#marveliskindacool

You trail after the line of ducklings that make their way haphazardly to the boathouse, bags in hand. Your grip threatens to slip, hands growing increasingly clammy around the plastic handles. You shouldn’t have gone for the puffer. Today’s been one of those days where the morning breeze bites at your skin with razor sharp fangs, but the noon sun beats down on you with a sweltering heat. You should have shrugged it off, left it in the car, or something. Anything to ease your current discomfort. 

You’re so focused on the damp pooling on your lower back and the bead trickling down your temple that you barely even notice that you’ve crossed the doorstep; bumping into Steve gracelessly. 

It takes a moment for Eddie to notice you, exchanging breathless jabs with Dustin as he runs his hands through his hair in relief. You watch as his eyes skim over the group; Dustin, Robin, Max, Steve, and…

The surprise in his eyes is unmistakable as they finally come to a halt. The silence is deafening, you can practically hear their eyes turning to give each other looks as you stare. His round, brown eyes stay fixed on you, unblinkingly.

This was a mistake. You’ve prodded a bit too hard. Abort. Maybe the wound’s a bit too fresh because just looking at him, seeing him in front of you, hurts. Your sinuses begin to sting with that telltale burn that tells you that you’re about thirty seconds away from making an absolute embarrassment of yourself. 

"Relax, you don't have to talk to me, or whatever. Food's in the bag," you say blandly, pushing past Robin to dump the bags on the floor in front of him. One of the tins of SpaghettiOs rolls out from beneath its tarp, rolling across the bumpy floor and coming to an unceremonious halt as it hits the leg of a nearby table. You turn, trying to ignore the pained expression behind Robin’s eyes. She’s always been terrible at hiding how she feels. "I’m gonna wait in the car," you state, snatching Steve's keys as you pass him and head for the door.

You’ve spent many an hour in Steve Harrington’s passenger seat. Weekends, weekdays, early mornings, late nights… You can name every tape in the box and every track on it, know exactly where the seats dip and curve and how to jimmy the crank to roll the window down. But now, as you sit there, staring at the boathouse through blurry eyes, the 733i feels cold, empty, and foreign. 

You’ve been stewing in unprocessed grief, waterline prickling with unshed tears, though whether it’s come from a lack of blinking or a desire to cry, you don’t know. Perhaps it’s both. You’ve no idea how long you’ve been sitting here, either, but the harsh light has started to fade. Your legs ache, cramped from sitting in the seat for so long, but worsened by the hours you spent on your feet at Bradley’s last night. Business was slow; you dragged out the restocking of shelves for as long as you could mentally bear it. In the end, you just had to wait it out and go home. 

Which is what you’re doing right now. And it makes you angry because Steve was right, you didn’t need to come along. You could have just checked out the groceries for them with your discount and gone home. Robin, too; the way she kept looking at you with wide eyes full of concern should have tipped you off. In all honesty, you wanted to see him. You haven’t seen him since you saw him in the hall ten days ago, where he’d ignored your eyes hastily before deciding he should just get it over with. 

Yeah, hey, um… I don’t think we should hang out anymore.

He’d barely spoken to you in a week, dodging you at every opportune moment. After a few days, you got the hint and stopped trying to spot him in the crowd. Then he hit you with the punchline, and by then you were beyond caring. So beyond caring that it’s the only thing you’ve been able to think about for the past ten days because the reason it hurts so much is that you know he really likes you. You’re willing to bet your paycheck on it, even if it only is a measly eight dollars. You know the look of adoration in that man’s eyes. So what’s the fucking problem?

Sitting so still you think you might never move again, you ruminate. It stings in your chest and in your stomach. It makes you feel sick. You’re so out of it that the three short knocks against the driver’s seat window almost make you jump out of your skin. Your head snaps round as the object of your fantasies and your nightmares gives you a small, sad wave, mouth pressed into a grim line. The door clicks open.

“The fuck are you doing? Someone could see-”

“I don’t care,” Eddie grunts as he all but collapses into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. He mutters something under his breath, probably something about how low down the seat is compared to his van or how short Steve’s legs are.

The car feels a lot less empty now. It almost feels crowded.

“Gotta get some fuckin… air, I’m dying in that fuckin boathouse.” 

He sighs loudly as he gets settled, head leaning back heavily against the headrest. You blink, and repress the impulse to point out that this is probably the worst place in the vicinity to get fresh air. You can practically taste your breath on your tongue.

His tongue clicks unintentionally when he opens his mouth to speak. He’s not spared you a glance since he sat down, eyes fixed on the boat house. 

What the hell is he doing out here?

“Hey, man, I, uh…”

Oh, here we go. 

He trails off, and you’re torn between wanting to tell him to shut the hell up and desperately wanting to hear what he could possibly have to say. You fix your eyes on a tree in the distance. 

Fuck this. You reach for the handle and push the door open. You get one foot out the door when a firm hand grasps yours.

“Just… give me a minute,” he says quietly. 

Your lips purse, trying to quell the wobbling.

“I think you’ve had long enough.”

“Y/N, please.”

“You should get inside,” you say, ripping your hand out of his grip.

The fresh air that meets your skin is more than welcome as you stalk towards the shore. You hear a car door slam behind you and pick up your pace. It’s getting dark now, and you have to pay extra attention so you don’t trip. 

You reach the water’s edge, and you can go no further. The night air is heavy and humid, you can hear Dustin and Max squaring off about something or other in the boathouse. Their flashlights cast a yellow shine over the water’s surface, rippling in the dim light.

You sit down against a nearby tree trunk. Bringing your knees up, you hug yourself. 

You hear him before you see him, leaves rustling underfoot. 

“So…” he says, squatting down in front of you with his hands clasped, “turns out that being accused of being a cult leader, serial killer, and fugitive from the law kinda changes your perspective on things.”

You don’t humour him with a snarky comeback. Instead, you lean your head against the trunk and fix your eyes on the last sliver of daylight disappearing beyond the treetops.

“Please… say something.”

You sigh, looking back at him. His eyes are pleading. You know he’s not good at this sort of thing; frankly, he’s taking a huge step, and you know it’s a big deal, but you’re not really in the mood to give him a gold star for doing the bare fucking minimum. Even if it is the best that he can do.

“You’re such a wuss.” 

He doesn’t say anything, so you know he knows it’s true. 

“You’re such a wuss. What, you actually find yourself liking someone for a change, so you have to shut it down?”

“I know, I-”

“Well, what about me? What the fuck am I supposed to do, hang around and wait while you change your mind every two seconds?”

“N- you know that’s not what it’s about.”

“Then what is it about?”

Your words hang in the air, almost echoing, bouncing off the water’s surface. His voice is quiet and uncharacteristically small when he replies,

“I don’t know.”

It pains you, the knowledge that if you wanted to, you could forgive and forget right now, erase the whole breakup and the past horrible month from your mind and delude yourself. Bring it all back to the way it was, and pretend that he’s the same as he always was. 

The thought makes your nose sting, so you stand yourself up without sparing him so much as a glance. The others have left the boathouse; you can hear the thump, thump, thump of Dustin’s backpack as he bounds up a nearby hill. Max shouts something after him. 

A sharp cough makes you turn. Steve’s leaning against a nearby tree trunk, arms crossed. His eyes trail warily over to Eddie, a sceptical quirk in his brow. 

“Yeah, uh, we’ve gotta get outta here,” Steve says, turning back to you. 

“Yeah,” Eddie cuts in, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading for the path Steve just came down. “You guys better head.”

You hadn’t realised he’d stood up. You can’t stop the words from escaping before it’s too late.

“You’re not gonna stay in that shack by yourself all night, are you?”

You feel stupid, what did you think he was gonna do? It’s not like he’s swimming in options. But the way he’s standing, the way he’s got his hands in his pockets with his leather jacket and his muddy sneakers tugs at something in you. Last time you saw them, really looked at them, was about three and a half weeks ago; tossed messily on the burgundy shag carpet in your bedroom.

Eddie turns and opens his mouth to answer, but no words come out. There’s something, almost like a dejected apology in his eyes as he closes his mouth and shrugs. You purse your lips.

“You can’t stay there forever.”

Eddie clears his throat and drops his gaze to the ground.

“Yeah, well, now that I’m wanted for murder, I might as well add breaking and entering to the list.”

You eye him warily, despite Steve’s nervous shifting. He’s this close to snapping at you to hurry the fuck up, but you must really mean a lot to him because he’s being uncharacteristically nice to you today.

“Hey, look,” Eddie murmurs, closing the gap between you hesitantly, “just, uh… just let me figure some of this shit out, yeah? Then I’ll… I’ll figure…” He gestures between the two of you. “... this out.”

You glare at him, unaffected. 

“What’s left to figure out, you know what you want.”

“Please, please, just… I’m a bit fuckin’ stressed, here, sweetheart,” he laughs eerily, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He must be fucking terrified. “Just… give me ‘till this all dies down, okay? I’m pleadin’ for exceptional circumstances, here.”

Maybe he means it. You think he does. It’s better for your ego if he does, because it means he misses you. And the thought of him missing you fills you with such a deliriousness that it’s not healthy, and you can feel your odds of doing something stupid rising.

You sigh. You can almost hear Steve blinking beside you, eyes wide like a cartoon owl.

“Fine. Get this shit figured out and I’ll hear you out.” 

It takes a moment for your words to register with him, almost like he doesn’t believe you said them. Then he nods. Then he grabs your face between his hands and presses an almost violently hard kiss to your forehead. 

“On it.”

Then, he’s gone.

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes on the floor. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, before covering his face with his hands. You kept your gaze on the floor.

“When do you leave?” 

He looked at you, but you continued to look away.

“Depends how fast Coulson wants me. Should be gone within the week.”

There was a short pause.

“On whose initiative?” he asked quietly, as if he was afraid his voice would snap. “Yours… or Coulson’s?”

“I’d rather not say.”

He looked at you for a few more seconds, before exhaling quietly and looking to the floor.

“You’re not coming back, are you?” he asked, although it was more of a statement.

You swallowed thickly. You didn’t want to answer, and he must have figured it out, as he sighed.

“Come here, then.”

He pressed a short kiss to your lips, before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him, embracing you tightly. You mirrored his gesture, burying your face into his neck. He exhaled deeply and stroked your back gently, just like he always did. 

You sat there, breathing in his scent, feeling the tears begin to well in your eyes. Your throat threatened to close up, and you clutched him even tighter.

“Steve?” you mumbled. There was a pause.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t tell the team. At least not until I’m gone.”

He let out a soft breath.

“Alright,” he replied, although his voice was weak. He understood why you didn’t want to break it to them. They wouldn’t understand. He did.

“Y/N?” a voice sounded from down the hall. “Y/N?”

You reluctantly pulled away, clearing your throat, and avoided his gaze.

“I’d better…” you trailed off, gesturing to the hallway.

“Uh… of course,” he said, his voice shaky, despite his attempt at covering it up. 

You left him without another word, searching for Natasha, who must have been up and down the whole tower to find you.

21:30 PM

After entering the party at about nine o’clock, you had spotted Bruce by the bar and decided to keep him company. He wasn’t one for too big a crowd, and you decided you could both do with a sort of detox from whatever hell you both were going through.

Walking over to him, you seated yourself on the barstool beside him.

“You know, I never got to thank you properly for fixing my arm,” you said, causing him to turn around. A gentle smile graced his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. Glad I could help.”

You grinned, before ordering a drink for yourself.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“Nah, thanks. I’m all set,” he responded, raising his glass to you. You picked up your own glass and clinked it against his.

“To brighter days,” you said cheerfully, bringing the glass to your lips.

“To brighter days,” he repeated quietly, a smile on his lips, before taking a sip.

“So,” you said. “What’s new in the lab? Anything special going on?”

He chuckled uncomfortably and shifted in his seat.

“Uh, no. No, not really. Just… just tinkering around, seeing what happens when I mix one thing with another.”

You nodded.

“What’s new on the field front? I heard you had a bit of a rough week.”

You sighed and took a long sip from your drink.

“Yeah, you could say that. It’s a long story.”

“You doing alright?” he asked, his face lined with concern. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“I will be.”

He gave you a comforting nod, before clinking his glass with yours and downing the rest of its contents. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted a familiar face on the other side of the room. You gave them a smile, before turning to Bruce.

“But in all seriousness, Bruce, you’re a good friend. Thank you. And thank you for my arm.”

He gave you a bit of a weird look, but blamed it on your drink as he laughed.

“You too, Y/N. And you’re welcome.”

You gave him another smile, before pushing off your seat and crossing the room.

“Y/N!” Clint exclaimed, crushing you in a massive hug.

“Oomph,” you exclaimed, before pulling away. “Hey, Clint! Whoa,” you said, seeing the state of him. “Started the booze early, huh?”

He nodded.

“Definitely. Always. Every time.”

You chuckled.

“And he’s not the only one!” Tony exclaimed from your right. You found yourself in another bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, Tony!” you said, trying to ignore the fact that both of them were barely capable of standing. “How are you guys doing?”

“Great!”

And so you made your way around the room, engaging in simple, friendly conversation with your team members. 

Well, all but one. 

You didn’t want to let anything on, but you did want to casually tell them that they meant something to you. Maybe not explicitly, but you hoped they’d be able to pick up on the clues you were trying to leave. After Tony and Clint, you reached Natasha. Natasha must have realised something was up, because she was being oddly skeptical.

“You’re being unseasonably nice,” she had remarked, to which you had responded with a shrug.

And then there was Bucky. 

The poor guy had started drinking around midday, and was therefore completely and utterly hammered by the time you reached him. You didn’t even wanna know what type of shit he must have been drinking in order for it to have any effect whatsoever.

“You know,” he had said, sloppily wrapping an arm around your shoulders that nearly choked you. “I’m glad you came along.”

“Oh?” you had responded, trying to keep him upright.

“And I know, I know you didn’t like it,” he’d slurred, “But I think it told you a thing or two. Maybe now you’ll know what to do about that whole…”

He had trailed off, looking around. He was trying to be subtle, but it wasn’t really working.

“Steve-thing,” he’d whispered loudly. You nodded.

“You know, Buck? You’re right. Thank you. You’re my best friend, you know that?”

At this point, he had started tearing up. You had tried to keep him under control, but apparently he was in no state to receive compliments. After thanking you more times than you could count, he passed out on the sofa.

Sam was nowhere to be seen. You seemed to recall Bucky murmuring about some private business Sam had to take care of, but you didn’t protest. Thor had left before you came, determined to prove some old guy wrong about some sort of weight-lifting dispute. Lord knows, it was making your departure easier. 

Glancing at your watch, you started moving towards the exit. Through the window, you caught sight of a yellow taxi pulling up, and you took that as your cue.

You happened to look up, and accidently caught the eye of the one person you really didn’t want to deal with right now. Sighing, you cursed yourself on the inside. He was gonna wanna say something. He always did.

However, much to your surprise, he didn’t. He merely shoved his hands in his pockets and gave you an understanding nod. You returned it with an equally solemn nod, before pushing the door open and exiting the building.