrote off the curiosity. “Not important.” 

A moment passed in silence. It was simmering with an awkwardness so penetrating that you felt like the air was laced with it, like you were breathing it as you inhaled. “Thank you, by the way.” He lifted his eyebrows in a wordless inquiry. “For knocking me out. I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off for a second, searching for the appropriate classification for what had taken place. Blow up? Go crazy? “I didn’t mean to.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t sweat it.” He watched your eyes sink to the floor. Guilt, maybe. Embarrassment. Confusion. “It was purely selfish.” Your eyes returned to his with a hint of shock. “Your little episode made me feel like someone was pulling my skin off with pliers. If that sedative didn’t take, I would have stuck it in my own neck.” You bit your tongue. Being let off the hook made you feel surprisingly lighter. You stand and bathe in it for a moment. “What’d you see?”

The curious tip of his head made you feel uneasy. He was prodding, seeking out information that you weren’t sure you were ready to share. His eyes were piercing, too. Like they wanted to dig through the bone of your skull so he could piece your brain back together with his own two hands. You clung on to the little memory those visions had given you. Regardless of how horrible they were, they were yours . And now this stranger was asking you to loosen your grip and let him hold them, let him see you. It was a kind of trust in and of itself, you suppose. “It wasn’t cohesive.” You recalled the oscillating imagery, there one second and different the next. “It was just flashes of things. Stuff that happened to me, I think.” 

His eyes remained steady, waiting for you. He resorted to prompting when he got impatient. “Such as?”

You sighed, averting your eyes in recollection. His constant attention was beginning to be too much for you. “I was really young. I don’t think I understood what was happening.” The men’s fingers looked more like claws in your head, molding you with sickly grey skin and grotesquely long fingernails. Like a witch. Like a monster . “They stripped me, put me in that uniform. Just..a smaller version, I guess.” The clothes looked the same in your mind, draped over the chubby kid they’d taken and found again on the woman they’d made . “A lot of electricity. I think that’s what they did to wipe my memory. It’s where the pain came from.” 

His eyes stayed fixed on you, heavy as steel and sharp as razor wire. You saw the faintest lick of sadness swirl in his irises, rippling from him to you like a wave. You weren’t even sad for yourself, you realized, just sad that he felt bad. You forced that feeling out of your system quicker than it could leave his eyes. You didn’t know why you felt that way. Only that it was too vulnerable, too deep. He let the information breathe for too long. You were starting to fidget where you stood. 

You just laid your past at his feet per his request. Surely he wouldn’t step on it. 

“We were supposed to blow up the base we found you in. That’s why we were there.” He wore an expression you’d yet to see from him. Almost looking like guilt. Remorse. It was incredibly subtle, buried beneath his usual ‘cool guy’ charm, but you saw it. You felt it. Maybe the negativity was yours, and you were projecting. It just seemed so evident, like you could see it buzzing around him. Read it in the lines on his face, even if his attempted nonchalance was pasted over it. “But because we found someone, the higher ups told us to wait, wanted to go back and ransack it. See if they left anything behind.” Your expression must have pointed to a desire for further elaboration, because he continued, “Weapon plans, files regarding other possible victims, stuff like that.” 

Victims . That’s what you were now. Merely a slice of a congregation that had been stolen away and broken down. Built into something else. The term didn’t sit right on your shoulders. It felt twisted, and bitter. Something instinctual guiltily clawing at your throat, saying it wasn’t you who was the victim.  

Pushing past the mental struggle, you nodded at what he’d said. “Makes sense.” You wondered if your own file might be there. Might give you any indication of who you were. “There could be others still frozen.” 

His lips pursed in what seemed like an involuntary movement, like he was annoyed it had to be dumbed down but decided it wasn’t worth the effort of mocking. “Yeah, that too.” He waved his hand as he spoke. Just once, to validate and simultaneously dismiss the idea. “ So, they thought, ‘hey, two birds, one stone’ and you’re gonna tag along to see if it jogs any memories.” 

Air shot into your lungs as you sharply inhaled, hopefully conveying the disbelief you felt in your eyes as you stared at him like he’d grown another head. It wasn’t so much the prospect of going back into the ‘creepy Hydra dungeon,’ as he’d once put it. Rather at the fact you had no idea what it would do to you. The only time you’d remembered anything, you needed three superheroes to sedate you. Why on Earth would they want to risk that again?

“That’s a terrible idea.” 

He didn’t miss a beat. “Couldn’t agree more.” He shrugged as he uttered his next sentence, seeming content with the fact it was out of his hands. “But, in case you get the urge to detonate again, they’re all gonna carry some of that stuff I gave you.” You could barely process the fact that you were being dragged back to your site of captivity, let alone that everyone there would have the power to knock you out. “Worst case, you take another nap. It’s their problem now.” 

You stepped forward. “Wait - are you not going?” You weren’t particularly fond of the man in front of you. He was abrasive, and sarcastic at the wrong times, but he was essentially the only person you knew. None of the other people had bothered to drop by unless they were pinning your seizing body to the floor. Now your only minimal sense of familiarity was opting out?  

“No.” He scoffed, like it was ridiculous to even think so. “I actually have a life.” He began to move towards the door, presumably done with the conversation now that you knew the plan. “Suits don’t improve themselves, frosty.” 

Panic was churning in your stomach, solidifying in your throat, and making it apparent you didn’t want to be alone with a bunch of people you’d never spoken to. People who’s only association with you was fear and pain. He was an asshole, obviously far too egotistical, and completely unempathetic to your situation; but you didn’t want him to leave you here. To stick you with his friends and hope for the best. 

“I saw something else.” 

He paused, turning back around and looking at you expectantly. You hadn’t even meant to tell him, deciding to keep that small piece of happiness to yourself. Let it fizzle out on your tongue before telling others you had it. The rush to keep him talking reeked of desperation, and even with no memories, you were disgusted at it. You weren’t desperate. That much you knew.

“Um-” You were mentally scrambling, how should you even describe it? It was so brief, so minor. “I was in a field, with a boy. As kids. We were watching the clouds.” It felt too colorful to be put to words. The memory, even though incomplete, was still saturated with the vibrancy of adolescence. It still carried a sense of magic. It seemed so euphorically mundane to sit there with him and make something significant out of the randomness of nature. “I saw it right before I woke up. It just felt.. different . I don’t know.” 

He nodded dramatically, amping up how little he cared in an attempt to subdue the twinge of warmth that slithered up his spine at the description. But it was there regardless, and it ran through you as sure as it did him. His eyes betrayed his demeanor, even as he tried to write you off. “Sounds like you had friends.” You looked at him flatly, as though you could burn him if you wanted it bad enough. “Shocking to me too, honestly. Maybe you were more chipper when you were ten.” His lips tilted up in the corners, the kind of smile reserved for mocking someone you thought was below you. 

“I get the impression people aren’t nearly honest enough about how insufferable you are.” You accepted defeat at your current moment. You’d have to grit your teeth and get through your torture chamber without him. Maybe this was a good thing. 

You got an earnest laugh out of him. It was short, but pointed, and filled with genuine amusement. “No, they’re plenty honest. Trust me.” He looked you over for a final time. “Hey, self love’s the most important kind, right?” He’d said it theatrically, rolled the humor around on his tongue and spit it at you, like all you were doing was bantering. Like he wasn’t leaving you alone. He resumed his trek out of the room, calling out to you one more time over his shoulder. An afterthought. 

“Try not to kill my friends, ice queen.”

Chapter Text

There was a soreness fusing with the fragile skin of your shackled wrists. The woman who had helped hold you down earlier walked into your room a couple minutes after Tony had left, giving you a small smile in greeting, but not bothering to say anything. She crossed your border without problem. It seemed like everyone in the building could just waltz in whenever they wanted. As long as you couldn’t get out.  

She apologized in a low voice as she clamped the cuffs around you, a quick “Sorry, it’s not personal.” before your cage was turned off. You watched the walls of it quickly light up before going dark, like turning off an old tv. Funny how you could remember what a tv was but not your own mother.  

She stepped away from you a little bit once she was sure your restraints were tight enough. “They’re just a precaution.” She looked down to your hands, eyebrows creased slightly in what seemed like sympathy. She felt guilty. You could tell. “If you run while we’re not looking, it’s a danger to everyone. You get that, right? Even to yourself.” She tacked the last part on so you didn’t sound too much like a monster. Just a danger . Something that could be contained. Something that didn’t need to cause trouble. You appreciated the effort, at least. She was friendly enough. 

You breathed deep as you nodded, giving nothing but a silent agreement to her words. The weight of the circular metal was foreign, too heavy and cold, but you weren’t going to complain. You weren’t going to say anything unless you had to. You were so far out in the depths here that you didn’t know whether you were sinking or swimming. Just that you were alive. You were awake , for better or worse; and you wanted to keep everything you had inside you, bundled and protected, where nobody could take it from you again. Your voice, your words, all of that was safe where it sat. You hadn’t given anything to anyone yet.

 Nobody except Tony, who seemed to have a way of drawing it out regardless of what you wanted. 

You walked with her through hallways longer than you thought possible. The wealth of wherever you were melting through the attempts at civilian decorum. It was in the floors itself, in the architecture. High ceilings and endless rooms. None of them were labeled, or marked. Just the same sliding gray doors inserted into solid stone walls. Did these people get lost? You sure would if you lived here. 

She led you into an elevator that was obnoxiously spacious, illuminating the button for the roof with her gloved hand. You took notice of her black attire, tight and primed for combat. It was the same thing she’d been wearing when they’d set you free. They hadn’t bothered to give you a change of clothes either.

The roaring engine of a jet could be heard from floors away, getting obscenely loud when the moving machinery chimed open on the top. It was incredibly intimidating. The doors were open, and the whole scene screamed that it was ready to get you away from the clean air and fresh faces. To take you back to hell. She let you get on first, jumping up after you and sealing everyone in. There were only two others in the space. Steve, who, much like his friend, was wearing his - apparently signature - previous patriotic attire; and a man you’d never seen. He was in simpleton clothes, making you feel better about not being offered a cheesy costume of your own. 

“Sorry about the handcuffs.” You hadn’t even seen him look at you, trying to forget the fact you could be seen altogether. It was the first ride in an aircraft you could remember taking, and even though that meant nothing , it was still scary to be up so high. 

The woman you’d entered with tilted her head at him. “I already told her, Cap.” Her lips let a teasing smile overtake them, curling up a little to complement her tone. “She understands.” She let the humor trickle out of her expression, an earnestness blooming in her eyes as she looked to you. Her smile remained, a soft plush of authenticity.

 She was reaching out as subtly as she could. Asking you to join their circle as an ally, rather than an interloper. You could have joked back. Could have done anything, really. But you didn’t. You weren’t sure if you wanted that. The gesture gutted you, the humanness of the moment feeling too kind. Too holy for you. You didn’t know why your system disagreed so viscerally with the olive branch she was offering, it just did. Like something within you knew you didn’t deserve it. You felt guilty as her lips fell and her head turned away, but it settled in your stomach like medicine. A necessary evil. 

“Um-” She didn’t seem to hold it against you, probably having demons of her own. That almost made it worse, you thought. If she did. Clearly she was pushing through whatever had happened to her in order to lock her hands around her humanity, to not lose herself in the mess. Even though you had no way of knowing her past, it still made you sick to reject her like that. “I know you don’t remember your name, but I’m Natasha.” She looked to the man oozing American pride. “That’s Steve.” Finally, she nodded her head towards the quiet man close to the door, hair rustled and eyes looking out the window. “And his name’s Bruce most of the time.” The man dragged his gaze from the descending rooftop and turned it towards the ginger, giving her a glare while she laughed at his annoyance. 

You nodded again. You were starting to think that’s all you knew how to do. It all felt too personal. Anyone would be able to tell how little you fit with the group, freezing up in the sunshine that poured from the woman - Natasha. You were happy to have names, at least. You didn’t want to have to constantly refer to them by physical descriptors in your head. It seemed impolite. They hadn’t been the most hospitable crowd, but you had a nagging feeling that was more per the request of their missing team member. These people seemed kind, good hearted. Meeting you with grace instead of quick wit and sarcastic nicknames. You wondered how these people tolerated Tony, how they liked him. 

Bruce continued his observation of the sky, staring out like he was asking for secrets, like he was trying to find meaning engraved in the clouds. Natasha and Steve fell into conversation that you didn’t attempt to be part of. You made it your mission to get comfortable. As comfortable as you could be with your hands bound in front of you. Your shirt was tighter than your other clothes had been, the cotton molding to the fold of your stomach as you squirmed in your seated position. The pants followed a similar trend while still allowing some give. They weren’t uncomfortable, and it was honorable - on their end - to not let you sleep in frost-bitten, blood stained clothes; but you felt shifty . There was no way to relax your arms, and you dreaded what would most likely be a long ride. Surely if the base was close, you’d have just taken a car. 

Nerves kicked up dust in your stomach with their incessant scuttering, touching every place they could within you. You were almost shaking, scared of both what you might find, and what you might do when you found it. You held nothing against these people. You were even inclined to be grateful. They’d woken you up, first and foremost. And then they’d taken you back and housed you - albeit more as a hostage than a guest, but still. They could have killed you. Wrote you off as Hydra scum and put a bullet between your eyes. Or, just left you asleep, and let you go up in flames with the rest of the violations that undoubtedly polluted the space. You didn’t know if it was out of the goodness of their hearts, or some ulterior motives, but they’d done it. You still felt bad for repaying all of that with uncontrollable episodes that they’re unable to stop without hurting themselves. You didn’t know the extent of whatever ability you had. Those might have been the tame end of the spectrum. You might uncork the champagne bottle of your past and spurt agony bad enough to send them into shock, to kill them. 

They were too important. Not just to you, but evidently to the world, too. You don’t get bulletproof outfits and live-in headquarters without being significant. Even if you didn’t know the full length of the purpose they served, they clearly served it well. They were clearly needed. You couldn’t be the one to take that away. 

You felt the temperature change before you saw the snow. The mountains were pretty when you sat outside of them, looking in instead of living in. There wasn’t a place for scheduled landing, so you got an improvised cease of flight via the roof. It hadn’t taken as long as you thought it would. Must be a perk of private air travel.

You were the last out of the vehicle, chewing the inside of your lip until it bled. If the cold hadn’t been cooling you down, you’re sure there would have been perspiration marks lining your shirt. You stood to exit, Steve’s hand coming to hover in the air near the open door. It was an offering of peace, such a simple and friendly action that brought you to the verge of welling up. Both of your hands grasped his sturdy one, not having much of a choice with them stuck so close together. 

When both of your feet were on the ground, you looked at him. Most of his identity was lovingly covered by the helmet he wore, but he still gave you a smile. It was becoming apparent to you that these people were good at shoveling hope into vacant holes. Even if they weren’t sure how deep the void ran, they packed their goodness as tight as they could. Like they were determined to keep people tethered to the things that made life brighter, to not let them lose sight of the sun. It was intoxicating. Definitely infectious for those who were susceptible to such colorful displays. 

“Thank you.” You said. It was the first time any of them had heard you talk. It was the first bit of yourself you allowed them to have. Something that wasn’t the jumbled wires of hurt you’d been forcing into their hands. 

His eyebrows raised, smiling wider at the sound of your voice. “My pleasure, ma’am.” It was a tad exaggerated, in your opinion. Clearly playing into his role of noble do-gooder, but it was polite. You assumed it would have been more earnest and personalized if he knew your name. If he knew anything about you. You noticed, as you began walking in, that he took the lead almost immediately; squaring himself up in front of the group and striding in with practiced efficiency. It was a flow they had. One you hadn’t tapped into. You did your best to follow it, but the beat of your drum was just too different to even accidentally sound like theirs. 

The grimy and grease-soaked walls didn’t send you instantly into a fit like you expected. Recognition bit at the back of your throat, swirling in your stomach and stinging your eyes with unshed tears. But, no memories. Not even a glimpse of the hardship you’d endured. It was just emotion, energy. Racing under your skin, pumping through you in tandem with your blood, but never breaching the surface of your consciousness. Never letting you know, just feel . It was nearly more torturous than the visions themselves, being here and being given nothing. 

The group had split up to look through the tiny compound. Natasha had waved you along as she started to walk away, taking responsibility for leading you around. You weren’t trusted enough to wander on your own. Not an unfair assumption, in their defense. Natasha was as good a companion as anyone else, so you didn’t have complaints. You watched them all skim through bare folders, open drawers just to find empty space. There was a growing frustration filling the air, complete and unified. Many cabinets were knocked over, papers spilled onto the floor and wet from some unidentified liquid. Probably melted snow, or condensation from the rusty pipes. 

You weren’t exactly useful, spinning around slowly to look at every aspect of the room. Your chamber was exactly where it’d been days ago. The place was abandoned, and the thing must have weighed two tons, so you weren’t expecting it to be in a different spot. Still, looking at the menacing steel cylinder you’d been in for the last nineteen years felt like pushing on a bruise. It ached. So many moments had passed without you in them. Half of your entire life blinking by while you were slumbering in an ice cage. How tragic.  

Natasha stopped her passionate searching of the empty desk she’d been set on for the past few minutes, moving towards the structure your glazed-over eyes had been stuck on. She didn’t go with an air of exploration. She was tunnel-visioned, squatting down when she reached her destination and pulling a torn sheet of paper from the minimal desolation that was under the pod. The bottom didn’t seem torn off, looked more like it had soaked up some of the liquid that had been the death of other aforementioned documents, and had softly parted with it’s bottom half in a soggy separation. Her face went slack for just a moment, the tiniest amount of shock making home there. It was mixed with an apprehensive hope, like she was glad for what she found but unsure if that was the appropriate reaction. 

She was still reading what she’d found as you walked up close to her, shoulder to shoulder. You saw your own face in the corner, dead-eyed and frowning. You felt surprise creep into your expression, seeing information about yourself that you’d been craving since you woke up empty-headed. 

ASSET 1047

Name (pre assimilation): Y/N L/N

Name (post assimilation): N/A

Purpose(s): 

• Infiltration via manipulative measures

• Infiltration via seduction 

• Assistance of PROJECT SUCCUBUS (see: ASSET 2304) 

• Large-scale attacks 

• Large-scale protective measures

Status: Subject proves increasingly volatile. Requires too many resources to remain useful. Director Meier has placed subject in cryo-suspension located within building #B392 until further notice. Must request approval before moving. 

Note : Highly defiant of compliance procedures. Handle with caution. 

Ability(ies): 

That was the spot the ominous fluid conveniently decided to claim for itself, a jagged tear breaking the page right at the most important part. It was so indescribably odd to read about your life secondhand. To see yourself stripped completely of any identity, being only an ‘asset’ to those who felt entitled to you. To those who had taken you. You were a number in a conglomerate, a means to an end. It was so dehumanizing that you didn’t think you were physically capable of processing it. Those weren’t your eyes, surely. Or your nose, or your lips. Someone else had gone through all that. A girl who wore your appearance but lacked the deeper stuff. The hobbies, and the late nights, and the times you must have cried and felt stupid for it. That girl didn’t have a favorite cereal, or a favorite movie, or color. She was a thing. She couldn’t be you.   

The woman beside you now shared the only information you knew about yourself. “Mazeltov.” She said it when she was done reading. A flat, but upturned remark. “It’s pretty.” She’d said your name to clarify what she was referring to. It sounded good coming from her. Homely and warm, like she was accepting a part of you. Giving it meaning you couldn’t give it yet. “Could have been worse, I think. It suits you.” 

She didn’t seem moved at all by the information the two of you had just uncovered. Quick to take it in as a new development in the project that was you. You wondered if things like this happened to them a lot. If they were always eager to welcome in ragtag ex-hostages with the potential to cause irreparable damage. If they were always so uncaring in the face of insanity. So casual. 

You heard a distant call from somewhere out of sight. A manly declaration of ‘There’s nothing here. I say we head back.’ followed by the agreement of the other two base occupants, Natasha looking at you as she did it. She pulled you back to the aircraft like it was normal. Like you having to learn your name through a file was normal. Like nothing would faze her. You studied her with the privacy you had from behind her back. You longed to be so unshakable. You felt like everything fazed you. Like breathing itself was enough to wear you down to the bone. 

Your body may have been there physically for the ride back, but your head was encased in fuzzy static. It fizzled the various excited statements about your name into nothing but popping candy in your ears. You couldn’t make out the words being said, just the tone; responding with your own habitual quiet. You didn’t like the attention on you, even from kind people. Again, you rejected them. And again, it rolled off their inviting smiles like they were expecting it. Like they didn’t care that you were refusing it because the invitation was yours. Whether you kept it or threw it out was irrelevant, because as long as they were around, you had it. Their relentless fostering was incredibly confusing, but you weren’t in a position to dislike it. You turned them away because you didn’t feel worthy of it, didn’t think that kind of quiet initiation was meant for someone like you. Not because you didn’t want it. Or because you didn’t want them. You could understand why these people were heroes. Strong, and straight as a pole in the violent vacuum of whatever evil force you were capable of. You did want them. Not even consciously. Instinctually. Like the fibers of your being sensed the purity in the resonation of theirs long before your brain could rationalize it. 

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t . Every time you considered fanning that little flicker of connection, you remembered what you’d already done to them. How colossal the possibility was that you would hurt them again, and hurt them worse , at that. You wouldn’t do that to them. Wouldn’t do that to the world. To the people who counted on them. You stared out the window, much like Bruce was doing on the opposite side of the jet. What would become of you when they set you free? If they set you free. 

What would become of you if they didn’t?

–

When you returned to the tower, Natasha christened the aftermath of the semi-successful mission with your freedom. The click of your cuffs unlocking was a sound you could have played on loop. The pressure detaching from your raw wrists was euphoric. You figured she would take you back to where you’d been and lock you in for the foreseeable future, but she didn’t. 

She must have read the wonder in your eyes. “I think you proved yourself plenty capable of using your legs.” You thought briefly to what Tony would think of the loosened reigns. It was rather obvious to you that if you’d been under the care of Natasha, you’d have been free much sooner. “If Tony gives you shit just come get me, yeah? Or Steve. We’ll gladly yell at him.” The others had dispersed, and presumably gone to their rooms to turn in. It had taken most of the daylight to do what had been asked of you.

 You felt whole around her, no worry or hidden motives. Any negativity you felt was strictly your own, stemming from the innate refusal to accept her as she accepted you. You didn’t know how to be vulnerable. Not anymore. Maybe you had at one point. Maybe you’d had friends, or close family, or even just the ability to communicate your feelings. But now, you were fairly certain that had died in the ice along with your memories. 

“No matter what he says.” She shook her head. “You don’t belong in a cage.” 

The topic sparked a passion in her you’d yet to see. It was feisty, and sparking in her irises, lining the edges of her voice. It sounded as smooth as velvet, but as hot as lava. Your lips parted slightly, your eyes hesitantly keeping contact with hers as admiration shimmered in the gloss of them. Admiration of her kindness. Her dedication. Her unflinching devotion to what she believed was right. It was written all over your face, and she read you like an open book. She gave you a small smile, lightly touching the side of your arm and wishing you a good night. She was on her way back to her room before you had the chance to respond. You probably wouldn’t have spoken even if she’d given you the space to, but you still noticed that she hadn’t. She didn’t wait for you to accept what she had to give, just gave it freely to be taken or left as you needed it. No expectation, only an offering.

 She was remarkable. 

With no remaining life left around you and only dim hallway lights making the space visible, you couldn’t see a plausible way to find the room you’d been living in. All the doors looked the same, endless options spanning out across multiple long hallways. You definitely should have paid more attention to which one you’d come out of this morning. 

About ten minutes of exploration ended as a completely fruitless endeavor, finding an alarming amount of supply closets, and never once recognizing the layout behind the doors opened. As your patience ran out, you came across what looked like a lounge area. A large selection of cushioned seating was arranged in a way that made sure no one was too far apart from anyone else. Connected to the opposing wall was a little kitchen space, a fridge and a stove - expertly free of any fingerprints or smudges - was paired with ample counter space. Across from it, an island of the same material, stools tucked beneath the extending flatness that stretched beyond the base. It was pretty . Yet another sign of the luxury that resided within the walls. 

You opened the fridge, grabbing one of the few water bottles left in the empty cavity and moving to sit on one of the island stools. You’d barely been able to acknowledge the fact that you hadn’t kept up with your human necessities. It had been one thing after the next for the entire time you’d been awake. It was dark in the kitchen, the light above the stove being the only source of illumination. You didn’t feel the need to turn anything on. The simple quiet of the late hour was peaceful, and it was nice to bask in it after such a hectic day. 

But for some reason, the universe seemed incredibly determined to allow you no refuge. You’d earned the solitude, you were certain of it; but divine intervention was cruel, and you heard the sound of sluggish footsteps making their way in your direction. 

“You look like a stalker sitting in the dark like that.” The sharp tongue of Tony Stark had been the one thing you were happy to have gone without. You’d almost made it , you thought. He went to the fridge, getting something fizzy and coming to stand on the other side of the island, the space not nearly far enough from you. He looked tired up close, even in the dark. He was slightly hunched, shoulders probably sore from whatever he’d been doing all day. Even his retort wasn’t as acidic, just a dull drag of speech, an upkeep of his reputation. “I’d be well within my rights to start a scuffle , you know. Defend my home base.” 

Your lips remained flat as he raised the bottle to his lips. “I’d kill you.” He laughed with the liquid in his mouth, an exhale through his nose. He swallowed, looking down to watch his hand fidget with the bottle. It seemed unusual for him, for a man so pristine. That antsy feeling was back, and you tried to recall if you’d ever felt completely calm around him. 

“I’m sure you’d try.”  He looked up on the last word but didn’t emphasize it. It sounded like genuine approval rather than a way to point out your inferiority to his man-made power. It held a certain fondness that seemed odd. Buried. Like he didn’t consent to having the hints of it in his voice. You didn’t have a verbal response, humming offhandedly in registration of his words. You’d win , you thought. Just to make sure he couldn’t brag about it. “You happy to finally know your name?” 

The one-eighty turn of the conversation whirled in your gut. You didn’t even know that information had made it back to him. The others had gone to bed less than an hour ago. Did they all just report back to him? Was he that much of a leader?  

“I suppose.” You thought back to the praise it had earned you. You didn’t know if it truly was pretty, or if she had just wanted something to say. You didn’t have much of a gauge for these things. “Natasha says it suits me.”

His eyes turned slightly sullen, leaving yours again to stare down. “ Yeah.” He spun the bottle, picking at the label. “ Y/n, huh?” There wasn’t the slightest tilt of humor in the way he said it. No mocking or poking fun, just remorse. It was a barrel full of grief dumped on to a single word and expelled from his throat like bile. It threw you for a loop , hearing so much emotion in his voice. You didn’t know if he was even aware of it. His eyes read the slightest amount of surprise, like even he couldn’t believe the depths that had poured out of him with just one title. He’d said it like the letters had a place on his tongue. Like they’d been there a million times before. 

You took a breath in, sharp and full. It was prickly in your lungs, as though fighting to stay there when your entire body was trying to pull it out. It was becoming glaringly obvious that something unspoken sat heavy between the two of you. Molten ash solidified from too long in the cold air, but still boiling beneath the chalky surface. It was something familiar, some intimate knowledge held in the silent looks and stupid jokes. Something he wasn’t telling you. And it scared you.

It shouldn’t have, realistically. You should have brought it up, pointed out the obvious chip that weighed down his shoulder. Asked why he was always anxious, why there was an established safety you felt near him even as he pissed you off, even though you didn’t know him. Why, why, why. 

The way he said your name made distant echoes ricochet through your brain. How it sounded being whispered, being yelled, being exhaled like a secret that couldn’t afford to be said out loud. It pulled your heartstrings like a puppeteer conducting a marionette, and your head spun as you looked at him. Knowing, somehow, that the feelings coursing through you ran through him all the same. 

“I don’t know.” He tsked, painting over any sentimentality he’d held a second ago with his immortal sarcasm. “I still think ‘Megamind’ is a strong contender.” He took another infuriating sip of his drink, unable to hide his enjoyment at the lack of amusement on your face. “It makes it so much better that you have no idea what that is.”

You sighed, taking your own sip of the half-drained water bottle in front of you. Once again, you called it quits on the banter war, not having the energy to keep up with the man. You sat in silence for a moment, the stretching quiet significantly less awkward than the last time you’d found yourselves in it. You yawned, prompting him to look at the clock on the stove. Turning around to check and turning back just as quick. His face was apprehensive, as though majorly hesitant about the move he was considering making next. He breathed out in what looked like defeat. 

“Let me take you back to your room.” Your eyebrows creased at the suggestion. Not knowing if that was intended to be taken as a friendly guidance, or a prison guard returning their subject to captivity. He smoothed over the confusion like he didn’t notice it. “If Banner gets jump-scared by you creeping around, we’ll have to deal with the other guy .”  He shook his head at the prospect. “Trust me, not as fun as you’d think.” 

He seemed under the impression you had any clue of who Banner was or why scaring him would lead to an altercation with another man. You didn’t have the mental resolve to correct him right now, deciding that learning about that was a task for daytime, and possibly a task for a different person in general. So, you jerked your head down once and stood from your stool. A tiny nod, just enough to convey intention. An acceptance of the invitation. You wanted sleep desperately, ached to rest your dreary bones on the bed you hadn’t gotten the privilege of using yet. You’d slept on nothing but frozen steel for the past nineteen years; and slept on nothing but carpeted floor the past couple days. To say you longed for softness would be an understatement.

The walk to your room was tense, and weird. The kind of silence that made you squirm, but out of uncertainty rather than lack of familiarity. It sizzled, burning when you got too close to breaking it. This unspoken agreement to not fracture it. To let it exist like a sentient flame choosing to wave it’s heat between the two of you. He knew his way around the tower. Hell, he’d probably designed it with how much authority he seemed to hold within it’s walls. Your room had only been two hallways over, making your walk shorter than you’d expected. You welcomed the reprieve. Your skin was uncomfortably hot and crawling, and your palms felt sweaty. 

He’d paused once you got to your door, and you were unsure if you should go in without saying anything. It felt weird to be polite with him, but it felt too impolite to leave without speaking a pleasantry or two. “Enjoy the bed.” He made the decision for you. “Those sheets are Egyptian silk.” 

You barely bothered to absorb the words. You took a moment to really look at him. You were trying to pick him apart, see beneath the fleshy cover of wit and bravery. He shifted a bit on his feet. You could tell it made him uncomfortable. “Thank you.” You didn’t know if that response was even appropriate. You would have enjoyed the bed regardless of where the sheets had been imported from. It was loaded with more than that. Thank you for being one of the people to get me out of there. Thank you for not being as big of an asshole tonight. Thank you for not letting me spend the night in the kitchen. It was a multitude of things you held gratitude for. Even though you were pretty sure you didn’t like him. He was undeniably valuable , at least. Maybe even tolerable. 

You hadn’t said his name yet. He didn’t even know you knew it. It was something you had kept close once you’d learned it. Subconsciously sacred. You didn’t know what it was, just the instinctual knowledge that there weren’t many people who got to hold it like you did. Like Natasha did, or Steve. Personal, and reverent. The deeper parts of your brain wanted to savor it as long as you could before putting it into the world. Before letting him see the way you’d molded it, the way it changed in the short time it’d been clasped in your clenched fists. 

But here, there was a space carved out for it. Those embers sparking in the fiery distance that spanned between you both were practically begging you for it. To throw some tinder on an already blazing forest. And you complied. You had to. The curiosity of what his name would taste like as it glided over the shy softness of your lips was too great. The need to know too consuming. 

It felt like satin slipping out, and it was amazing how something so simple could shake your foundation so much. 

“Goodnight, Tony.”

Chapter Text

The words you’d spoken would’ve been nothing to someone who wasn’t struggling. 

Unfortunately, Tony was deep into a struggle that only JARVIS and himself were aware of. He’d been endlessly ranting all throughout the day, fully aware that by now, even the AI he’d built was sick of it. But he couldn’t help it. You were her. He’d finally found his heart again. Heard all the love that he’d packed into it so long ago come bursting right back to the surface and out of your mouth. He didn’t know why you knew his name, only how it felt to hear it again after so long. Truly hear it. The title had been ground down to ashes over his years of esteem and infamy; both sung with high praise, and spit with vitriol. All of those people took a little part of him every time they chewed him up, every time they called him a savior. It was all take with them .  

Hearing you say it, though. That was all give. Without even meaning to, you’d shown up and said ‘look, I kept it safe while I was away.’ Proudly displaying the pulpy red organ, still beating fresh and intact. He thought he’d lost it, thought that maybe he was a person who was meant to have a hollow cavern where his lifeforce should have been. Hell, maybe that’s the true reason he’d shoved the arc reactor in his chest. Shrapnel was the immediate issue, but the underlying ache of his grey and cracked innards called for attention. For substance. So he’d given all he knew - machinery. 

Relinquishing his own stubbornness hadn’t been an easy task. He wasn’t upset he chose to ditch the mission, per say, but he had wanted to be there. In case something went wrong. In case you needed him. He couldn’t rationalize that to anyone but himself, though. So, he said some smartass remark and tossed you to the only people he trusted enough to have you. He used the time alone - well, alone plus JARVIS - to do the one thing he never had before. 

Scour. 

Any whisper of your name that had been documented was identified and categorized as he compiled a timeline. It wasn’t the easiest thing, with you having lived much of your life before online records, but a good amount of the past had been put on the internet in retrospect. Modernized for the sake of efficiency and accuracy. He’d found his conclusion in the lack of you anywhere past 1984.

 Your birth certificate, elementary school pictures, your signature on old petitions that had for some reason been digitized. In ‘81, a grocery store owner had mentioned how you helped them out sometimes in an interview for a local paper, and he’d found it effortlessly. Then, three years later, nothing. If you had moved away, surely there would be new registration for schools, college applications, jobs you’d worked. Something . 

It was like you hadn’t existed at all after you’d left. 

The worst part was he’d known. He could feel something was awry at a near molecular level, it was that deep of an understanding. It had been buried beneath the pain of losing you, slipping through the cracks and keeping him away from the trail of illogical possibilities. Keeping him away from her . From you.

  You looked like her, and you sounded just like the ghost of his endearment. And then, he’d heard your name , and there was nothing that could be denied anymore. The large piece of his soul that had been cracked off and swept away was here again, not knowing that it fit perfectly in the jagged wound he carried like a brand . That you were supposed to fit perfectly with him. For the first time in years, he was at a complete loss. He couldn’t outwit or outsmart his opponent because there wasn’t one. There was just you. You, who had defined his whole life and couldn’t remember doing it. Who couldn’t remember loving him. And just like he’d been at fourteen, he was so hurt.  

That twister of shock and anger and mourning had ripped around in violent circles until nothing inside him was whole anymore, just shredded intestinal lining and choppy bits of you that were practically written into his DNA. He’d lived luxuriously while his innards sloshed like a bitter wine in a broken glass. Ignoring, but never forgetting. He used that mess to propel himself, to push harder when he didn’t want to be pushing at all.

 It had been directed at you most of the time, the anger. For leaving him. For never calling. For vanishing like all of it meant nothing. But now, all of it meant everything. That bitterness still sat heavy and thick like a film on his tongue, but not because of you. Not anymore. He’d lost so much time. Decades that could have belonged to the both of you. 

It was almost worse having you back like this. When there was a potential to regain what he’d lost, but an even bigger potential to watch what he’d lost be fine without him. If he couldn’t bring back your memories, he would be admitting that he couldn’t save you. That if you needed him, there wasn’t a guarantee he could deliver. It made his skin crawl. 

The softness of his sheets that he often bragged about might as well have been sandpaper. He couldn’t get comfortable, too hot and too sorrowful. Maybe this was hell , he thought. Maybe Loki had killed him in New York. Or he’d died a boring civilian death and been escorted to a place only someone who really knew him could conjure up. The worst imaginable torture. Having you here, but not having you. Just existing around you, like he was someone with no significance. Like a stranger . The thought was horrific. 

God , that’s what he was to you now. 

It was his responsibility to fix whatever Hydra had done to you. That much seemed obvious to him. He was the only one who could, with his tech and his brainpower. If there was an issue in your head, he would run every test conceivable to man until he knew how to undo it. How to get you back in the driver’s seat. You’d have to learn how to use your powers. You’d have to learn what your powers even were . Hopefully that was buried somewhere, too. Something you could get back when he unwrote their wrongs. 

And he would. He had to. He didn’t know how he’d live if he couldn’t. 

–

This was your favorite part of the movie. 

There was a rerun playing on the tiny box that drew in your drowsy eyes. It was late enough to be dark out, but with no clock in your immediate sight, the specificity of the time was lost on you. Your cheek was pressed into the gritty cotton stretched across the starchy padding of skin. You didn’t need to look up to know it was the same boy you’d seen in the field. He was taller now, but carried the same unmistakable air of boyish naivety. The content of a decent childhood. 

His arm molded to the curve of your shoulder, keeping your prepubescent body secure under the weight of his scrawny arm. It didn’t feel weird. It didn’t carry a need to elaborate. It just felt normal, like it would have been more odd if you hadn’t been laying there, draped over him like a blanket would be, warm and forgiving. Like you were blessing him. Absolving him of all the things he’d yet to do just by being there with him. Like somehow, you knew already that he’d grow into something scarred. Something noble. 

“My dad says you’re a bad influence.” You hadn’t bothered to lift your head to talk. Simply let your jaw drag against the material of his shirt. Let the imprint of fabric lines make home on your face. As you spoke, you looked to the abandoned homework in front of you. The light of the tv was bouncing off the white paper, letting you see some of the question prompts on it when the screen got bright enough. That had been why you were here. A project that he’d agreed to help you with, bare and left behind in favor of quick entertainment and mindless entanglement. “Says we shouldn’t hang out so much.” 

His chest puffed slightly as he gave a small laugh. Like the notion was ridiculous. Like your dad was ridiculous for even suggesting it. He didn’t look away from the tv as he said it,

“When did we start listening to your dad?”

– 

The morning greeted you with an unwavering brightness, yanking you from the sanctity of your youthful companion. It was the first time in the few days you’d been unfrozen that you disliked the sight of the sun. It wasn’t that the light wasn’t welcomed. It was that the elemental heat of the sky chased out the loving warmth you found in sleep. Roused you from a place of absolute safety. A place of completion. 

You were teetering on the edge of believing these were memories, and believing they were a coping mechanism. They felt too real , sat too solid in the recesses of your limited cognitive archive. Like it had been there for a while, and you were just blowing the dust off it. Reconnecting with an old friend, slowly but surely. And that was the problem. 

It was too good.

It was indescribable how heavenly those little pieces of sanctuary were. With him. There weren’t words that could capture it. It was simply a feeling of being. Like you were fulfilling your destiny by watching a movie on the couch. By laying in a field. By growing up by his side. And that was suspicious to you. It was very plausible you were filling in the endless gaps that permeated your head with a figure that was pure goodness.  

If you couldn’t remember anything anyway, why not make something ideal?

The rhetoric didn’t quench the thirst of curiosity you felt. If he had been a real person in your past, you did want to know. However, finding a person who was grown up now based on two hazy dreams you had of their childish face sounded like a herculean undertaking. Something you wouldn’t accomplish in this life. So, you pushed it away, storing the visions for the next time you needed comfort. 

You’d finally been shown the bathroom this morning. You were given some generic rich people soap, and clothes that were identical to the ones you were already wearing. You supposed the sweats and t-shirt combo was your superhero attire with the way you were always in it. Maybe if you were cooperative enough, they’d give you a cape. 

It was refreshing to be clean, and you really couldn’t complain. The people were friendly, the beds snobby and incredibly comfortable. If not for the persistent nagging reminding you that you were a stranger in your own body, life would have been peachy. Soon, maybe. 

Hopefully.

– 

You’d passed the morning doing nothing besides avoiding the people within the tower, and prodding at the shifty membrane blocking your memories in hopes something would seep through the microscopic gaps. Your luck ran out sometime in the early afternoon, a peaceful stroll from the kitchen back to your room being halted by the man you had been avoiding the most. 

His footsteps sped up to reach you as he called your name. His actions were in response to the increased speed you took up as you heard him behind you, hoping to escape whatever he wanted you for. He’d been kind last night, genuine and tangible. He didn’t seem like this big, untouchable man wielding a godly exoskeleton then. Just himself. As infuriating and good intentioned as anyone could be. But you weren’t in that hidden pocket of the night anymore. It was bright, and visible. There wasn’t space for him to get mushy, which means he would be as stick-straight as he ever was. Protected behind his unbreakable armor of hollow jokes and irony. You’d yet to accomplish anything good when he was around you, so whatever this was about to be didn’t entice you as much as it clearly did him. 

“Did you just try to speed up so you didn’t have to talk to me?” The answer was written in the question itself. He was asking just to point out the absurdity of the attempt. There was a subtle joy drawn on the canvas of his manicured face, like he was happy to see that you’d wanted to get away from him. Like it made him laugh to see you try. 

You sighed. “Tried and failed , evidently.” Your thumb picked at the skin around your index fingernail. You’d felt content a mere minute ago. He brought that same anxiety that seemed to lurch from his skin to yours without fail. Every time you were in proximity, he was nervous. You didn’t know how, but you could just read it on him, like you were in his brain. Like he was in yours.  

You wouldn’t expect it from someone like him, and the suspicious nature of it made you think he had some deeper goals for you. More than the crumbs he left for you to dwell on. You looked to the door of your room less than ten feet away. You tsked under your breath. “Almost made it, too.” 

“ Harsh .” His tone was playful, but his eyes held a genuine enjoyment in the polished amber. “I don’t get any brownie points for last night? I thought we had a moment .” 

His tone was so exaggerated that you found it hard to recall the minuscule slice of his empathy you’d been awarded last night. How had that even been the same man? It wasn’t like he’d been completely different than he is now, but you’d known. It was something in his words, the way he’d said them. The look in his eyes. How he’d felt. Still fidgeting like he was sitting on a secret, but calm . Committed. You didn’t get the sense of being tossed around in roaring waters like you normally did in his company. And it’d been so nice. Frighteningly so. 

“You basically kidnapped me.” Your eyes squinted as you gifted him the same condescension he’d given you for days. “You’re hardly a saint for giving me a bed.” 

He matched the narrowing of your eyes by mimicking your expression. “You blew up at us twice . Forgive me for sparing the citizens of New York a trip to the hospital.” You held his eyes as time ticked by. You could almost hear the steady beat of his heart in his chest. Feel it tap against his ribs as though it was tapping yours too. 

You relented. “ Fine.” It was said flat and stretched out. A dramatic surrender to fit his dramatic pestering. “You’re as generous as they come.” Your eyes flicked to your door again. “Was that it?” 

“What, you have somewhere to be?” He was an expert of pushing, you realized. You wondered if he even knew how to draw a line, or if he just waited for whoever he was up against to do it for him. 

You nodded your head. “Any room without you in it would be preferable.” You garnished your little jab with a tight smile, pouring all the sarcasm you could muster into it. 

“Well, tough luck.” He’d shrugged like he was sorry, but his lips quirked up like he couldn’t get enough of the fight. “I need to start your scans.” 

Your face scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He sighed out in mock exasperation, like the answer was so obvious he couldn’t believe he had to explain it. “Something’s keeping your memories locked up. They probably went up there and played around.” He gestured to your head, trying to give you something to visualize. It was odd having someone speak about your brain like a child jumping in a rain puddle. “I need to see it on a bigger scale if I’m gonna fix it.” 

You didn’t know what to say. You hadn’t been expecting anything like that . He wanted to fix you? As in, spend his precious time doing something that wouldn’t benefit him at all? 

Why refuse to go with you to the Hydra base just to offer you salvation on a silver platter? What was the catch?  

“So-” You hardly knew what to ask. You knew nothing about technology, let alone his advanced, super-powered kind. “What are you gonna do? I mean, what does ‘bigger scale’ even mean ?” You felt a slight twinge of alarm pinch the endings of your nerves. Such uncharted territory called a million questions into your head that all sounded out at once, slurring into one loud mess ringing in your ears. A man as eccentric as him probably had the tech to match. 

He chuckled at the panicked suspicion on your face. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not that. You look like I just threatened to kill you.” Your heart raced from how he looked at you. Like you were out of your depths here. Like he could see it, could see you. You felt flushed. And scared. “You’re gonna sit in a chair while JARVIS points some lights at your head and builds a digital replica of whatever’s going on in there.” He seemed pleased at his extremely oversimplified explanation. You didn’t feel informed. “Easy peasey.”

“ What sounds easy about that?” You barely understood what he had been attempting to convey with his words. What kind of process was that? “And who’s JARVIS?” How many people lived in this God forsaken tower?

“Well-” He looked away from you, seeming burdened by what he was going to say. “A couple years back, I hired an assistant. And he was really talented, but deeply troubled. He kind of went crazy.” He shook his head slightly, loss and disappointment evident in the motion. “So, like a good boss would, I put him in the walls so he could still work without trying to kill me.” A smile fought through the pretend sorrow, small and barely traceable. “Just couldn’t afford to lose such a hard worker .”

 He eased into a laugh at the unimpressed look on your face; and you couldn’t help but think back to the boy giggling about lizard-shaped clouds. It hit you hard in the back of your throat, the slight resemblance knocking the air out of your lungs. You really would look anywhere for him , you suppose. Even in Tony.  

“You’re so annoying.” You meant it wholeheartedly, but you couldn’t deny the faintest urge to laugh with him. He was so light when he was happy, even if it was at your expense. It was infectious, unfortunately. 

“So I'm told.” The insult made him smile brighter, like he heard it often and wore it proudly. “He’s an artificial intelligence. Helps me run my life.” 

It all sounded like total lunacy. He could just build a copy of your brain? With an artificial intelligence? What did that even entail? He spoke of these things as casually as one speaks of the weather. It was his specialty, you’d gathered that much, but still. He just knew how to do these things. And he wanted to do them for you. It was madness. 

“You can just do that?” Your eyes held the same sheen of disbelief that was currently filling the rest of your face. “Stuff from my time could barely keep a signal.” It was difficult to recall how you knew that, just that the degradation of the past felt accurate when you felt it on your tongue. 

“I lived through your time, Elsa.” He could never resist the urge to knock you down a peg. You’d known that he had also been alive then. You and him were probably the same age , come to think of it. The ice had a way of making you feel like you were older than you were. “Believe me, I know the shortcomings of ‘80s tech better than anyone.” 

You rolled your eyes at the mindless assertion of his own excellence. But, a more prominent issue rose to the forefront of your mind. “You know my name.” Your eyes took on a bit of dull malice. “Why do you insist on never using it?” It had made enough sense when he didn’t know what else to call you. Stupid nicknames were better than girl or ma’am , you guess. Now it was just unnecessary. 

“It’s called fun .” He stared at that drab hint of fight in your eyes, and met it with a fire of his own. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the concept will come back to you eventually.” 

You pursed your lips, crossing your arms. “I know what fun is.” 

He chuckled at the snippy tone of your voice. “ Sure you do.” He began to walk back in the direction he’d come from, waving you along. “Now, come on, granny . We’re losing daylight.” 

You bit your tongue with annoyance, but your legs instinctually moved to stay in sync with him. You hadn’t given the permission consciously, but he had a way of worming into your psyche and taking priority over you preserving your dignity. He seemed extra chipper, and while it did undoubtedly put you off, it was still the best chance of getting your memories back. 

Well, the best chance so far. If a better offer came along, you’d take that in an instant. That’s what you told yourself, at least. Even as the notion of trusting someone else with this turned your stomach sour, your mouth bitter. Maybe it was something you ate , you thought. 

Yeah, that was it.

– 

You didn't know where he’d gone to work yesterday, where he’d chosen to be instead of in the mountains, until now. 

He’d kept his word, taking you to a large space full of gadgets and various tools for a better future, you guessed. It wasn’t decorated, or personalized in any way, but it was still so him. It felt weird, being this close to his stuff. To the things he valued, the things he’d built . It was like being in his head. He sat you down in a chair, spacious and padded. Comfortable , you noted. You wondered how often he did this to have a special seat for it. He rolled a chair away from a desk that was a little further away, stopping it’s motion directly next to where you resided. He didn’t sit, though. Instead, he moved to grab a box off a shelf, setting it down on that same desk and opening it. It looked like cables, stretching a certain way to form a dome shape. There were small, metallic circles that they were all eventually connected to. Sensors . 

“This’ll help JARVIS get the most accurate depiction.” It was noble of him to explain it to you even if you didn’t get it. He probably saw the discomfort on your face. “If we run tests on something far off and then apply it to your actual brain..” He sucked air through his teeth, like he was flinching at the prospect. “I’d hate to mess you up even more.” Such a gentleman, he was. 

“Are you serious?” You said it as he was raising his hands to put the stringy cap on your head, causing him to pause with his arms mid-air.

“I’m not a miracle worker .” He resumed his task of locking the sensors into place on your skull. “Science is always risky. I literally have to dig around in your brain and hope I can strike gold.” You stared up at his face as he reprimanded you. “Some gratitude would be greatly appreciated.”

You were rearing up to bite back when he pressed one of those cold, metal moons on to your temple. Small flashes of similar devices being stuck to you and rubber being forced into your mouth ran like a film strip behind your eyes, like a supercut of inhuman brutality. You felt the ghost of that Lovecraftian electricity burn up your spine, caress your skin until it reached your fingertips painfully. 

Tony’s hands were gentle, not like theirs had been. Not rough. Not demanding. This was different. He was doing this for you, not to you. You were safe. He was safe. 

He noticed the fall of your engagement, the drift of your attention as the weight of your past siphoned the life from your face. “You alright?” Had he done something?  

You snapped back as quickly as you’d gone, the snippets fading as he finished securing the hodgepodge helmet on you. “Yeah.” You blinked to wipe the visions out of your glossy eyes. “Sorry.” You shook your head as you spoke, as though your apologetic disposition was the appropriate response to torturous flashbacks. It seemed like anytime you felt yourself slip a little into shallower waters, one where people could reach you, something tugged you right back down into the absolute deep. The kind of black ocean that wasn’t even populated with angler fish. Just nothingness.

“I’m beginning the replication process, sir.” JARVIS’ voice rang out through the now silent space. “I estimate a needed duration of thirty-six hours.” As he’d said, there were multiple blue beams of light circling your head. It didn’t feel like anything, but it was odd to know they were peeking through your skin and bones. 

“ Thirty-six hours?” You looked at Tony, silently begging him to tell you his super computer friend was just being dramatic. 

“Small price to pay for your life back, no?” He sat down in the chair he’d placed next to you a few moments earlier, slouching down immediately to get comfortable. “We’ll do it in increments. Not to worry.” 

Was he going to supervise every session? You would assume so, seeing as it was his lab. That’s a lot of time to spend alone with him. He had a point, though. What was thirty-six hours to a lifetime with no memories?

 “Yeah.” You still seemed far away. “I guess you’re right.” 

He hated seeing you so empty . You’d been practically bursting at the seams when he’d known you. Part of that was accredited to growing up, sure, but most of it was just you . It made him so indescribably gutted to see you so stripped of your vibrancy. To see what they’d done to you. You were left as a husk of the girl you’d been, the woman you’d never gotten to be. Being a Hydra crony was not a fate for the weak. He didn’t want to sit here in silence. He wanted you to talk , to be heard . He wanted to listen to every story you could possibly tell him. Even if you made them up, he would sit there and watch you recite them until you ran out of words. He just wanted you . No matter the form he found you in. You were here . 

It was a terrifying thought to think with you so close, like you’d be able to read his mind from the sheer intensity of the ache .

“I was kidnapped once, you know.” It was a stupid way to reel you back in, but it was the only thing he could think of that might make you feel less alone. He had to hide his elation at the way your head snapped up, eyes sharpening as you gave your full focus to him. 

“ What?” It came out of left field, and you were irrevocably interested. 

“Oh, yeah. Big time.” He nodded his head at the look of bewilderment on your face. “This guy I was in business with set me up. Hired this terrorist group to kill me in Afghanistan.” He was telling you a hyper-simplified version of the most traumatic thing to ever happen to him, but it didn’t matter. Not when you looked at him like that. Like he was worth your attention. “They took me to this cave , told me to build a missile.” He paused to preface. “Mind you, I was selling weapons at the time, so it wasn’t anything I hadn’t done before.” His hands started moving with his words as he got more engrossed in his storytelling. “When they took me, they’d set off one of the ones I’d been premiering, so there was all this shrapnel in my chest.” His hand rotated around the vicinity of the referenced area. “Had to keep myself alive with a car battery. ” He chuckled a bit at that, and it was ludicrous to you he could laugh about something so severe.  

You were internally drawing blanks. You didn’t know you had such strong competition in the ‘horrible shit that’s happened to me’ Olympics. It made you look at him differently. Certainly not with judgement, or pity. You didn’t have any ground to stand on in that regard. It was admiration, you realized. He was starting to seem like much more than his cocky shell led you to believe. 

“How’d you get out?”

He took a deep breath in. “Sacrifice.” He didn’t elaborate on what he meant. “And, of course, my formidable genius.” He smiled that proud and shiny grin you were beginning to grow accustomed to. The kind he used when peacocking his accomplishments. It wasn’t sincere, but wasn’t entirely pretend, either. “I built the first version of my suit there in all it’s..janky glory.” He spoke of the item like a proud father speaking of an estranged son. Horrified by the pretense, but ultimately boastful about what he’d gotten in the end. “There were a good few minutes where I thought I was gonna die alone in the desert, though. Wouldn’t recommend." 

As soon as he said it, you laughed. It was barely noticeable, and you felt your stomach drop as the evidence of his impact shook your body. His whole face froze up, eyes zeroing in on your startled expression. 

“Was that a laugh? ” His lips were slowly rising up, well on his way to beaming like a child who’d been offered candy for dinner.

You straightened your face immediately. “No.” 

“I totally just made you laugh.” He was giggling, like he had just achieved some major bucket list item. Like he was so happy to be making you happy. “The ice princess is finally thawing .” He raised his hands to the sky like a worshipper. “The humor gods have smiled down on us.” 

“I was not laughing. I was… sighing. ” He lifted his eyebrows and nodded along, wordlessly asking you to please elaborate on that ridiculous statement. “At your inability to take anything seriously.” 

“ Or,” It was heavily emphasized. He drew out the process of saying it so you could truly soak in his satirical accusation. “You are finally realizing how unbearably hilarious I am.” 

“You’re certainly unbearable.” 

His jaw hung a bit at that, hand held to his heart as though he was demonstrating how much your words wounded him. “You’re so mean. ” His lips were still upturned with the hint of a smile. “I am the only one who’s turned that grumpy-girl frown upside down.” He continued to stare at the solid lack of amusement in your stony expression. “Just because you won’t admit it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

You couldn’t believe that was the angle he was taking. “Yeah, because you’re the only one who insists on being around me.” Your look was needle-sharp, meeting the shifting swipe of fondness in his eyes with a half-playful stiffness of your own. “You practically chased me through the hallway earlier.” 

He laughed at that, butting his metaphorical horns against yours. “ So sorry for being in a rush to fix you, Killer Frost.”  He was knackered by the amount of bite you still had. How much you’d held on to through all the rotten curveballs you’d been thrown. “I’ll be sure to tone down the eagerness next time.” 

You sighed out, tipping your head back. “We don’t have to talk just because you’re here. I’m sure your computer can manage just fine without the sound of your voice.” Your crown of wiring was starting to annoy you. You felt hyper-aware of every fragment that was touching your skin. 

“Yes, because you’re such a scientist. I’d almost forgotten.” He rolled his chair closer to yours so he was in proximity to swat at your hand. You were fidgeting with the thing on your head without fully realizing. “When you’re speaking, listening, thinking about what you’re going to say, it uses different parts in your brain. They’re easier for JARVIS to map when they’re all…lit up.” He pulled his hand back once yours had been averted from his device, but he didn’t roll back to where he’d been. “So, yes, we have to talk. Suck it up.”

Your shoulders slumped as much as they could against the cushioned support of the furniture you sat on. “Have I not been tortured enough?” You mumbled it, trying to appear more like you were speaking to a higher being instead of the man next to you. 

He shook his head, scoffing. “You don’t even remember your past. Don’t try to play that card.” He was right, you’d give him that. Begrudgingly, yes, but you would. “Especially with me. I’ll have you beat ten-to-one in the trauma department.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Get my memories back and then we can go head to head, alright?” Your eyes held his, but you didn’t have any more wit to dispense. No more fire left to fight his with. He seemed to sense this, even honored it. He sat there in silence, letting his eyes peel to the side, lost in his head. He was either thinking intently about something, or he was zoning out. You were just happy to have a moment of respite from his rapt focus. 

“Did it trigger anything?” The floor beside you had lost his attention, draping the spotlight back over you like a sash. “You know, being back there?” 

You were surprised he even had to ask. He’d learned of your name almost as quickly as you had. You wondered why they’d tell him some things about the mission and not all of them. 

“No, not really.” There was an almost inaudible confused tilt in your voice. It soured the edges of your words just a tad, but you couldn’t even hear it. His ears twitched at the sound, recognizing it from all the endless queries you’d had in youth. In retrospect, he gave you credit for being the reason he questioned everything. “I’d definitely been there sometime before you guys woke me up. I could tell that much, at least.” You frowned as you confided in him. “I couldn’t remember anything, though. Makes me feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

Your eyes had fled his desperate gaze midway through your sentence, and it killed him to think of you being ashamed of yourself. You feeling alone. “Everyone in this tower has felt crazy at one point or another.” He gave you a sad little smile that didn’t reach your line of sight. “Miss America got frozen too, FYI. Served about fifty years more than you did.” Your eyes perked up, wide and brimming with disbelief. “You should talk to him sometime if my wonderful consoling isn’t…adequate enough.” He didn’t like telling you to turn to someone else. He didn’t want you seeking comfort from a man who wasn’t him. Especially when it was Steve. But he wasn’t an idiot, and he knew he couldn’t cover all the bases as well as you needed. It killed him more to think of you in pain, thinking nobody understood. That nobody wanted to understand. “He’d probably nail the specifics better than I could.” 

It gave you hope, honestly. Knowing that you’d been unknowingly witnessing a product of a near identical situation exist functionally . Steve was a good guy, a superhero. He carried himself like a man who was ok, laughed like someone who felt it in their bones. He stood for warmth, and decency, and kindness . He was such a beacon of light. 

It made you think of the boy from your dreams. How he felt like all those things. How he embodied all those things, and pointed them directly at you . Like he was lit up so you knew where to look, where to fall if you needed to. You’d only met him twice in the far away land of a life you’d once lived, but you could tell he’d been your home base. In some different time when you’d been valued like something worthy.  

Your eyes watered a little, humiliatingly cracking open your tough-guy defense in front of the person who was most likely to make fun of you for it. “I miss the person I was.” You gave a sad lift of your lips, the weight of your exhaustion keeping it minor, too heavy to pull up into anything resembling joy. “I feel it sometimes in the dreams I have. When I’m with this boy.” You knew you’d given him a brief overview of your escapade in the field when you’d been locked up, but you weren’t sure he even remembered it. “And, I wish I knew who he was. But, I feel like..” You paused for a moment, willing yourself not to look at him. His mouth was closed and his eyes unwavering. “I don’t know. I feel like even if I never find him, at least I know there was a before. ” You thought to the quiet comfort you got just from being in the boy’s vicinity, how you were pretty sure he’d defined your whole childhood. “I wasn’t born there. I was worried I had been.” Your head shook once as you spoke, a small movement left and right, subconsciously displaying your innate disapproval of the idea. “The things I dream about are so real . I think I was actually a pretty happy kid before they took me.” 

You were . He remembered it clear as day. You’d both been happy kids. Adventurous and bonded, like a house on fire. “How many have you had?” He didn’t even know if he’d meant to ask it, but this was the closest thing he had to the past. To you knowing him. Even if it was only blurry recounts of when times were good. 

“Just two.” They didn’t happen every time you went to sleep, much to your dismay. You’d spend every moment you had in those little pockets of self-made paradise if it was up to you. “In the last one I had, we were just watching a movie. I think he was there to do something for school, but we’d ditched it.” You could practically see it as you described the scene. You could swear that traces of laundry detergent mingled with the air particles around you, taunting you with the smell of nostalgic sanctity. “It was nice. I think I said something about my dad.” It all seemed so insignificant in the big picture. The dreams were so short, yet they took up every empty nook and cranny your brain had to offer. Which, in your current condition, meant quite a bit of real estate. 

He knew the day you were talking about. That cursed history presentation that you’d expertly put off making until about two days before the due date. He outpaced you in education by a mile, but he’d come running if you needed his assistance. It was horrible quality, and the delivery of the hasty sentences hadn’t been any better when you’d gotten up in front of the class. It was too informal, and lacked key information. You’d gotten a bad grade and a stern look for it, but it was yours. Something you’d made together. And that meant more to him than anything at the time. 

He wanted to pry, wanted to ask after every little detail you could have possibly seen. Beg you to paste the boy's face on to his, to see the resemblance, to see him. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to approach this topic without pouring every little marbled secret he’d been keeping out of his mouth, so he pivoted. He loathed the possibility of you feeling disregarded, like you’d opened up to him and he didn’t care. Because he cared so much it hurt. But, he had to keep you with him until the process was done. He needed to get your brain back, and he couldn’t risk scaring you away with tales of adolescent infatuation before he did it. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re crazy.” Your heart beat easier in your chest at the assurance. It was worth more than you could explain, a fact you would never tell him. “If we can get your control in check, I actually think you’d make a pretty good Avenger.” It was, he hoped, a way to give reciprocity to your exposed state. Something to show you he was there for you without shedding his own protective layers. There was more softness in his voice than you’d heard thus far, a little peep into his brain and what it truly thought of you. 

You didn’t mind the change of conversation topic. You’d been preparing to start scrambling for a new one anyway, and it was reliving to have the choice be made for you. “What is an Avenger?” It was something you’d been meaning to ask, seeing as you’d been repping the merch for the greater part of four days. 

“It’s..” He paused, his brows creasing and his tone adopting genuine confusion, like he couldn’t believe you hadn’t figured it out. “It’s our team. You think we just have shirts with a random name on them?” He waved his hand around the room, gesturing as he spoke his next thought. “You’re literally in the Avengers’ tower. The name is on the building.” 

Your face screwed up at not only the information, but his reaction to your, in your opinion, perfectly logical inquiry. “You named yourselves the Avengers ?” The words were laced with snobbish judgement. “That’s so corny , oh my god.” 

“That’s a great name and you know it.” He was quick to defend, eyes narrowing and voice scolding. “The last time you were conscious, people were unironically saying ‘da bomb’ and ‘jiggy.’ You have no room to talk about corniness.” 

You pursed your lips, crossing your arms and mirroring his expression. “You were there too, old man.” 

You, frighteningly, found yourself enjoying the stupid and pointless battles he roped you into. It had to be a good sign, you thought. If he believed you could be a part of something like that. Especially since he seemed to be the overseer of the group. You wondered briefly if he’d recruited the others. If he’d been the one to start the operation, or if he’d just climbed the ranks. The need for reassurance clawed at the back of your throat, and you didn’t know how long you could bite it back. 

“...you really think I could?” You didn’t even know how to ask, looking him in the eyes and hoping they could get across what your words couldn’t. Do you really think I could fit in here? Do you really think I’ll ever be whole enough to be in control? Do you really believe in me?

“Well, I did. ” You tsked at the remaining tone of faux offense in his voice. “Considering that little spiel about our name, I’m not so sure.” He finished the bit with an additional jab. “You’ll really have to prove yourself now, you prat.” 

You’d wrestled with a smile for the nth time that day. “Yeah.” You were finding his company increasingly enjoyable, and that was devastating . His relentless charm brought out a side of you that didn’t feel appropriate anywhere else. It didn’t feel appropriate coming from you . Not now, not in this perpetual fugue state you were stuck in. But, he didn’t seem to care. He made the space for it, forced it out of your clenched fists; and held it like you were never meant to be carrying all that strife alone. It was endearing, and insanely aggravating. “I guess I will.” 

It wasn’t a proclamation, or a promise. It wasn’t even a definite thing. It was just a small shimmer of hope amongst a giant coal mine. A goal to work towards. You wanted to be with these people, if you could be. You had these powers, whether you wanted them or not, and dealing with them alone seemed much scarier than having a community to pick you up. To dust you off. And, if Tony could get your memories back, you might even remember how to connect to them. How to let them be a part of you in the way you’d be a part of them. It was too good a possibility to let yourself believe in it too much, so you pressed down on the rising tide. Just let it rock gently beneath a flimsy crest of realism. It could work. Maybe. 

And that was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Tony’s plan, by any and all means, was far from perfect. 

It wasn’t even really a plan, more of a mad dash to any semblance of structure. Of hope. It was, admittedly, a touch too on-the-nose to fit his usual repertoire of awe-inspiring genius, but it’s what he had. Your brain was nothing but a ball of nerve endings and suppression , like play-dough molded by the sticky hands of a child. Except, this child knew how to make you forget everything you’d ever gone through by his side. 

It had started as subtle as he could manage. Slipping old phrases he’d said as a child into casual conversation, telling stories you had co-starred in without directly saying you were in them, inventing and re-inventing ways to beat around the metaphorical bush. He was convinced if he said the right thing, moved the right way, he could get the dam to break. It was just a matter of pinning down what that key was.

His most pathetic moment, he thinks, is this. Not too long before you vanished, he started wearing this Norwegian cologne that had been, at the time, fairly mainstream. Now, it had been phased out of the United States entirely, lacking enough demand to keep up with the export costs. He hadn’t been crazy about it when he was fourteen, but you’d loved it, so he wore it like a brand. In a way, he recalls, it kind of was. Your brand on him. Your positivity floating in the air around him, scented and heady. You’d enjoyed it, so that was enough for him.

When he’d found out it was no longer obtainable locally, he extended his searches wider. He eventually realized he would have to resort to having it imported straight from Norway. Direct shipping, out of pocket. He had the funds to buy Norway itself, so it’s not like he was concerned with the material cost. It was his pride. It always is. He’d talked to the manufacturers himself to get the minimalistic bottle across international borders, to get yet another completely futile attempt at cracking the code of your jumbled head. It was heavy in his hand, being removed from it’s bed of styrofoam and cardboard. It felt like his shame incarnate, weighed down with not only the liquid itself, but his guilt. His guilt for not looking, for not trusting, for not listening when his body was screaming that something was wrong. He could have saved you. He knew it better than anyone. He could have at least been trying to. Now, he was essentially trying to reconnect an amputated limb with a cologne bottle. Tony didn’t often feel stupid, but staring down at the label less glass, he felt it so deep he couldn’t breathe. It was like it was staring back, like the little boy who was still in shreds from your departure was gazing up, questioning him. 

Why didn’t you find her? Why are you so selfish?

It didn’t matter, though. Not really. Not if it bred results. 

The two of you didn’t have conversations outside of the lab. In the lab, limitations were different, boundaries pushed closer than in communal spaces. The first time he’d worn it, you blanked . You had been nursing something warm from what was becoming your designated mug, trying to appear focused on the screen in front of you while desperately pressing yourself into the little sparks of memory you’d been getting the past week. They were never tangible, and almost never cohesive, but they were something . Little colorful blips of your past that felt like a reward for spending time with Tony without biting his head off. They only showed up around him, and it was getting harder to ignore the pattern. You’d felt his signature cocktail of hollow arrogance before he even entered the room, but you’d lost all sense of recognition when he walked by. It was indescribable, honestly. How at home the scent made you feel. You couldn’t have identified the key notes or even the general elements of it. Layered and decadent as it was, it was like an emulsified sludge of every good feeling you’d ever known wafting by you as casually as the wind. You could feel little embers blink themselves into tiny licks of flame, multiple still images of places you’d encountered it before. A bedroom, a school hallway, a t-shirt. It was torturous, being granted the knowledge that you’d had it, but being given no moving displays, no consistency. 

You’d tried as hard as you could to hide the pang of yearn that stomped through your wrung-out frame. It felt like it crumpled you, tearing you away in shreds like paper. You took a drink of the beverage you’d let go cold in your disregard, clearing your throat. 

“New cologne?” You felt like your voice was contorted painfully around the functioning cords in your throat. You prayed it didn’t sound as stretched as it felt. Prayed he couldn’t tell something was up. 

He gave you a small tilt of the head, as though scanning for anomalies in what you’d said. You thought maybe he wasn’t expecting you to notice something as trivial as the fragrance he wore. “Old one, actually.” He wasn’t even looking at you anymore, his attention being placed lovingly on the coffee he was brewing. 

And you’d just nodded, face tight and throat even tighter. You didn’t press, didn’t question anything about why he’d suddenly switched back to something he, evidently, grew out of. Questioning his ways meant questioning your own. Why are you wearing that? And why am I happy about it? So, you left it alone. 

Don’t poke the bear, you’d thought. Especially when the bear was him.

–

The day and a half that was needed to properly render your brain had been passing disturbingly quick. The multiple hours that were allotted for the task felt like seconds, like you would blink once and it was time to clock out. This last session would be your ninth. In the previous few weeks, you’d given more time to some days and less time to others, leaving you with about three hours left before the digital construction was complete. It made you sad, shockingly. It was an uncomfortably large and spiky pill to have to swallow. You were truly beginning to value the man’s company, all the snark and flaunting included. 

You could still talk to him, but there wouldn’t be an excuse anymore. This time was carved out for you, so no matter how many times you jabbed at him, or feigned genuine dislike, there was a reason for you to stay. Once your mind was on full display for him, he could work alone. Chip away at it in the solitude of his lab, far away from you and your lousy rebuttals. And, with an unbearable amount of irritation mixed with the fact, it hurt.  

You hadn’t built a friendship, per say. He was trying to execute a process, serve a purpose in helping you get your life back. You, alternatively, were letting a silent fondness grow in your heart, and unwillingly clinging to every word he said. It was sickening how deeply you listened to him, but you just couldn’t help it. There was something in the bass of his voice, the authenticity that lined each syllable that left his mouth. Even when he was being a dick, it was with his entire being, He did everything with his full commitment, his full dedication. If he decided something was worthy, he gave it everything he had. Which meant everything he had was now pointed directly at you . He’d decided you were worthy of it, and that killed you. 

You didn’t even fully understand the feelings you had. At the base of it all, that same suspicious annoyance sat strong and unflinching, but there was so much good being piled on top of it. The more time you spent with him, the higher that pile grew, and it was stacked . It was different with him than the others. He gave a certain smile that never appeared in their proximity, only in the sanctuary of his lab. A gentleness on his face you never saw around them, a softness reserved just for you. 

You knew it, but it was all so subtle that every time you reached a conclusion, you walked it back. You were reading him like you knew him, so it was likely your conclusions were wrong, because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t know these things about him, what his tells looked like. 

There were touches that lasted infinitesimally too long when he would hook you up to the wires, times he’d look at you with too much of a glimmer in his eyes, too much light, too much warmth. It made you cold, and simultaneously sweaty. You felt like you could taste your heartbeat in the back of your throat sometimes, loudly beating like it was trying to gallop it’s way out of your chest and get to him . And that was petrifying. Because it couldn’t be rationalized . 

The rest of the team didn’t make you feel that way. You watched them go about their regular lives, used to your temporary residence in their home. All of them left regularly, and came back dirty and disheveled. They were still going out, still being assigned missions . 

You found that odd. Because Tony never left. 

If he wasn’t stuck in the lab with you trying to beat you to death with banter , he was working with the door shut, most likely theorizing or upgrading his suit. It made sense why you didn’t leave, essentially living your days as a grenade with the pin pulled. But, surely, he should be going out. Saving people. 

You’d asked him about it once, some seven sessions ago. If he was doing something wrong by skipping, if he was making their jobs harder by not being there. He’d laughed a little at the accusation, saying “Oh, no. Not at all. Unless an alien’s trying to pwn the world, we’re usually not even put on the same missions.” He’d added something to his statement that sat like a storm in your chest. 

“They’re plenty used to me ditching when I have more important work.” 

More important work. It had been something said so casually. You were stationary in the chair, but he’d stood up to grab something. He didn’t pay it any mind, so you pretended to share his nonchalance. The Avengers were his livelihood, his suit, his friends, his legacy. And somehow, he ranked aiding you in your quest for your past on a higher tier than all of that. He put you higher than all of that. How could you pretend that was sensible?  

It made you feel fluttery . Like a gaggle of hummingbirds had chosen your innards as the perfect tree to peck at, to buzz around in. Selfishly, these feelings he brought about were the primary reason you were solemn about your ended sessions. He was the only person who prompted little trickles of memory to drip into your sights. Always happy, always of the boy you longed to see in sleep. Fleeting, and barely there. But, it was enough to make you chase it blindly. Enough to make you look forward to the slots of time where the possibility to see him was the highest. Every aspect of your situation was pathetic , and it sat tremendously heavy on your shoulders. Sweet and sickly, something so addicting that all you could do was be nauseated by it. 

–

“Did you purposefully make this thing as uncomfortable as possible?” You were itching at the skin around the area concealed by a sensor, the space feeling raw from how much you’d been fidgeting. You were sitting on the furniture that had basically become your second home. Aside from your room, you spent the most time here. With him. 

He let his eyes roll slightly, his lips flinching up in a small smile. “That’s billion-dollar tech sitting on your head, drama queen.” He had a mug of coffee with him today, taking a sip as he finished speaking. “Have a little class.” 

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes. " Everything is ‘billion-dollar tech’ with you, Tony.” You didn’t think he was lying, as the feat he was accomplishing was something incomprehensible in your time. That being said, the tacky crown of cables was hardly what you’d deem glamorous . “And I am not the dramatic one between the two of us.” You watched him raise his eyebrows in silent disagreement. “I’ve seen your Iron Man announcement, you know. Not exactly what I’d call humble. ” It had been anything but, truly. He’d told the world of his new role with such grandiose, such assurance. The declaration had been doused in drama. Much like the rest of him. 

“ Why have you seen that?” He wasn’t even embarrassed, he was grinning as he’d spoken. He looked genuinely bewildered, and simultaneously impressed, by your ability to acquire the footage. “It took you ten minutes to figure out the power button on that phone I got you.” 

The reminder of such a low moment brought a shy humiliation into the elements of your snooty expression. You didn’t use the phone much, not only because you couldn’t figure it out, but mainly because you didn’t leave. You had everyone’s phone numbers in case of emergency. You didn’t think you needed them, really. What emergency were you going to encounter in the four walls of your assigned bedroom? Or in the tool-filled lab of Tony Stark? 

You thought back to when you’d been shown the news clip from that day. It was one of the rare nights you and Natasha were sharing a moment of communion. It was barely an hour the two of you talked, but it was full of laughter, and a kind of comfortability you’d yet to feel around the others. She showed it to you when the topic of Tony had come up offhandedly, asking if you’d ever seen it before watching your face as you took it in.

“Natasha showed it to me.” You had said it quietly, a smile on your face as you spoke of the woman. 

He hummed, evident disapproval mingling with the low frequency. “See, no . I can’t have you two getting all cozy.” He shook his head. “It’s hard enough having one of her.” 

You stared unimpressed at the man, ready to stick up for her, but knowing it wasn’t necessary. “Again, I’m the dramatic one?” It was rhetorical, and practically oozing irony. He pursed his lips.

You were almost flattered at the notion of becoming more like her. The fact he thought it was possible. Likely , even. She was admirable in every sense of the word. It was amazing how soft she remained underneath that indestructible outer shell. How quick she’d be to let you in if you’d allow her to. You would love to see more of her in yourself. 

“Whatever, frosty. Have your girl time.” The glossy pool in his eyes glinted in the light, something that looked like endearment, something that felt like pride. Not for himself, but for you. It hit you like a bullet, being the target of something like that. He was proud you were connecting, even just a little. Even at his expense. “But, if I catch you and Steve sharing inside jokes, I’ll have to kill him. And I’m pretty sure that’d make me an enemy of the state.” 

You laughed, light and involuntary. He’d been pulling that noise out of you a lot in recent weeks. He seemed to have a talent for it. For re-familiarizing you with yourself . With your laughter, and your joy, and your hope . He’d said it as a joke, and you responded accordingly, but it hadn’t hit you as one. Even under the guise of humor, he was choosing you over a man he’d known much longer. Effortlessly, at that. Like it was as basic as breathing to prioritize you. 

“Shouldn’t it be me?” You met his eyes with faux curiosity, praying he didn’t see the chaos swirling deeper in your head when you accepted you couldn’t categorize how that made you feel. “He was here first.”

He nodded. “True.” He followed the statement by shrugging. “But, it’d finally give me a reason to get rid of him.” He drank more coffee as you replied with a quiet ‘Oh, come on’, narrowing your eyes in dismissal of the remark. The amusement on his face dimmed by a nearly untraceable amount, irises shimmering with the faintest overflow of concealed sincerity. “Plus, you’re better company.” 

You broke the sustained eye contact at that. The aforementioned hummingbirds in your stomach sped up to a vitriolic hounding of any semblance of control you’d been holding on to. They seemed determined to pry it from your grasp, to take your sanity. Hollow out your protective measures and fill the empty space with him. It was terrifying how alive that simple, stupid bit of praise could make you feel. Like you were right back in the clutches of your kidnappers, being pumped full of that monstrous electricity.

 The only difference was, it wasn’t painful this time. Not in the same way, at least. 

You did your best to write your silence off as an invading indifference. You crossed your arms in a futile attempt at fortifying your chest, which now felt like a gaping chasm that offered a beeline right to your thumping heart. “Don’t flatter me.” It was self-deprecating, and off putting. Something that would hopefully throw him off your trail if he’d managed to find himself on it. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And that was that. 

It had been a ballsy thing to say. He’d realized it once the words were already circling the air and were unable to be taken back. He felt apprehension that was all his own, but there was something prevalent on the surface that felt like someone else. Being nervous would be normal after saying something like that, given the context of everything. Being embarrassed would be normal, cringing at himself would be normal - and, let the record show, he absolutely was - but, a different feeling bumbled about the layers of vulnerability he was feeling. He felt complimented. Bashful. Things that didn’t fit right in the confines of his sternum. They sat weird, stabbing him in tender areas that made it evident they were out of place.  

Ultimately, that made him wonder, was it your doing?

He’d felt things that didn’t belong to him before because of you. Normally, though, it was conveyed through means of large, blinding propulsions of energy that left him reeling . It had been fear, and pain . Most importantly, it had been obvious . That purple that bled out of you was as obvious as it could get. Even the slightest dusting of a violet hue in your eyes would have been enough, but there was nothing. You were currently docile, as far as he could tell. 

This hadn’t been painful. It hadn’t felt rigid, or cracked. It was just warm. A tiny heat tucked between his ribs that glowed like the delicate light of a firefly in the summer. Unmistakably and immersively pleasant. Sweet enough to get hooked on. Certainly too sweet to be his.  

It kicked up a million questions in his mind, all honed in on the depth of your capabilities, what they even were . He didn’t know how far he’d get with the digital model. It’d been his first idea, his Occam’s razor to the crooked, unsolvable mission of retrieving what you’d lost. His job would have been a lot easier had your file not been torn in two, but it did no good to dwell. He knew basic tests of endurance would most likely have to be performed if he didn’t manage a miracle on the first try. And it scared him. Scared him to think of making you relive your own past, of triggering something, of making you hurt . He could rattle off possible solutions until he was out of breath, but everything inevitably boiled down to one simple question.

How far did he have to push?

–

There are moonbeams painted on the floor of your dark bedroom. It’s too bright, and your skin is too itchy on the silky sheets. Your whole being is practically vibrating with discomfort, and you have no idea why. It’s making sleep impossible to obtain. You started trying hours ago, and have been lying here wide awake since. 

It feels forbidden to be out in the hallways so late, like you’re breaking some sort of code. You’re not close enough with any of the team to seek their solace in the dead of night, and even if you were, they deserve their rest. The times of day when the sun deserted the sky were probably the only time they got to rest their dreary eyes, let their bones settle in place. You wouldn’t be the one to disturb that. 

There was one blind hope that got you out of bed, though. You’d learned of many things that Tony was throughout the time you’d been spending with him. Egotistical, unabashed, sarcastic to high hell. Most importantly, an insomniac . No matter the time of day, he was in his lab working. You could practically feel the pacing from outside the door. Hell, from inside your room . Despite never having been up quite so late, you still wagered there was a good chance he’d be up. It wasn’t hard to figure out he was a man who worked until he couldn’t, human need be damned. 

It would be weird to approach him with no objective, and it would make you deeply uncomfortable to admit you just wanted some company. Just wanted to see him. But, it was difficult to fight against the pressing desires of your groggy brain. You were worn from your lack of slumber, and that filed down your will into shards. He would tease you, most likely; but, if he said you could stay, it wouldn’t matter. 

The door was shut when you approached, as you’d expected. Your knuckles rapped as lightly as possible against the industrial barrier, hoping to preserve what you could of the stillness in the air. You’d expected to hear shuffling, items being put down and picked up again, maybe even him mumbling under his breath about who the hell was knocking at two am. There was just nothing . Nothing but the faintest sound of breath, steady but panicked. It was consistent in the pattern of shuttering inhales and painful wheezes out. You felt bad when you opened the door, invading his privacy wasn’t something you were particularly fond of, but it sounded like he could be hurt.  

Except, he wasn’t. You barged in on the sight of the man at rest, but not at peace. His body was pressed dangerously tense into the back padding of the chair you normally sat in. His legs were spread in what would normally appear as comfort, but seemed now like a mockery of the idea. There was a file open wide in his relaxed hand, clearly having once been gripped properly, but now allowed to spill it’s contents on the floor from the lack of constraint. By the leg of the chair, an empty glass sat short and stained. There were traces of a boozy mahogany liquid on the lower half of the sides. His head was leaned back, fingers twitching and body jolting every once and a while, like his dream was manifesting as a physical attack. 

You could practically taste the unease in the air surrounding him, fizzy and bitter as it coated your mouth. It rippled through you like you had joined him in whatever metal trench he was trying to endure. Anyone with sight could see he was having a nightmare, but it made you wonder, did normal people feel so entwined with things they couldn’t see?

Your hand ghosted over one of his rigid forearms, approaching with the intention to awaken him, but lingering at the feel of his skin. His sleeves had been rolled up, presumably to keep the fabric out of his way while working. It was creepy , you thought. To get hung up on something meant to benefit him, something meant to pull him out of the unpleasantness his brain was enforcing. You were making it weird. You were making it selfish.  

You couldn’t remember the last time your hand had felt the warmth of someone else. As far as you’re concerned, it was when you’d been wrapped around the boy and neglecting homework. It was dizzying. That immediate zap of connection between two people when they met. He felt like heat, and safety, and truth . 

And it was absurd. It was gross , and it boiled with degeneracy to be overwhelmed by the simple caress of exposed humanity, to have kept a hand on him while he slept. It was intoxicating, and somehow irredeemably calming to have your malleable flesh on the aged softness of his. If he woke up without prompt, how could you explain something like this? The tremble of your hands, the watering of your eyes? You couldn’t.  

You took to staring, tracing the terrain of his appearance as you tried to will your body to move away from his. It wasn’t your job to wake him up, you shouldn’t even be here. As far as he’ll know in the morning, you weren’t here. 

You got so entrenched in your mapping of his features, it took you multiple moments to realize he wasn’t moving anymore. His hands had eased, his shoulders slumping forward slightly. He looked…almost tranquil . The worry lines that had been plaguing the tender spots of his face faded back into nonexistence, where they should be. 

You didn’t want him upset. The thought burdened you in an instant. You didn’t want him stressed, not if you could help it. 

The oncoming awareness was intensely sobering. It felt like a pitcher of ice water dumped directly on the taped-together mess of your sanity. You were ready to turn and run, go back to your room and force your body to sleep by any means necessary. Even lying there helplessly would have been a more favorable situation to where you currently were. The only thing that stopped you, that held you in place, was the source of his onset serenity. 

His dream hasn’t ceased authentically, the fact becoming mortifyingly apparent as you gazed down at where the two of you were connected. Where your bicep became the crook of your elbow, your veins had shifted into dull purple vines, encasing the tunnels your blood traveled through and flowing concord right down with it. You watched it infect him, as well. It was a slow rise upward, fighting against the grain and filling his body with that same drab indigo. It stilled him, hushed the horrors in his mind. 

You did, somehow. You were doing that for him. It was terrifying, and the more you tried to dismiss it as a trick of the light, or the late hour playing tricks on your mind, the more difficult it became. 

You drew your hand back like you’d been scorched by the flame of what was happening. You saw the color draw back to his hand, pulling taught to a center point before disappearing completely, the normal blue of his circulation rearing it’s head once more. There was no evidence you’d done anything at all, nothing but newfound silence in place of the previous sounds of discomfort that were pouring from him upon your arrival. He wouldn’t know. 

He wouldn’t know how you ran back to your room like a coward. He wouldn’t see you stare at your own ligaments like they held the secrets to the universe once the door shut. He wouldn’t acquire any knowledge of what had just transpired, not before you knew what you’d just done. You needed time to observe him in the aftermath of the non-consensual assertion of your powers. See if it hurt him, if it lingered at all. Then, maybe, you would tell him. Ask him for help. Learn how to control it. 

Lying down brought no more comfort than it had an hour ago, but it was all you had left. It shouldn’t have surprised you, really. The world seemed keen on making you one of it’s many punching bags. It left you mulling over the fact in poorly masked resentment. 

How many hits were left until you were used to it?