Distressed // Steve Rogers

9 - Twisted

Steve cleared his throat as he woke. Stretching off the sleep he let out a soft sigh, registering the emptiness of his arms and the dreaded sense of history on repeat. His eyes opened to the soft glow of morning light and he glanced around the room for her, only to find emptiness in her place. Taking a deep breath he shook the feeling of uncertainty from his mind, the pain of memory and loss, and focused on the things he knew.

He knew he had held her in his arms as she drifted into a dreamless sleep. He knew he had listened to her breathing as her head rest against his heart and her fingers gripped the t-shirt he wore. He knew he had remained awake for hours, watching her as she slept, feeling her pull closer to him in the night, re-learning the dips and valleys of her beauty as he held her cradled against him. He knew she had found rest in his arms and he had, for the first time in a long time felt the softest semblance of security.

The light lilt of her laughter danced in the air as he walked the corridors of the compound, following the sound to where she was. She was beautiful and calm as she sat on the couch, her legs stretched out across the space and a small bowl of fruit in her hands. Her head was thrown back in contented amusement and a soft smile held its place on her lips as Bucky, draped casually over her legs, his own bowl resting on the arm of the chair, grinned over at her with childlike wonder. Steve paused in the doorway, his focus her and her alone and he felt tension he did not know he was carrying leave his muscles as he leant against the door frame and watched her relax into easy conversation as the Avengers all moved quietly around her.

"Okay," she giggled, looking back to the man crushing her feet, "but I still don't understand why he went along with it."

"Why does any man do anything Widow?" Bucky smirked as he wagged his eyebrows at her, watching as her blush burned and her eyes dropped to her bowl.

Steve smiled as he drank in the peach of her blush, transfixed by her in this moment, and wondered what tale Bucky was spinning to make her smile like that.

"Right. Anyway." She popped a grape into her mouth as Bucky shuffled in his seat and bubbled with laughter at her reaction. "So I'm like your best friend?"

"Yeah." Now it was Bucky's turn to look away. He picked up his bowl and began to push the fruit around with his spoon, avoiding her inquisitive eyes. "Something like that I guess."

Talia waited patiently, smiling up at him as her brow furrowed and she continued to pick away at her fruit. She sat unaware of the audience in the corners or the way they all seemed to watch her as if she were a dream that would disappear in a mist of smoke and dust should she be disturbed.

Steve simply revelled in her presence and her beauty. He watched her with wondrous adoration and his mind danced with memories and moments he longed to share. Vision watched her intently too; processing her behaviour, looking for any signs of discomfort or worry. He analysed her and scrutinised her so that he could anticipate her needs as he once had before. He had missed knowing her. But it was Tony, sitting at the kitchen island, out of place in the soft warmth of morning, whose eyes were most altered by her presence. Tony watched with wonder and with sadness. The irony that he trusted her now, when she was most likely there to complete a mission, and not when she had arrived before - a ghost in the garden, broken and bleeding in desperate need of help - was not lost on him. But he could not deny he trusted her. He wanted to trust that Talia Romanoff was somewhere beneath the stormy sea of her eyes and watching her now, he congratulated himself on his assessment. She was in there alright. She was just locked away.

Talia's attention did not stray from Bucky. Instead she sat and listened, glowing from the wealth of information Bucky had already given to her and intrigued by what else he seemed to be holding from her.