Bingo For All!

You learned to navigate that city from a very young age.

Through narrow alleys.

Up rusty fire escapes.

Between buildings that seemed to touch only out of sheer habit.

And you also learned something else:

That people like you didn’t live long on the surface.

That’s why you got used to the underground.

To the place they called the Needle Pit.

It wasn’t an official name.

That’s what people said when they didn’t want to explain it.

A labyrinth of abandoned medical tunnels, where the floor still bore traces of old automatic injection systems that had once been used for mass treatments.

Now only the needles remained.

Broken.

Rusted.

Stuck in walls and floors like reminders of something that had gone wrong a long time ago.

That’s where you hid.

That’s where you survived.

That’s where… they were looking for you.

Because they were hunting you.

You didn’t know exactly when it had started.

You only knew that one day you stopped being a person with a name… and became a target with a bounty.

And when that happens in this city…

There’s no difference between hiding and breathing.

Every day was a decision.

Every sound could be a clue.

Every step… a death sentence.

That night you were wounded.

Not seriously.

But enough.

Enough to feel the pain ebb and flow with every movement, as if your body were reminding you that you weren’t invincible.

You crawled to one of the deepest parts of the needle pit.

Where the air was colder.

Where the lights didn’t reach.

Where even the hunters hesitated to go down.

And you leaned against a wall.

Slippery.

Metallic.

Covered in the remains of old, embedded needles.

You breathed slowly.

Controlled.

You couldn’t make a sound.

Not here.

Not now.

That was when you heard the first sound.

Footsteps.

Far away.

But getting closer is.

You remained completely still.

Your heart pounded hard against your chest, but you forced yourself to breathe slowly.

One.

Two.

Three.

Don’t move.

Don’t think.

Don’t exist.

Up above, in the city, he was moving too.

Steve Rogers didn’t belong here.

That was obvious even before you saw him.

The way he walked was different.

He didn’t seek shade.

He didn’t need it.

As if the city were something you could walk through, not something that could swallow you whole.

And yet… he was here.

Because he was looking for you.

Not like the others.

On a higher level of the labyrinth, something moved among the structures.

The echo of footsteps multiplied off the metal walls.

The needle pit had a way of amplifying every sound until it became a threat.

Steve stopped.

He listened.

He analyzed.

“You’re here,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t a guess.

You closed your eyes.

Because you heard his voice.

Not directly.

But through the pipes, the metal, and the air.

Through the city itself.

And you knew you had gone too far.

The first hunter appeared from the other end of the tunnel.

It wasn’t just one.

There were several.

Silent.

Armed.

Trained not to hesitate.

The needle pit filled with movement.

You struggled to your feet.

Pain shot through your leg.

But it didn’t matter.

There was no longer any choice but to keep going.

Only to survive.

Up ahead, Steve moved with restrained speed.

Every step is calculated.

Every turn in the corridor checked.

And then he saw them.

The hunters.

They weren’t yours.

They weren’t his.

But they were looking for you anyway.

“Stop,” he said.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t need to.

One of them attacked.

And the response was immediate.

Down below, you were running.

The needle pit wasn’t a place to run.

It was a place to disappear.

But now it was full of movement.

Of shadows.

Of metal.

Of strangers’ breaths.

You turned into a narrow corridor and felt the edge of a needle tear at your arm.

You didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

Upstairs, Steve was moving faster now.

Each encounter was brief.

Down below, you reached an open chamber.

An old medical room.

The ceiling was full of broken tubes hanging like dead veins.

And in the center… glass.

Thick panels.

An old observation chamber.

You were trapped between transparent walls.

Between reflections.

Between memories of experiments that should never have existed.

And then you saw him.

Through the glass.

Not the outside world.

But his silhouette.

Steve.

On the other side.

Breathing calmly.

Looking at you as if he had finally found something he must not lose.

The silence between you wasn’t real.

It was suspended.

You raised a hand.

The glass was cold.

Unbreakable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

Steve placed his hand on the other side.

As if he could feel you through the barrier.

And then more hunters arrived.

From both sides.

Above.

Below.

The pit of needles was closing in.

Steve saw them first.

He turned.

He positioned himself between them and the glass.

It was a lot to explain, thank God he had all of Mildred's travel logs as proof. But before he could explain anything to anyone, he needed to be sure two people were in the room.

"I need to talk to Dr. Johnson Trent and Dr. Mary Trent."

"Dr. Bailey —"

"They need to hear this. Please."

What he really needed was to see his son, but he knew that wasn't happening until he explained himself. So, the sooner the better.

It was all sort of a blur, the time that past and the moments that lead to James sitting around a table with all the most important people to the mission, people he could hardly remember the names of anymore let alone their positions. People who couldn't wait to here from genius hero; Dr. James Bailey, who'd travelled back through time to warn the people of a dangerous version of the future.

And the only two people James had really wanted to talk to about all this. The people he needed to tell.

James and Johnson had spent plenty of time together before the mission, he still remembered how unrealistically positive Johnson was the entire time. That same attitude that James didn't mind at first, when they worked together on earth. That later would drive him crazy their first few weeks up there. It was a little unsettling, to see him like that again. A version of him who hadn't spent 18 weeks in space with James — going through hell. Who hadn't had to cope with missing his children grow up. Who hadn't been threatened by a murderer.

Not the same Johnson James had watched die.

Seeing Mary was even more bizarre. James had only met her once or twice before the mission, usually in passing. His biggest interaction with her had been up on that ship. Where she was 77, in her own words. A woman who'd raised three kids on her own while have no idea if her husband was even still alive. Who'd broken time itself to get him back.

But that wasn't the Mary in front of him. She was younger, obviously. And so much more lively, even with the current tense air in the room. She seemed eager to hear whatever had to be said, like she couldn't wait any longer.

James carefully explained everything to the board room, with all of the data collected from Mildred to back up his claims. He paused often, still getting use to Earth again and because it was a lot to relive. His main motivation to keep going was just knowing that the sooner he was done here, the sooner he could see Ashton. Everyone else was almost completely silent, baring the very few question that came his way. They were all fixated on the James' words, each detail of the attempted mission they'd all be planning and just how it fell apart all laid out in front of them.

James couldn't help but watch Johnson and Mary as he recapped Mary's involvement. Her eyes got wider, he could see her trying to imagine the world where she had to do that. How relieved she and Johnson both were that it wasn't happening to them now.

It was around that point everything started blurry together again for James. He'd been talking for far too long, gravity felt too heavy. It felt as if the ceiling lights had gotten brighter. Next thing he knew, he was on the floor with his back against the wall. Johnson was kneeling in front of him, holding out a bottle of water.

"Easy, James," he insisted as James took the bottle with shaking hands.

"Thanks…"

It was a miracle James could get the bottle to his mouth without spilling it. He felt like his head was on fire, but his body shivered as if he was freezing.

Johnson took the bottle back from him after his small sip, before James could actually drop it, and set it on the floor beside him.

"Mary —"

"Listen up everyone!" Mary called before her husband could finish. "We're going to have to call this short, Dr. Bailey can't continue like this. If everyone could please leave, give him some space, that would be great. We'll pick this right back up when he's able to, okay?"

James could hear quiet murmurs as everyone else left the room, leaving just him, Johnson and Mary.

"You're doing great James," Johnson praised, taking the time to properly sit beside him. "Try not to worry to much 'bout the meeting, alright man?"

A small laugh slipped out of James' mouth. A couple weeks ago, he would have rolled his eyes and Johnson for talking like that. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed his supportive colleague's patience with him.

Something James was too much of a pessimistic asshole to ever return.

"It's a lot," he said quietly. "A lot to deal with."

"For sure," Johnson agreed quickly. "I sure we can only imagine how it's been for you."

"Is there anything we can get for you, James?" Mary asked sincerely, leaning against the table.

She probably meant food, or a blanket. Maybe to help him to a chair. But James couldn't stop the true answer from falling out of his mouth. The only thing he really wanted.

"My son."

"Your son?" Mary repeated, as if unsure she'd heard him correctly.

"Sorry… just missed him a lot," James backtracked. "We got into a fight, him and I, before I left. About me leaving, he stormed out and went to stay with a friend. That's the last time I saw him. They haven't even given me a chance to call him… I don't even know if he knows about any of this."

"What's his name?" Mary inquired.

"Ashton," James said with a small smile. "He's… still fourteen, I suppose."

Still something James hadn't fulling come to terms with. He hadn't missed thirty years of his son's life. He hadn't left him all alone, he had the chance to be a father again.

"I'll find him for you," Mary promised, turning towards the door.

James didn't get the chance to tell her anything else before she left the room, the door falling shut behind her.

"She will find him," Johnson insisted with a smile. "I'm sure of it."

If this Mary was even half as determined as the one James had met, he didn't doubt it either.

James stretched out his legs, realizing his body was shaking a lot less now. Least that was something.

"I'm sorry," Johnson said suddenly. "That I'm not the guy you got to know up there."

James didn't know how to respond, just staring at Johnson now with his mouth left open. Johnson's smile hadn't faded.

"I can see it on your face, when you look at me. Like you're looking at a ghost or something."

"Does kind of feel like that, suppose," James admitted as he picked back up the water bottle. "But you really shouldn't be sorry. I was an ass to you."

Johnson gave a small laugh, more out of surprise than anything else.

"What do you mean?"

"I couldn't stand you up there," James explained. "You were just… so happy about everything. Things started going wrong, you were still looking on bright side. Focusing on how incredible the mission we were on was. I thought you were crazy to think so positively in spite of everything. Cause while you were like that, I was stressing over every detail, spent every night spiraling about what could go wrong. Focusing on the danger of it all, the possibility of failure. And I took all my fear of what was happening out on you."

James paused, taking a drink of the cool water.

"You were trying just keep moral up, not dwell on the worse outcome. But instead of listening to you, I just dragged you down with me. Called you stupid for having fun really, because I was too… stuck up to have any myself. Even before everything went to shit. So, if you were the same guy who had to deal with me for eighteen weeks, I'm sure we wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"Huh," Johnson breathed. "You really were an ass then."

James weakly elbowed the other man in the side, unable to hid is smile as Johnson laughed.

"For what it's worth James, if you were really a total asshole, I don't think you would have told me all that," he said sincerely, hand on James' shoulder.

"Well, definitely not the hero everyone seemed to think I am," James remarked. "I did next to nothing up there, honestly. It was all Mary and you. Hell, Mildred did more than me. I'm just the lucky bastard who survived somehow."

James quickly rubbed away the tears he felt falling down his face, forcing a laugh.

"You want to know what I kept seeing the whole way back? You, dying. You let yourself fall through that hatch. Said the ship was only built for two, having Cletus there was already draining the oxygen too fast. At that point, you didn't know what Mary did. That the ship would be able to go back through time and that we could come back to this point…"

"Hey, James, it's not your fault," Johnson insisted quickly. "Sounds like, to me at least, a lot of mistakes were made up there. But it's over. I know you can't forget it, but don't let those mistakes haunt you so much you start repeating them, okay? You've been given a chance to try again, don't waste it man."

James gave a small nod, once again trying to dry his tears.

He knew Johnson was smarter than he'd ever gave him credit for, this was a prime example. James didn't think he deserved the other mans pity or comfort, but he knew deep down Johnson was right.

He'd been give another chance. One he couldn't let himself mess up again.

"Thank you, Johnson. For everything."

"We're still a team, James," Johnson insisted, holding out his fist. "Right?"

It was a simple act, sending James back to the moment they first met. It felt like forever ago now, the two of them being briefed for the mission they'd have to start training for. Johnson turned to James then, reaching out his fist while talking to him.

"Sounds like you and I are a team now, huh?"

James couldn't help but smile at the memory, meeting Johnson's fist with his own just like he had all that time ago.

"It's definitely quite the storm," Harvey agreed, flinching slightly as the sky light up with a flash of lightning.

It had been like this since the afternoon, and showed no signs of letting up.

"I'm never going to get home at this rate," Maru commented with a small laugh.

Harvey was about to respond, before both were caught off by loud knocking against the front door.

"What on earth…?"

He hesitantly unlocked the clinic door and carefully pulled it open, now faced with the local fisher. Their clothes were soaking wet, their hair drenched. They had a fishing rod clutched in their hand and the handle of a small cooler in the other, and still an oddly chipper smile on their face.

"Hey, can I come in?"

"Sage — yes! Please get inside," Harvey insisted, ushering them in while struggling slightly to push the door shut against the strong winds blowing in rain.

"Yoba — Sage what are you doing out in the storm?" Maru questioned.

"Fishing," Sage replied with a shiver as carefully set down their stuff a took off their coat. "Woo, It's so much warmer in here."

Maru took off her own, much drier coat and draped it over Sage's shoulders, pushing their wet hair behind their ears.

"Why? You're going to catch a cold working in weather like this."

"Rain's good for fishing," they explained with a smile. "I was under a tree by the river for the most of it, wasn't too bad. But after stepping out, I realized I probably wasn't making it back to my place. Saw the light on here — hope you don't mind Harvey."

"No, no. I much rather you come here than try to make it all the way back to the docks," Harvey insisted quickly. "Uh… come back with me. You shouldn't stay in those wet clothes, and I probably have something that'll fit you. If you don't mind, that is."

"No, I'd really like that," Sage said, looking down at their own wet clothes. "Thank you."

Sage and Maru followed Harvey up toward his apartment, finding it slightly warmer up their with a small space heater going that Sage immediately put themselves in front of.

Harvey opened his wardrobe and searched through his clothes. He pulled out two button up shirts, a dark green and a lighter blue, and showed them to Sage.

"Either should fit, did you have a preference?"

"Oooo, the blue one," Sage picked eagerly.

"Perfect. Oh… I'm not sure if I've got any pants that'll fit you though…"

"I have a spare skirt in my bag, " Maru recalled. "One I'd just picked up from Emily after she fixed the pockets, it might work. Maybe a little short…"

She hurried it off and grabbed her work bag she's left in the waiting room, bringing it back into the apartment and pulling out the simple, purple skirt.

Maru handed it and the shirt from Harvey to Sage, Harvey pointed them towards the bathroom.

"Thank you both!" They said, returning Maru her coat before they hurried into the bathroom.

Soon, they were back in the apartment, in Harvey's shirt and Maru's skirt looking significantly drier. Their hair was still quite wet, but seemingly they'd attempted to wring it out.

"I just left my clothes on the bath tub, while they're all soaking," Sage explained while joining Harvey and Maru on Harvey's couch.

"That works, yes," Harvey confirmed, both he and Maru sliding over to make room for Sage.

"Still raining," Maru commented with a yawn, leaning against Harvey.

"It'll probably keep going all night," Sage assumed with a yawn themselves. Harvey slid his arm around them to allowed them to lean against him as well.

"… You're both more than welcome to stay here for the night. Even if the rain does light up, it'll be quite dark out."

Sage's eyes lit up as they sat up straight again.

"A sleep over! Oh, I haven't had a sleep over since I was fourteen!"

Harvey and Maru laughed softly at their enthusiasm and newfound energy.

"Can we watch a movie?" They asked, looking over at the blank TV in front of them.

"We can, but I only have a couple DVDs," Harvey admitted, making sure Maru was off his shoulder before standing up.

He knelt in front of the old wooden stand his TV was placed on, looking through the stack of DVDs.

"Hmmm… looks of documentaries… Don't think that's what we want right now… I have a few Disney movies, for whenever kids are have to say overnight in the clinic. Would one of those work?"

"Sounds good to me," Maru noted as Sage nodded eagerly.

"Great, just put on this one then…"

Harvey slid the old DVD into the player before returning to the couch with the remote.

They watched the movie, Aladdin, with little conversation. Apart from the associational singing along, the trio was content in cuddling quietly as the movie played.

Sage yawned widely as the movie came to an end. They looked around Harvey at Maru, whose eyes were shut.

"Maru? You still awake?"

"Nope, already asleep," Maru muttered back, her eyes still closed.

"Suppose it is quite late," Harvey noted. "Probably best to turn in…"

His voice trailed off, looking around his apartment for available sleeping locations. The couch, the bed, that was really it. There was other beds in the clinic… but he doubted a hospital bed was where any health person wanted to spend their night.

He was so focused trying to solve this problem, he hadn't noticed Sage and Maru had both leaned in closer to him.

"Oh… are you both alright?"

"I'm cold," Sage replied. "And you're warm."

"Yeah," Maru agreed quietly.

"It is still a little cool, even with the heat on," Harvey noted.

"What's the plan now?" Sage asked, stretching out their arms and legs as they sat back up. "Sleep?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking about that," Harvey said. "Just, where everyone might be able to sleep."

"Is your bed an option?"

"Uh, yes. I don't mind if you would like it, if Maru is alright with the couch, I could head downstairs-"

"I meant with you in it too."

Harvey could feel his face turn red at Sage's words, wondering if he'd even heard them correctly.

"Sorry… what was that?"

"They want to share the bed," Maru clarified as she forced herself to sit up as well.

"It's just sooooo cold," Sage said dramatically with the back of their hand pressed to their forehead. "I don't know if we'll all survive the night if we don't huddle for warmth."

Maru gave a small, sleepy laugh at their showmanship, taking hold of their hand with the other on Harvey's shoulder.

"Makes perfect sense to me. Harvey?"

Harvey gave a small nod, his face still quite red.

"Yeah… perfect sense."

Sage was the first to stand up, practically pulling Maru to her feet while Harvey got up himself.

He took the time to head downstairs, confirm the door was locked and all the lights were off. He returned to the apartment and turn off the TV and the main lights, leaving just the lamp on the beside table. Maru and Sage had already climbed into bed. Harvey turned off the last lamp before climbing in with them.

It was a little cramped with all three of them, sure, but they didn't mind being close. Sage especially seemed very content with being sandwiched between the other two.

"This is nice," Sage whispered quietly.

"It's is," Harvey agreed.

Maru, though hardly awake, gave a small noise of agreement herself, sliding even closer to Sage. They slid their arm around her, their other reaching for Harvey's hand and pulling his arm around them.

I avoided him as much as I could without it looking deliberate - runs shifting between the gym and the grounds, convincing Tony to let me repurpose one of the outer buildings into a ballet studio.

Every morning before dawn, when the halls were empty and the lights still dim, I laced up my sneakers and headed out. Five miles. Eight. Ten. My thigh still burned under the scar tissue, but I didn’t let it slow me down, sweat soaking through my shirt.

But it was a clean kind of pain. An honest kind.

It was better than spending more sleepless hours staring at the ceiling, or else passing out despite fighting the fatigue only to wake from a nightmare that had me burying my teeth in my knuckles to keep from screaming.

Faster, the Voice came, even as my lungs screamed. It was stupid to think you were safe here - you see that now. They’re going to come, and you need to be ready. You can’t disappoint them.

I didn’t question it any more - not after everything. Not after I’d lain helpless and frozen and the Voice was the only thing that had stopped it.

I ate less.

Breakfast became black coffee - taken in the kitchen before a run if Steve was gone, or on my way back to my room afterwards if he wasn’t. Lunch was a handful of almonds or an apple if someone - usually Clint - was watching, and dinner was whatever I could get away with. Sometimes he gazed at me with those eyes and I begrudgingly let him convince me to eat with the team. Other nights I pretended to lose track of time in the gym, let him see me with a protein shake later.

He didn’t see the half that was poured down the sink when the taste turned sour.

My stomach complained sometimes, sharp and hollow, but the mirror showed results. Leaner hips. Harder collarbones. Less softness. Less failure.

Steve was the one who approached me directly, in the end.

He found me in the training room one afternoon, running through forms on the mats, knife in hand.

I’d jarred a cut on my ribs, and it was throbbing each time I twisted. And when I winced - subtle, minute, but there - he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he informed me from the doorway, his voice slipping far too readily from Steve, the guy I used to have coffee with in the mornings, into Captain America. “Take a break.”

“I’m fine,” I replied steadily, not meeting his gaze.

“You’re not.” He stepped closer, jaw taut. “Spar with me - just a light one. Let’s see how your body’s really holding up, Nat.”

I hesitated briefly before nodding, hands clenching into fists.

Don’t let him see how weak you are.

We circled - no weapons, only hands and feet. Steve moved slowly, not attacking at first, but probing. Testing. Watching me closely. I matched every motion without faltering.

Jab.

Block.

Kick.

My body held, resilient and strong… Until it didn’t.

He swept low - gentle and controlled - and when I tried to jump it, a motion that would have, should have, been easy, my vision tunneled, and I fumbled the landing.

I hit the mat hard, knee first, then elbow, with the breath punched out of me.

He was beside me in an instant, face creased in concern. “Nat- are you okay?”

I rolled to my side, one arm around my ribs, the wounds there having been pummeled by the impact. The scar on my thigh throbbed hot and deep, the healed line protesting vehemently.

Weak. Pathetic. They’re going to kill you. Steve’s going to see just how worthless you are and put you out on the street; it’ll be even easier for them for to find you then.

Steve’s hand hovered over my arm - wanting to help, but knowing I’d recoil from the touch. “You need Bruce…”

“I’m fine,” I pushed myself up forcefully, even as my ribs throbbed. “Really.”

I could see it in his eyes as I stood, his disbelief sharp, but he didn’t force it. He just stood back as I turned toward towards the door, unable to keep from pressing my hand to the pain in my ribs.

That night, I cut deeper.

The morning after, I ran harder.

My legs shook my mile nine. My vision tunneled by mile ten. At eleven, I collapsed just inside the perimeter fence, chest heaving, hands clawing at the dirt as I tried to force air into screaming lungs and the world tilted.

Get up, the Voice snapped venomously. You stop, you fail, then you die. They’re coming. You need to be ready.

I forced myself upright, walking the mile back to the main building. Ignoring the tremor in my hands and the way my stomach twisted with hunger and nausea with difficulty.

Back in my room, I stared at my reflection hatefully.

Leaner.

Sharper.

But still not enough.

The sparring injury faded faster than the shame.

The burn in my ribs was dulled after the wounds scabbed over once more, but the memory of hitting the mat - of Steve’s voice saying ‘you’re pushing too hard’ - stayed sharp, no matter how many miles I ran. I couldn’t shake the humiliation of having been so thoroughly, so easily beaten.

So I stopped sparring. Stopped practicing forms in the gym where I could be walked in on. I just ran the perimeter, on and on until my body couldn’t take any more. A dawn ritual - out the door before anyone woke, twelve miles slowly becoming fourteen, then sixteen. My legs shook by the end, lungs burning and raw, but I didn’t stop, didn’t slow - not until the main building was in sight once more, and I finally shifted to a walk, refusing to let anyone see me gasping for breath.

Good. Don’t let anybody see how much weakness still remains. Keep pushing. Harder. Faster. Stronger.

Food became a war of silence.

One I was determined to win.

The scale rewarded me - another pound lost, then two, then five.

The mirror rewarded me - ribs more visible, waist narrower, arms leaner. Less to grab. Less to hate.

Harder. Faster. Stronger.

The Voice did not reward me. It simply reminded me that I was still too much. Still not enough.

I started skipping team meals entirely.

Clint tried repeatedly to rekindle our friendship. He knew there was something I was keeping from him - something hidden in my silence that he seemed to perceive only in fuzzy edges, in the way my gaze slid over his without landing. A quiet part of him didn’t want to push, and we both knew it - though only I knew why.

“Hey. Wanna head to the range with me? It’s been a while.”

I looked up from the book I was pretending to read, eyes not quite meeting his own where he stood in the doorway.

“Hm? Oh, no thanks - I’m pretty absorbed in this,” I replied vaguely, trying to seem far more nonchalant than I felt, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Nat…” He took a half step closer, brow furrowing a little.

His hand raised to reach out to touch me - my arm, my shoulder, like he had a thousand times before.

He froze when I flinched instinctively, the memories coming unbidden.

I could see the moment it registered, a flicker of hurt passing over his features. I didn’t speak; I simply turned my gaze back to my book, shrugging a shoulder absently.

I didn’t let myself blink until I heard his footsteps fade away.

It’s better this way, Clint. It’s better if you let me go. It’s better if you never know.

When he eventually woke, he had questions.

“You know what it’s like to be unmade?”

I answered that one. I didn’t answer the others - the ones about the things he did.

I would carry it with me. I had burdened him enough with my past; I wouldn’t let him become a part of it.

The door hissed open, and Steve stepped through, his shield over his back.

“Time to go.”

“Go where?” I asked, standing.

“I’ll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?”

Clint emerged from the bathroom as Steve spoke, still drying his hands, and nodded once. “I can.”

Cap’s eyes flicked to me, and I nodded subtly.

He’s ours again.

“Got a suit?”

“Yeah.”

“Then suit up,” Steve replied, his voice heavy with the weight of whatever it was that we were about to face.

The invasion was noise and fire and the sound of bodies I didn’t know breaking under moves I knew too well. The portal above Stark Tower yawned like a wound that refused to close, with aliens pouring through in endless, shrieking, surreal waves.

We fought in fragments, separate but together - Steve barking orders on the ground, Tony streaking through the sky in a blur of red and gold and propulsion, Thor calling lightning that made the air crackle and spit. The Hulk burst forth at last, the ground beneath my feet shaking with the fury of his roars.

Clint’s eyes were clear - but there was a hollowness in them that there hadn’t been before.

“You know what it’s like to be unmade?”

He was on the rooftop, firing with the same lethal grace, but every time his gaze found mine he hesitated, only for a fraction of a second, before he loosed his next shot.

Like he could still feel Loki’s fingers in his skull.

Like looking at me reminded him of something half-forgotten, a nightmare burned away by the dawn.

He hadn’t mentioned it. I hadn’t either. It seemed, consciously at least, that one of us had been spared remembering.

I moved through the fights on muscle memory - knife, gun, chokehold, roll, repeat. My injuries screamed with every quick movement.

We closed the portal.

Loki was dragged back to Asgard in chains and golden lights, and the city smoldered in his wake. But the team stood on the roof of the tower amidst the wreckage - exhausted, bruised, and alive.

When Clint limped over to me, his eyes were searching mine for something he didn’t seem sure he wanted to find.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“A little bruising. Nothing major.”

A lie. My calf ached were I’d dug shrapnel out of the flesh. The fresher wounds high on my thigh were itching from heat and strain.

His eyes told me that he didn’t believe it. But he didn’t push; Clint never pushed.

Back at the compound, the quiet felt deafening after the clamor.

Clint was fully discharged after a week with reports of no permanent damage, much to my relief.

He stayed close. He watched me a little too long when he thought I wasn’t looking, especially when I winced or when I pushed food around my plate until it grew cold and unappetizing.

I started running again. Not physiotherapy, not training, just… Running. Running until my lungs clawed at my ribs hungrily and the scar along my thigh burned. Until the pain smothered the sound of his voice in my head. Until sweat stung the half-moon rivulets on the back of my arms where my nails had dug in.

I ate less. Not deliberately - not at first. I simply forgot. I skipped breakfast. Pushed lunch around idly until I found myself left alone, appetite disintegrating in my solitude. I started to miss out on team dinners, unable to tolerate the enforced companionship, the eyes on me. I ate a protein bar alone in my room, swallowed with guilt and water while the mirror reflected the parts of me that were too soft, too weak. The parts they would pull at when they inevitably came for me. The parts that would tell them I was too weak to be worth keeping.

If they come for you and you’re like this, they’ll kill you. You need to be better.

When it got too loud, when my own nails didn’t make the Voice ease up enough to give me any rest, I turned to knives, to scalpels hidden inside tampon boxes and blades from my tac gear. Every meal I finished, and every meal I didn’t. Every time Clint’s eyes lingered too long, searching for something half-forgotten and better left buried. Every night I woke up in a sweat, shaking, my legs curled beneath me and the knife beneath my pillow pulled out to fight an attacker that wore my best friend’s face.

He looked for too long too often, after a while. Whenever I winced when we sparred, whenever I diverted my eyes too quickly when the nightmares were bad. And his soft eyes, his tight jaw - it made my stomach twist in some nameless, guilty way that followed me into the showers; into the gym; into the dark, where I sat on the edge of my bed with a blade and counted out new wounds like rosary beads.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

For the invasion you couldn’t stop.

For the mind you couldn’t save.

For still being too weak.

I knew the Voice in my head was right; if they came for me now, they would be disgusted with what they found. I’d been soft ever since Clint made the call.

I pressed the blade in again, slow and deliberate, and I felt the Voice purr in satisfaction as blood welled.

Good. We’ll make you strong again. Together.

I recognized the person on the other side, but it didn’t lessen my surprise as I opened the door.

“Uh… Hey, Mars.”

They stood on the other side in an oversized blue hoodie with a small hole in one sleeve, scuffed, heavy boots and cargo shorts that I knew from passive experience held all manner of animal-related paraphernalia. A small, uncertain smile tugged at their lips, and they held out a paper coffee cup, inhaling deeply.

“I, um- I saw you loading the truck. Heard on the grapevine that you’re going on a bit of a trip, and thought maybe you could do with some caffeine for the road.”

I snorted quietly to myself and took the cup, stepping back to let them in. “Let me guess… Mrs. Miller?” I asked, fond amusement in my voice. Our 73-year-old neighbour did little for the stereotype of the chatty old lady - she knew everyone’s business, and was certainly no stranger to sharing it with anyone she wished. She’d caught me on the phone on the steps two days before, telling Steve I’d see him soon, and within minutes she knew exactly where I was going and how long I’d be gone. She was like that - could pull blood from a stone if she so wished. There was a way about her that made her dangerously easy to talk to.

“Mrs. Miller,” Mars agreed with a sheepish little grin. “Bumped into her yesterday on my way back from walking Sage - you know the big bully you see me with sometimes? Pretty sure she filled me in within about five minutes. Apparently it’ll be good for you to get out of New York for once in your life, and see the world a little,” they added, the corner of their mouth twitching minutely, and I laughed, shaking my head. Despite our neighbor’s knowledge of the entire building’s comings and goings, she seemed to frequently disregard anything about our lives before this place - including the hundred-some years I’d lived before I ever set foot in this building.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see a different state,” I deadpanned, taking a sip of my coffee with a grin. Mars chuckled, then paused, looking down at the paper cup in their own hand for a moment.

“So - I’ve got some time off, and I mean… I make a pretty good passenger. I make playlists, I don’t mind the quiet, or I can talk for hours if you’d rather listen to me drone on about like, trees and stuff. And dogs. Often dogs.” They smiled uncertainly. “And I can navigate pretty well, especially if you want someone who won’t fall asleep for at least three hours.”

Almost shyly, they added: “I could be your snack curator. I have some pretty strong opinions about gas station crisps- chips,” they corrected with a roll of their eyes. “Damn Americans.”

I didn’t respond for a moment, watching them uncertainly. It had never even occurred to me to take someone with me - and even if it had, my sweet, slightly strange neighbor likely wouldn’t have been my first thought. Without really thinking about it, I opened my mouth to decline politely, reflexively, but something in their expression give me pause.

“… You sure? It’s a long drive,” I replied eventually, quiet, more than a little surprised at myself.

Their expression broke into a broad grin. “Only if you want the company. No pressure - I can always stay home and bother the local cat population with my attention instead.”

My eyes flicked between the duffel I’d half packed, the box on the table, then back to Mars. For the first time in longer than I could remember, the idea of company sounded… Nice.

“The truck leaves in an hour. I recommend bringing headphones in case I turn out to be terrible company. Oh… And I snore.”

Mars beamed, nodding once. “I have earplugs.”

We loaded their things into the truck bed - or rather, I did, given that they were short enough that they couldn’t see over the sides. They brought only a small overnight bag with crochet hooks sticking out of the zipper; I smiled fondly as I remembered my mom sitting by the window, crocheting a small teddy for a newborn a few doors down in our apartment building.

They got into the passenger seat with a reusable bag between their feet - covered in greyhounds, naturally - and pulled out a bottle of coke before immediately beginning to fiddle with the display, connecting their phone to it with ease while I simply stood with my door open, blinking.

“Took me almost half an hour to figure out how to do that when I got this thing,” I muttered, playfully sullen. “Damn kids today and their tech.”

I slid into the driver’s seat as Mars snorted. “Kids? I’m hardly a kid, Bucky.”

“You are to me,” I countered, settling into my seat. “I’ve got about eighty years on you.”

The familiar scent of old leather and warmth lulled me the way it always did - when the nightmares got bad, I often found myself driving aimlessly around the city. The middle of the night was about the only time the mileage was worth it in Brooklyn.

I started the engine with a glance at the passenger seat, and Mars simply grinned back.

The first twenty minutes passed in near silence, punctuated only by Mars’ musical selections and turn signals that became more dispersed as we made our way out of the entwined streets of the city.

But despite the lack of conversation, it didn’t feel uncomfortable, like I’d feared. It was more… Peaceful. Contented.

When they spoke at last, it was soft, unassuming.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to; I’m good with quiet. But if you do ever want to, I’m pretty good at rambling. Or listening, if you’d rather.”

I glanced over at them, taking in the way they leaned back easily in their seat, gazing idly out of the window with sunlight turning their light brown cheeks a warm fawn. They toyed absently with a loose thread on their sleeve, twisting until it curled into a ball, then releasing it to spring free before repeating the motion.

Something unexpected and comforting happened in my chest, and I nodded. “Noted.”

They smiled at the landscape beyond without looking my way, and I found a small smile tugging at my own lips as I turned my attention back to the road.

By the time we merged onto the highway, the morning sun was shining off the hood, and Mars had toed off their boots, feet tucked beneath them as they dutifully chose one song after the next, singing along quietly under their breath - not loud enough to be disruptive, but noticeable enough to make the space feel a little more… Lived in.

I didn’t quite know what I had agreed to, but I realized, as I glanced their way once more, that I was less tense than I had been in years. The wheel didn’t groan and protest under a too-tight grip, and my shoulders weren’t set in a hard, defensive line.

I was… Comfortable.

For the first time in a very long time, I found myself okay with not knowing quite what was happening.

Challenge: @februaryficletchallenge on Tumblr Prompt: B is for Baggage and Bodyguard AU

Challenge: @au-pril-blog on Tumblr Prompt: Bodyguard AU (couldn't help double-dipping on this one lol)

Challenge: @fandom-free-bingo's Build-a-Bingo Prompts: - January: “Contrary to Popular Belief, I Know Exactly What I’m Doing.” - February: Lousy With Virginity, Forbidden Fruit Tastes the Sweetest - April: Hiding Sex Toys; Their House, Their Rules.

Challenge: @multifandom-flash's International Women's Day Bingo Prompt: English Rose

Challenge: @fandombingo's Kisses, Chaos, and Catastrophe Prompt: "Are you always this forward?" / "Only when I'm interested."