No proofreading we die like men
I didn’t like that she hadn’t called. Been radio silent since she left for Wakanda. To be completely fair, part of that is her fault. She hadn’t reached out, and well… we’re both stubborn as hell. But, I am her older brother. I should be the bigger person, right?
Wrong. I've always been a coward, and Ophelia’s known that since the day she was born. She still does, she just never says it. She’s always quiet and observant. Scolding in her narrowed, steady eyes when I puff myself up to look strong. Reprimanding in the disapproving shake of her head when I blow up on the team because I’m worried but don’t have the balls to say it. Correcting in the freckled hand propped up on her hip when I mutter something a little too sardonic to Capsicle.
God, I missed her. Everything reminded me of her. I hated it. I avoided it. I ignored it. Really, I buried myself in whatever I could to drown it out. Projects I promised Nick I would work on, reports for a mission, repairs around the compound. Oh, and the medicine Lia had been working on for Banner. I reached out to that Sokovian charmer she used to work with—Vincent? Valentino? It was some sort of V name, which tells you how much I was paying attention—but anyways, he picked up the pieces she gathered and put it together.
Well, I’ve avoided it up until now. By some cruel, divine coincidence, I had walked into the common room the moment Steve was giving Widow a run-down of his last call with Lia.
“I dunno, Nat, I’m worried. She’s all alone over there, and—”
“Worried? For who?” I strolled past him with a curious glance. His face fell. Rogers was never good at subtlety.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “Who do you think, Tony? One of your three hundred flings?”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
Steve sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter as I walked towards the espresso machine. I placed my mug in the sink, pulling out a new one so I didn’t get some abnormal disease from overusing it.
“Lia, she’s…” he trailed off, glancing at Natasha. “They’ve had to put a pause on Buck’s recovery. Something’s wrong.”
I raised my brows. “Not surprised,” I muttered, turning towards them as the espresso machine sputtered to life. “70 years of psychological torture, brainwashing and restructuring is…” I whistled lowly. “Can’t find an easy fix for it, whether or not you live in Wonderland. But they’ll figure it out, yeah?”
Natasha’s face fell as she crossed her arms with the disapproving shake of her head. Steve simply sighed and turned away to hide his displeasure.
A partial scowl tugged on my lips. “What?”
“Do I even have to say it?” Nat asked, crossing the room in a few silent strides. Euck, freaky. I get she’s a spy or whatever, but that will never not scare me.
I shook my head. “No, keep it to yourself.”
Sam—appearing from God-knows-where—strolled up behind me. “Stop bein’ an asshole and help your damn sister, Stark,” he snarked, staring down at me with a pointed look. Honestly it felt quite emasculating, especially when he reached past my head to grab something.
I couldn’t stop the scoff that broke past my lips. Well I could, I just didn’t want to. “She doesn’t want my help. Trust me, I’ve tried,” I huffed and threw my hands up, palms out. Not happening. If I even think of helping her, she’ll somehow find out and will skin me alive. No thank you, my skin is just fine as it is. Sam stepped away, shaking his head with a frustrated half-smile.
An uncomfortable, disappointing silence filled the room. I drummed my fingers against the counter and glared down at the espresso machine. It let out a pathetic hiss as the last of the coffee trickled out from the spout and into my cup. I pulled it forward, peering into the rippling pool of dark brown liquid that could pass as sewer water. For a minute, I could’ve sworn I saw Lia between the wavelets.
Ok, no I didn’t. That’s dramatic.
But I may as well have because she was the only damn thing on my mind.
My head bobbed forward in defeat as I heaved a sigh. “I can feel America’s eyes of righteousness judging me.”
“It’s not just his,” Sam laughed. “I wish Grace could see Nat’s face right now. This is gold. FRIDAY, mind snappin’ a picture?”
Natasha glowered. Or at least I think she did. I was too busy staring at my reflection to really catch it.
“Tony,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Your sister needs you.”
I swallowed the half-baked lie I ingeniously procured. Ever since Ophelia left, she left a painful ache of a truth in her absence. My baby sister was holding a highly sensitive ticking time bomb in her hands. And as strong, smart, brave, and insanely powerful as Ophelia was—she didn’t have my hands. She had healer's hands. Hands that have pulled hundreds of lives out of the jaws of death and into her arms—safe and warm. Mine were hard, and calloused. I could hold that bomb and have it explode and it wouldn’t do jack shit. But Lia? God, it would destroy her. It would eat her alive. She would wonder and cry and ask why. Mull it over night after night until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.
She would kill herself with guilt.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I wouldn’t let that happen.
I met Natasha’s gaze and bit down on my cheek.
“Fine.” Stepping out of her grip, I picked up my cup of coffee and took a small sip. “Send me everything you got. Mission reports, sideways comments she made that sounded unimportant, any sort of files.” I wagged a finger at the brooding red-head and turned on my heel. “Milk her for information but be smart. Don’t let her catch on or she’ll come back and put us into family counseling.”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Steve muttered under his breath.
“Shut up,” I halfheartedly shot back.
Capsicle snorted, surprised. “That's all you got?”
“It’s honest work!” I set my cup down on the island and smacked a palm against his chest. “Gotta start somewhere, broody.”
His eyes followed me in a glare as I started off down the hall. “I don’t brood.”
“Really?” I spun to face him, walking backwards. “Because from my angle…”
“You can’t even reach the top of the shelf from your angle,” Sam laughed, shaking his head as I waved him off.
“Who made your wings again, Wilson?” I chimed.
He scoffed, jaw snapping shut as I smirked, turned around, and kept walking.
“Hey smart-ass! You forgot your coffee!”
I didn’t stop walking. Lia was more important than some cheap-brewed espresso.
Plus, somebody had to be the hero here, right?
