FROSTBITE | S. Rogers/B. Barnes (FINISHED)

Champagne On Ice

In a world full of hatred fueled by misunderstanding, Janie somehow found a way to make sense of Steve. It was hard, following a man who so often had to put his life on the line for the sake of the greater good, but she'd quickly come to learn that it was worth it, because doing for him what he'd done for her was a task she knew she could only complete if she stayed.

Frustrating were days on which she didn't know whether or not the man was even alive, frustrating were the times that the look in his eyes showed he really wasn't alright, even after coming back from a successful mission. Unsatisfied with the result, perhaps, but primarily unhappy with himself and the things he sometimes had to do to ensure the mission's completion. Murder was something Steve would never be okay with. 

He called her when he found himself in his motel room late at night, lying in a pool of his own sweat after another terrifying nightmare. He was in the ice again, that's the way his nightmares always started; cold, dark, and most importantly, alone. He could feel the ice on his fingertips when he clawed at the sheets, his breath nearly coming out in puffs of smoke until the realization of where he was would finally set in.

He would call so he could listen to her talk about mindless, meaningless shit just long enough for him to feel okay again. Sometimes she'd stop mid-sentence, only to discover he'd fallen asleep with his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear while breathing softly into the microphone. She'd listen for a while, always making sure he was really asleep, before hanging up the phone and holding it to her chest while she fell into slumber herself. 

Neither of them knew when the interactions between them had changed. It was a sort of unspoken, mutual understanding between two individuals, an ever-growing fondness that came naturally to both of them. She brought out his patience, he brought out her curiosity.  Steve found himself enjoying 21st-century luxury, while Janie learned to appreciate being off the grid.

Even now, sometimes Steve didn't show up to the dinner table, even though it had taken Janie two hours and ten YouTube video's to create that evening's casual dinner for two. She'd sit in her tiny dining area alone, staring at the empty plate beside hers while she would mindlessly jab her fork into the concoction in front of her. Sometimes he would come, but the same feeling would arise when he had to leave before dessert. 

The phone he kept on him at all times would ring and a minute later, he would be gone, leaving nothing but a jumble of apologies and compliments about the food behind, along with the inevitable fear that his departure would be the last time she would ever see him. Sometimes, it would take days for the phone to ring. Sometimes, he'd call the same night. The conversations were mostly the same; him telling her she was fine, followed by more apologies and promises he knew he couldn't keep if it really came down to it. Regardless, she appreciated those calls, because they made falling asleep at night a less daunting task. 

Janie was only supposed to have a single drink. 

A glass of champagne at midnight to ring in the new year, a symbolic way of allowing all past events to become just that; the past. It didn't really mean anything, because time was linear, always moving forward and never repeating itself, and yet somehow, December 31st came every 364 days and every single time, one drink would turn into one bottle turned into forgotten memories.