♠️

Your leg bounced with nervous energy as you timidly occupied a chair in Tony’s lab, your hands wedged between your knees to keep yourself from picking at them. After a restless night of sleep and a morning of too much coffee, anxiety fizzled beneath your skin. Steve sat across from you at the small table Tony set up, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully look at him.

Embarrassment and shame quickly skewed your perception of the kitchen handshake. Somewhere between going to bed and being called down to Tony’s lab, you convinced yourself that you must have held Steve’s hand for upwards of ten minutes and made him so uncomfortable that at any minute he would resort back to hiking through the Alaskan forest again, rather than be forced to take shelter anywhere near you…

Your downward spiral landed you across from him, petrified to look up from your seat. Even an apprehensive glance from him would’ve been the final nail in your coffin. You’d rather just not know how he felt for now and keep your eyes on the table ahead.

Tony spun around the lab with chaotic purpose. Connecting adhesive sensors to colorful wires, mumbling some scientific, procedural monologue under his breath, clicking away on his keyboard. By the time he settled back into the cognitive pace of an average man, you and Steve each had eight wires connected to various spots on your foreheads and necks.

“You two ready for a little electro-shock therapy?” Tony quipped with a wiggled eyebrow. Your eyes shot up towards the crazed genius, hoping your silent pleads made it through his thick skull. You figured Steve reacted similarly because Tony spat out, “Relax, I’m kidding. God forbid someone experiences some joy around here.” He raised his hands innocently, but his exasperation was evident. 

Your eyebrows dropped but shoulders remained tense. Out of the corner of your eye, Steve shifted in his seat and prodded, “What’s all this about, Stark?” Tony hadn’t given you even an ounce of insight into why you and Steve were back down here aside from the trials he alluded to the previous night. You couldn’t help but count down the seconds until you could walk away from this table and not be faced by the witness of your humiliating exchange.

Tony wheeled over what looked like a high-tech baking sheet attached to a mechanical arm. The base of the contraption rolled under the table so the arm could arc around, allowing the ‘baking sheet’ to hover over the surface that separated you and Steve. As it slid into view, you could make out that the ‘baking sheet’ was actually a transparent screen, not unlike the tablet Stark often worked on. The screen displayed a variety of complex readings that were hard for you to decipher without context.

“I need to see how the serum and the toxin interact with each other beyond a few seconds of contact. Based on the biopsy, the serum takes more than a few minutes to neutralize the toxin. I still feel confident that the toxin won’t do any damage to Steve’s body, but I need to see it for myself. If I can capture enough of the symbiosis in action, I might be able to train a program to run more tests to better understand why the serum is aggressive towards the toxin and how it mitigates the toxin’s effects.

“This monitor can magnify advanced imagining beyond what an MRI or CT is capable of. Not only will I keep an eye on your vitals via this spaghetti junction,” he gestured dramatically at the tangle of wires winding to you and Steve, “but I can record the serum-toxin interaction in real time.”

You blinked and furrowed your brows, trying to wrap your head around the experiment Tony had laid out for you. Steve must have been working through a similar list of questions before he spoke up, “So, what do you need us to do?”

For the first time that day, you allowed yourself to look at him. His features were stoic, if not a little puzzled. You didn’t give yourself enough time to read into his expression, but while he didn’t seem thrilled to be sitting across from you, he didn’t seem too bothered either.

“In order to get what I need, you two should only need to maintain contact for about five minutes,” Tony stated matter of factly.

Your stomach flipped at the parallel to whatever happened between you and Steve last night. Maybe you should have just saved your handshake for this. At least then you could justify holding onto him for so long. All in the name of science, right?

“Five minutes? What do you expect us to do, Stark, sit here and hold hands?”  The irritation in Steve’s tone nipped at your self-esteem. 

“Well you could sit on her lap, for all I care, Rogers! I just need five minutes of contact. I’m sure you two can figure something out.” Tony hollered from across the lab while he strode back to his desk.

Much to your surprise, Steve dropped his volume and leaned towards you, “If this is too much, just say the word. I outrank him and can call this off without a second thought."

It hadn’t occurred to you that Steve’s irritation was less about his discomfort and more about yours. You had just been reintroduced to physical contact less than twenty four hours ago and now Stark is basically asking you to set a personal record. It warmed you to think that Steve actually wanted you to have a say in this.

But you would have been lying if you said you didn’t want the excuse to touch him again. Your hand still ached from the emptiness your handshake left behind. “No… No, it’s okay. I want to know what he finds. It’s worth it,” you managed. Finding an appropriate way to maintain contact could have proven difficult. To Steve’s point, sitting across from each other holding hands was a bit more romantic than either of you had bargained for. But anything beyond hand-to-hand contact felt equally, if not more, intimate.

The idea spilled out from your mouth before you could fully vet it. “I could read your palm?” you mumbled awkwardly. Steve dropped his chin and raised his eyebrows with curious suspicion. You couldn’t fault him for his reaction; your suggestion was rather out of the blue.

You shrugged, “You know, like palmistry? I read a book about it a couple months ago. It’s kind of a woo-woo, pseudoscience thing, but it would give us something to do for five minutes.” You weren’t sure where you found the nerve to defend your haphazard idea, but if this worked, at least you’d have something to look at for the duration of Tony’s scan.

Steve finally broke his silence and nodded, “No, I like it. I just want you to be comfortable.”

His sincerity loosened something within you. Something chained up and long forgotten. Something you weren’t sure you wanted to name.

“Tony, we’ve got it. Let us know when you’re ready,” Steve called over his shoulder, in Tony’s direction. 

The distance between Tony’s desk and your table-for-two wasn’t enormous, but enough to hold a conversation without feeling like Tony was a third wheel. The last thing you needed was Tony’s witty commentary on top of your amateur palm reading. 

He clicked away at his keyboard, tapped a few buttons on the large, glass computer screen ahead of him, and shouted in return, “Alright, showtime kids! Just be sure to make contact underneath the monitor”

A square of cool light was projected onto the table just below Tony’s monitor, creating a spotlight for your hands to be placed in. Steve smoothly placed his dominant hand ahead of him, into the light, and awaited your reading.

You were able to get a much better look at his hand than you could in the dim kitchen light. But your eyes hadn't deceived you, it was huge. His palm alone was probably as wide as a grapefruit and the fingers that branched off of it easily doubled the expanse it took up. It shouldn’t have surprised you how big they were, given the rest of him. Between his height and the span of his shoulders, strength practically dripped off of him. You wondered if the captain ever felt like his body was merely designed to be a weapon too. Big hands could hit wider targets, defeat stronger enemies and withstand deeper bruises.

But a part of you wondered what else his hands could do. What good things his hands could do. Your thoughts wandered back to where you left them the night before. How would a hand that big feel against your cheek? He could probably encircle your entire bicep with his grip. How far would the span of his fingers wrap around your throat?

You suppressed a choke at the thought and mentally scoffed at the irony. After shaking off the lewd image, you reached both of your hands forward into the light, cautiously meeting his hand on either side to better inspect his palm. With a deep breath, you picked up his hand and your fingers found their place beneath his knuckles, spreading your thumbs across his palm as if you were thoughtfully separating two wedges of an orange.

You felt the web of ligaments and tendons relax, like a flower meeting the morning sun, allowing you to manipulate it however you wished. The trust and submission from him was intoxicating. You drew your thumb along the curved line that spanned from the upper webbing of his thumb to the heel of his hand. “Okay,” you cleared your throat of any lingering nerves, “so this is your life line.”

Before you could continue, Steve interjected playfully, “Oh no. You’re not about to tell me how I’m gonna die, are you?” You had hoped to keep your eyes trained to the reading ahead, but his lighthearted tone was the nudge you needed to look up. His smile left your sternum aching. From the way the creases under his eyes deepened, to the stretch of his coral-pink lips, you almost had to avert your gaze again to keep your pulse at a reasonable rate. 

You chuckled at his concern, “No, it’s not that advanced, don’t worry. Your life line is supposed to symbolize your physical health. Yours is pretty long, so it means you are well-suited for a long life and good health, but it has a distinct break, here.” You paused your thumb’s tracing at the break nearly a quarter into his life line.

“The beginning of your life line is faint, meaning your health may not have been very strong in your early life. After the break, the line deepens which represents an improvement in health and vitality,” you finished tracing his life line once more.

Steve hummed in thought, inspecting your assessment, “Hmm, so maybe the serum was a part of my destiny all along?”

Shrugging, you offered a soft, “Maybe,” before moving along in your reading. “Your head line is next, in the middle of your palm. Looks like this one is long too and notably straight. I think that means you are logical and have a good memory?”

Steve chuckled, “You say that like you’re asking me.” His laugh was rich and reverberated amongst the fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile as you replied candidly, “Sorry, sorry! You’re my first reading and it’s been months since I read that book. Some people pay good money for this kinda stuff. This might be as good as a free reading can get!”

Quiet laughter filled the small space around you and you felt your anxiety relinquish its hold on your spine. Sitting across from Steve, joking and smiling, came naturally. It almost would have felt normal if it hadn’t been for the clinical setting and the collection of sensors adhered to each of you.

You giggled as you continued your botched reading, “Yours also starts below your pointer finger, right? Sorry it’s kinda hard to tell from upside down.” You angled your head to the side to get a better perspective. “Yeah, the head line beneath the pointer finger tells me… that you’re ambitious. I think?” 

When was the last time you smiled like this? Matching your amusement, Steve prodded you with amusement, “You sure you aren’t pulling my leg? This all seems a little vague.”

You laughed at his accusation, “It’s supposed to be vague! Who doesn’t want to be told that they’re ambitious and logical, you know? Besides, did you think I was just going to sit here and list off a bunch of character flaws?”

Steve smirked confidently, revealing his perfect teeth, “Doll, I think I’d let you call me a lazy moron if it meant you’d keep smiling like that.”

A flush diffused up your neck while you bit the inside of your cheek with a tempered smile. You forced a deep breath into your lungs to steady yourself, but it was too late.

“Hey Cap, you wanna cool it on the smooth talking? You’re skewing her vitals,” Tony scolded from across the lab causing a mirroring flush to overtake Steve’s face. If you hadn’t quite literally been under a microscope, you would have pulled your hands away to hide your face in them. Seeing him sheepishly look up at you, having been caught in the act, alleviated some of your own embarrassment. 

Was he flirting with you, or just being nice? Your experience with courtship and romantic pursuits were limited to the books and movies you indulged in. Jane Austen didn’t do a great job at preparing you for modern-day flirting. You never pictured yourself as the captivating protagonist the brooding man would helplessly fall for.

Once your stammering heart calmed, you rectified softly, “For the record, I’d never call you that.” Turning your attention back to his hand, you felt his fingers twitch upward, brushing against the inside of your wrist. It could’ve easily been involuntary, but the spark behind his eyes made his intention clear. The pads of his thick fingers dusted across your skin with a tenderness you didn’t know he was capable of. Chills erupted across your back and stirred the storm of nerves in your stomach. 

You wanted to believe that his touch was merely an accident, because what were you supposed to do if it wasn’t? Was there a ball now in your court that you were supposed to reciprocate? Were you reacting like this because it was his touch, or was it just the first time you’ve been touched with such care in years? It alarmed you how quickly your thrill morphed into trepidation. One second your heart was racing, the next it splintered like a window on the verge of shattering.

Maybe he had caught the thoughts swirling behind your features, because he softly urged, “I know you wouldn’t. Keep going.”

“Right,” you managed a smile, albeit disheartened, “Last is your heart line.” Once more you drew your thumb along his palm, tracing the line that began beneath his middle finger and spanned towards his pinky. “Yours starts pretty close to your head line, which means you’re likely good at recognizing the influence your emotions have on your decisions. And it’s curved so you might be more sensitive to the emotions of others around you.”

You admired Steve for trying to keep the spark of your conversation from earlier alive. “What, no romantic predictions for me? C’mon, doesn’t it say where I’ll find my soulmate?” he joked.

Despite the haze that clouded your thoughts, a chuckle escaped you. “If it were that easy, I’m pretty sure someone would have already turned that into a monetized service. Free reading, remember?” You raised an eyebrow, playing along with his inquiry, “I guess you’ll just have to find your soulmate the old fashioned way.”

“I guess so,” Steve conceded with a confident smile. His gaze reignited the crackling heat beneath your skin, as if a simmering flame snaked through your veins. There was almost certainly a message woven between his words but you didn’t have time to interpret it.

Tony hollered once more across the lab, still clicking away at his keyboard, eyes glued to his screen, “That’s a wrap! You may reassume your positions, or whatever, I don’t care.” The scan concluded but neither you nor Steve jumped at separating your hands. By the five minute mark, your fingers had absorbed a comfortable warmth from his body heat. If the previous night had taught you anything, it was that as soon as you let go, your fingers would feel almost frostbitten.

But he might have been waiting for you to let go. After all, you were holding one of his hands with both of yours. To even the playing field, you first removed your non-dominant hand from his, pulling it back to your lap. But you clearly hadn’t thought that move all the way through. You were left with your remaining hand cradling his upturned one while your thumb still rested in his palm. If the context had been different, it might have been a sweet display of affection. That certainly hadn’t been your intention, so you skittishly released his hand and rested yours on the edge of the table, fingernails picking at some invisible blemish on the surface.

You averted your eyes in Tony’s direction as he approached you two, but not before catching a glimpse of the captain’s suppressed smirk.

“I should have what I need,” Tony stated as he helped remove some of the sensors from your neck. “I’ll put some hours into the diagnostic program and keep you posted on what I see. Regardless, I think it’s safe to say that Steve is immune. To the negative effects, at least!”

Any lingering sparks beneath your skin from the moment between you and Steve were effectively snuffed out. You couldn’t make any sense of Tony’s words. In a quiet puzzlement, you asked, “What do you mean ‘negative’ effects? Aren’t all of the effects negative?”

Freed from his own set of sensors and wires, Steve stood at the other end of the table, but stilled in response to your question. You had hoped to find some solidarity in his features; proof that he was just as confused by Tony’s statement as you. But his stern look at the mega-genius told you something much worse. They both knew something about you; something you didn’t even know about yourself. And despite Tony’s statement implying the existence of positive effects, neither of them looked particularly pleased to share the news that followed.

Steve released a heavy sigh that left a pit in your stomach. “Come on, Tony. She has to know,” he quietly insisted. 

You could hardly endure the pity written all over the captain’s face. Tony, on the other hand, seemed to be looking for anything to occupy his gaze if it meant he didn’t have to face you. His guilt was nearly palpable, and every second in silence left you feeling like you were either going to scream or throw up.

“Know what? Can someone please say someth…”

“I have your file.” Tony loudly admitted, cutting off your final plea. He had been tinkering with a sensor, but gave up on the distraction once the floodgate had been opened. With closed eyes, he released a breath like he had accepted his fate. No turning back.

“What?” your confusion surged; anger and frustration threatening to spike with it if you didn’t get more information in the following seconds.

Tony’s eyes met yours, and you saw the regret in his eyes instantly. “Your Hydra file. I have it. Or at least part of it. But I’ve… I’ve always had it. I found it the day we found you.”

Your mouth hung agape; it was hard to find anything nuanced to say beyond another, “What?”

Tony and Steve exchanged a glance that seemed to encapsulate an entire argument you weren’t privy to. It was hard to gauge in the few seconds of silence, but it appeared Steve had won. Tony moved in front of the super soldier to grab the chair Steve sat in no more than five minutes ago, and swung it to your side of the table so he could sit directly in front of you. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, Tony looked you square in the eyes before he spoke again.

“I found part of Hydra’s file on you and I kept it from you. I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry. If it had any information that would have truly improved your quality of life, you would have been the first to know, but…” Tony faltered. 

You were able to at least connect the dots far enough to finish his sentence, “But it didn’t. So what did it say?”

Tony’s brows furrowed, as if he was foolishly hoping you wouldn’t even bother asking. Behind him, Steve dropped his head, averting his eyes to the floor.

“The file covered your clinical notes as a hostage. Medical records. Experiment logs. Theories around your condition. I was able to learn a lot about your initial procedure and how they attempted to reconcile their errors. But around the same time they gave up on correcting the failed experiment, they made another discovery,” Tony bravely continued to meet your gaze as he came clean.

“Whenever you were being transported between the labs and your holding cell, you would attract some... attention from the handful of experimental super soldiers in the facility. It only took them four tests to verify that their super soldiers were not only involuntarily drawn to the neurotoxin, they were also immune to any tactile effects.”

You were grateful for the brief pause in his explanation to start processing the details. Although the information wasn’t entirely new, given what you had learned through the incident with Steve, it left you wary of your friendship with Tony. He had lied. For thirteen years, he insisted he couldn’t find Hydra’s file on you. For thirteen years, he neglected to tell you that there was a loophole to your condition.

Dropping your head into your hands, as if the number of questions added literal weight beneath your skull, you managed to get out, “So you knew that he…”

Tony sighed, understanding your meaning. “Yeah, I knew that Steve had a high likelihood of survival based on Hydra's findings." He paused and scraped his jaw roughly with his palm, as if he could physically scour away some of his guilt with the short scruff of his beard.

"And… and I’m not surprised that he’s taken a liking to you.” Shame shadowed his features following the last confession.

“Jesus, Tony.” Steve scoffed, turning away from the pair of you to aimlessly pace the rest of the lab. Tony managed to ignore the captain’s spiteful tone, and instead stayed focused on you as you processed the latest round of emotional bombs. 

Embarrassment snaked around each side of your rib cage, evenly coating the rungs in its sticky, nauseating ache. You had hardly allowed yourself enough optimism to believe that Steve may have been interested in you, but there was something quite freeing about the way he made you feel over the last few days. Like you were more human than mutant. Like you were worthy of something more than this.

But to think, none of that was genuine…

Before you could wallow in the wake of emotions, you croaked, “So, just to make sure I understand. When you implied that there are negative and positive effects of the neurotoxin… The positive effects are basically just involuntary attraction, exclusive to super soldiers?”

“I mean when you put it that way,” Tony struggled through his own discomfort, “Yeah, it’s not much better, is it?”

A heavy lull blanketed the room and no one could remain still amidst the lingering tension. Steve continued to pace with his eyes still averted from you, either deep in thought or attempting to dissociate from the situation entirely. Tony shifted in his seat, alternating between which foot should be propped on the opposite knee, accepting defeat on either side.

You attempted to channel as many emotions as you could distill into the havoc you wreaked on your fingernails. No miniscule imperfection stood a chance against your thumb and forefinger. 

It almost felt silly to get so worked up about this. It’s not like you expected your time with Steve to lead to anything serious, right? He’d be staying in your space for a week tops and then you’d likely never hear from him again. A minor blip in your routine, like last month's shipment delay.

And so what if super soldiers were immune to your neurotoxin? What does that really change for you? There’s such a small number of them in the world, and anything they ‘feel’ for you is just a byproduct of your chemistry. It’s not real. Just another sick joke from the universe. 

It’s easier to convince yourself that you’re meant to be alone like this. There are no loopholes for you.

As you minimized the news down to a metaphorical pill you could swallow, you looked back at Tony who was practically vibrating with nervous anticipation. It felt cruel to make him sit in his guilt any longer. He’d only been trying to protect you from a truth that, like he said, wouldn’t really improve your quality of life.

You forced a smooth breath to reset your nervous system and calmly spoke, “Thank you for telling me. I forgive you.” You even surprised yourself with a partial smile. “If it’s okay with you two, I’d like some time alone.”

The two men nodded, a little stunned at your shift in demeanor. “O-of course, take all of the time you need,” Tony sputtered.

As you rose swiftly from your seat and started towards the staircase, you called, “And Steve?” He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher. Something pained and confused.

“I’m sorry, if I’ve made you uncomfortable at all during your time here.” You nodded and turned up the stairs, leaving the stiff lab behind, before Steve could find a single word to call back.

Notes: We are so back :) Also some timeline clarifications... The fic takes place in present day and reader is in her late twenties. She was rescued by Tony in 2012 when she was 16 years old, so 13/14 years ago.

Shame and self-hatred swirled beneath your ribs as you paced across your bedroom with burning eyes. You couldn’t believe you ran out of the lab like some scared puppy; how embarrassing. Tony was just trying to be nice and celebrate Steve’s health, but you had to go and make it about yourself. You had tried to tamp the emotions down, but the thought of Steve wrapping up your burn was too much.

It was hard enough to process the way he grabbed your arm in the kitchen. His grip was so firm, but the gentleness is what really surprised you. He didn’t want to hurt you, he wanted to come to your aid. The urgency alone would have been overwhelming if you hadn’t already been laden with fear that he was going to die. The last time someone blindly attempted to help you like that was when Tony blew open the door on your Hydra cell. But they didn’t know what kind of damage you could do. Steve did and he grabbed you anyway.

You wiped at your eyes harshly only to wince when the motion stretched the raw skin of your palm. It had started to blister and tighten in a way that allowed yourself to be distracted by. Burned layers separated from the surface, pulled away by a bubble of fluid meant to protect the skin underneath. The friction of the damaged skin against the healthy layers would only cause more harm, so it was better to separate them until the epidermis inevitably dies and can be safely peeled away. Maybe you were like those burned layers; a damaged member of society that will only cause more harm than good. Maybe the ‘blister’ you were given was the second chance Tony gave you; an opportunity to survive for a bit longer, separated from the rest of the world, until you fade into the ether. 

You hardly had the energy to wallow in that thought, so you reserved it for bandaging up your hand with aloe and gauze.

While lying in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling, the weight of your new reality sank down on your chest. 

Maybe you weren’t a weapon? Not entirely.

There was at least one person in this world that could survive you. Maybe there was even something human about you. Something good about you. 

It had been over a decade since your rescue. Those first few years were spent adjusting and grieving the loss of any remaining normalcy you had hoped for. No longer a captive, but still not free. No longer treated like a threat, but still not completely treated like a civilian. And somehow, you were more isolated than ever. At least as a Hydra prisoner you saw the occasional guard or officer. But you grew to find comfort in the isolation Tony provided for you.

Being alone was safe and predictable. You were the only variable in the equation. Your routine was consistent, like a steady, unwavering drumbeat. If you wanted to change the routine, you had the autonomy to do so. But it would rarely change without your permission. Sure, occasionally a supply shipment would arrive late or a string of code would contain an error. Those blips kept the days from blurring together entirely. But you never had to worry about someone else’s safety or comfort.

After being alone for so long, you were forced to find the redeeming qualities of isolation. There was no point in spending your days longing for human connection. Pretending like that would ever be a reality would just add salt to your collection of wounds. But now…

Maybe you weren’t entirely alone?

That pill was much harder to swallow. The lump in your throat threatened to bring a wave of tears back to your eyes, but your head was already pounding from your emotions earlier. To distract from the oncoming grief, you kicked the covers off and padded down to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

You liked how quiet it was at night. It felt like the universe hung in limbo overnight, like the stillness transcended the physical. Time and energy hovered peacefully. It felt almost cruel to disrupt it with the light ping of the glass you pulled from the cupboard and the hiss of the faucet running.

Sipping away the remaining lump in your throat, you sighed. The chill of loneliness lurked in the back of your mind. You wouldn’t call it an old friend, but you knew it well enough to sense it from a mile away. Time and routine had severed the bond between you and loneliness. Once a familiar face, now more of a toxic ex. Life was better when you ignored it; when you accepted that your life would always be isolated like this. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by soft footsteps. They appeared so suddenly, you didn’t have the chance to consider the state of yourself. You peeked over your shoulder to identify your company and sniffled the moisture in your nose away. Once you caught Steve’s figure approaching through the dark, you turned back towards the sink.

Shit, you thought.

You hadn’t seen your reflection since wrapping up your hand, but you figured your face was still splotched and puffy. Maybe you could evade any small talk and excuse yourself.

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your way,” you managed. Your voice was rough after not using it for hours and you hoped Steve didn’t catch how you cringed at the abrasiveness.

“Hey, woah, it’s okay. You’re not in my way. I just came down to apologize… for the second time,” Steve spoke quietly, followed by a chuckle. The day had blurred from the chain of events. You could hardly believe his apology in your bedroom was just earlier that day. You hated that he felt the need to apologize to you again. That he felt like you deserved it.

You turned towards the center of the kitchen and timidly took him in. He wore a white t-shirt and loose navy sweatpants. It was disarming to see him in a drowsy, relaxed state. One of the world’s greatest superheroes was in your kitchen, in his pajamas. His figure was almost intimidating. The t-shirt clung to his muscled form, highlighting his strength and size. He was towering. It sent a chill down your spine, but not one of fear. 

You caught yourself staring so you averted your gaze to pick at your cuticles and replied, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Steve. You were just doing the right thing, I’d never fault you for that. If I hadn’t been careless and burned myself, it wouldn’t have snowballed into such a big scare. If anything I should be apologizing to you.”

He chuckled again, even softer than the first. “Then it looks like we’re both a little stubborn when it comes to forgiving ourselves. Tell you what. Why don’t we agree to disagree? If I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for, and you don’t think I have anything to be sorry for, it cancels out, right?”

It was an endearing way to look at the stalemate. You hinted at a smile, feeling relieved that he was willing to skip the back and forth apologies. “I guess I can live with that,” you agreed.

“Great, it’s a deal,” he softly announced with a smile. You appreciated that he kept his volume low, so as to not upset the night’s stillness. But his extended hand took you by surprise. Your breath caught and you nearly took a step back.

Your voice, tinged with concern, broke the lull of silence, “What are you doing, Steve?”

“It’s just a handshake, Y/N. I can handle it.” He said it with such gentle confidence, it should have frightened you. He meant it with his whole heart. But could you handle it? It wouldn’t kill him, but what would it do to you? Your thoughts halted when your eyes locked with his. The dim yellow light of the kitchen glinted against his ashen blue irises. You wished for the confidence to step closer to admire them, but instead your pulse surged and you dropped your gaze back to his hand.

Even his hand looked masculine. You couldn’t understand how an appendage with no major muscle groups could appear strong. Long, thick fingers stretched from his wide, calloused palm, built from decades of combat and heroics. Your fingers twitched and clenched at the thought of what those callouses would feel like against your own palm.

That was new. You couldn’t recall a time when you allowed yourself to wonder what someone else felt like. Hair, muscle, skin. It was all off limits, until now.

Before you allowed yourself to reconsider, you lifted your hand to the open spot across from his. Another beat of silence passed and you looked up as his eyes softened with a smile.

“You’re sure?” you asked. A part of you hoped he would back out. At least then you could convince yourself that any disappointment you felt was actually just relief. 

But he remained calm and unfazed, “You can’t hurt me, Y/N.” 

Those words ignited something beneath your skin. Something crackling and warm. Something so foreign it almost brought tears to your eyes. But it drew you in further. You brought your hand to his, breath held in your lungs, and cautiously wrapped your fingers around the bottom edge of Steve’s palm, fully gripping his hand.

What surprised you most was the warmth. It sounded so obvious, but after going years without touching another living creature, you forgot how much heat another body can produce. There’s something primal about it. Like you could sense the warm blood coursing just beneath the surface. If your mind hadn’t been racing at a mile per minute, you might have paused to feel his pulse between your joined hands.

He didn’t overwhelm the handshake with any force or unwarranted strength. Steve simply held your hand as you did his. He may have initiated some movement to resemble a handshake, you didn’t know. You were too distracted by the endless thoughts populating in your head.

His hand is so much bigger than mine. It’s heavier than I expected it to be.

His thumb is resting on the back of my hand. 

When was the last time someone touched the back of my hand?

Why does it feel nice? More than nice?

Why don’t I want this to stop?

What would his hand feel like on my arm?

On my neck?

On my…

You mentally shook yourself when your thoughts headed towards uncharted territory. You hoped the dim kitchen light didn’t call attention to the flush that bloomed across your cheeks. The contact was so tame, so benign, you felt embarrassed that your thoughts took it to such an indecent place.

You grounded your thoughts in simpler matters. It had been decades since you truly felt someone else’s skin. Something so human, yet so unique to the individual. Every bump, scar and wrinkle was one of a kind. Steve palm had ridges of hard callouses, but the rest of his hand was remarkably soft. It took all of you to keep your other hand at your side and resist the urge to tug his hand towards you and shamelessly admire it. 

Instead you gaped, “I forgot what it felt like.”

“A handshake?” Steve asked. 

You kicked yourself for letting your half-formed thoughts trickle out of your mouth. But you couldn’t stop the flow you had started. With a light chuckle at Steve’s question you corrected, “No. Skin. I forgot how soft it is.”

As the realization tumbled out, your curiosity got the best of you. Your thumb caressed over the back of his hand, relishing in the landscape. His skin was smooth but the terrain beneath the surface intrigued you. You could feel the subtle ridges of bones, ligaments and veins as your thumb swept across the expanse. Something about it felt invigorating; you didn’t want the moment to end. 

But when you spotted the goosebumps cropping up on his extended arm, shame sank like lead in your gut. You pulled your hand back as quickly as Steve’s grip would allow and stammered, “Oh god, I’m so sorry. That was too much.”

Steve managed to cut your oncoming ramble short, “Hey, no no no. None of that was too much. It felt… good. Gave me chills, I guess.” His gaze was earnest and perhaps a little embarrassed as well. Your insides twisted at the thought that you made him uncomfortable. You frowned slightly, wishing you could excuse your behavior, and remarked, “It’s kinda surreal. I’ve spent so much time thinking I’d never get to shake someone’s hand again. I didn’t realize I missed it.”

Your gaze caught his hand one last time, which had returned to his side and hung loosely. Unbothered by the exchange despite how groundbreaking it felt to you. Yours had been pulled back towards your navel, clenched softly and relishing in any lingering senses. 

As the memory of his touch faded like cooling embers, it was replaced by an alarmingly cold emptiness. Emptiness that felt like a close relative of the loneliness from earlier. Maybe shaking Steve’s hand wasn’t a good idea. What were you supposed to do once he left and went back to saving the world? Daydream over a fucking handshake? You nearly laughed at how pathetic that sounded.

Steve’s voice kindly interrupted your internal pity party. “How’s the burn holding up?” he asked.

“Honestly, I kinda forgot about it. It probably looks worse than it feels,” you admitted. It was the truth; you had forgotten about the burn thanks to the sensory overload brought on by that handshake. You didn’t want to call any more attention to yourself for the night and hoped he would drop it.

“Well if there’s anything I can do to help, don’t be afraid to ask. Changing bandages on your dominant hand can be a pain. Tony’s offer still stands, if you need it.” Steve’s words were so sweet they made your ribs ache. If it weren’t for the sincerity etched into his features, you would’ve thought he was kidding. Captain America was offering to change your bandages? Maybe that was just his way of being nice. He probably offers his assistance to everyone. You could chalk it up to his heightened chivalry from the serum.

Regardless you nodded, hoping to skirt around his courtesy, and retrieved your water. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll let you know. You should get some sleep,” you urged.

“Right. Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, eyes searching for yours once more. When they connected, you desperately held onto a sigh that threatened to escape. How could a shared glance feel like it had the power to lift a decade of despair off of your shoulders? Once you returned his ‘goodnight,’ you couldn’t tell if you missed the handshake or the eye contact more.

Notes: Sorry again for one hell of a wait. I kinda lost the plot on this and needed to figured out where to take it.

The way you looked at him, the horror in your eyes, left a pit in his stomach. You feared death in such a unique way. Like every life you took was a vase you accidentally knocked over or a plate that slipped out of your hands. None of them were intentional, but they shattered nonetheless. After a while one might begin to believe it truly is their fault.

As Tony’s findings grew optimistic, you sank in on yourself. If Steve thought he had a healthy dose of mental shit to sort through after today, he suspected you had at least twice as much. He wasn’t surprised when you excused yourself following Tony’s celebratory outburst.

“…Wha… what did I do?” Tony genuinely looked lost after you made it to the top of the stairs. The trio heard your steps pad across the floor above them.

“Tony,” Steve started, a little irritated that he had to spell this out for a grown adult, “Not only is it bad enough to think someone is going to die because of you, but don’t you think it’s pretty life-altering to learn that there’s a loop hole to the irreversible mutation that was forced on you?”

Several beats of silence passed. Tony’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to put himself in your shoes, “I thought she’d be happy.”

Steve continued, “Happy? She’s spent a big part of her life being treated like a weapon, not to mention a hostage and a human lab rat. She’s watched dozens of people die by her hand. And once she was “rescued,” her only option to live was to seclude herself away from humanity.

“Her only association with human touch is death. There’s no way she’s ready for me to casually wrap up that burn like it’s nothing. Hell, me grabbing her wrist probably felt worse than the burn!” Steve had a hand to his forehead as he worked through his tangent.

He sighed and finished his defense, “It’s probably been, what, fifteen years since she’s been able to touch someone without killing them. This is going to take time, and we owe her some patience.”

Tony looked like he was practically holding his words behind his teeth. Like a dog who was caught with a dead animal in its mouth - reluctant to let it go, but ashamed it was there in the first place.

“What?” Steve inquired.

“What? Nothing! Nothing.” Tony quickly deflected and turned back to his lab station.

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked over at Wanda to confirm that Tony was acting strange. She glared with suspicion.

“You know something,” Steve accused, “What do you know, Tony?”

Tony muttered, his back still turned to them, “I-... I just thought this would go differently.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Wanda chimed in with a slightly gentler tone.

Tony wavered then spun around. “I just thought introducing you two would turn out to be a good thing for her. She’s so… isolated out here. She deserves something good, you know?”

Steve’s gaze was locked on Tony as he put the pieces together. But once he started to see the direction this was going, he couldn’t believe his own theory.

“Stark, don’t tell me you knew this was going to happen,” Steve pleaded.

“Knew what?” Wanda hadn’t quite caught onto Steve’s theory.

Tony let out a heavy sigh. He opened his mouth but the words were reluctant to come out. “I was hoping we wouldn’t even have to go over this…”

“You did find her file, didn’t you? What did it say, Tony?” Steve continued to pry.

The tension clung to every surface of the room like humidity. Every breath felt as unsatisfying as the last.

“Hydra had already discovered that super soldiers were immune.” Tony forced out.

“…and you kept that from her?” Steve asked, but he was more or less filling in the blanks. If you had known, you wouldn’t have been filled with even half as much dread that evening. The remorse was practically dripping off of you in the lab.

Tony was cornered and started to defend himself, “Of course I kept it from her, Rogers. Do you know how Hydra discovered they were immune? Huh? It wasn’t just some happy accident! No. They were having trouble keeping the latest super soldier experiments away from her. That neurotoxin? Yeah, it’s like a drug to you lot,” Tony sneered. “Something about the serum and the neurotoxin are like yin and yang - polar opposites, but fit together like two sick and twisted puzzle pieces.”

Steve thought Tony was done there, but he kept rambling, “And you know what those sick fucks had planned for her?” He gestured his finger upwards as if he was pointing at you through the walls of the bunker. His tone grew more intense, laced with angry sarcasm, “If you can’t keep the super soldiers away, you might as well let them at her! Who knows, she might be able to produce a super soldier spawn! Who needs to mass produce the serum when you have a perfectly good incubator on your hands?!”

Steve’s stomach turned.

They were going to use you for breeding super soldiers..

Your neurotoxin was like an exclusive pheromone to super soldiers and only they could survive your touch.

Is that why he felt drawn to you? Perhaps there wasn’t anything human or genuine about it. It was just a coincidence born out of artificial bioengineering. But it felt so real. It felt like more than just some primal urge.

He would revisit that later. Right now he needed to focus on the information you were owed. You deserved to know what Tony was keeping from you. Wanda beat Steve to the punch.

“Stark, you have to tell her,” Wanda insisted.

“And why would I do that? To make her even more miserable? To dehumanize her a little bit more? No, no fucking way,” Tony retorted. His tone was soaked in rage and heartbreak. Steve could tell Tony truly cared about you. He wanted to protect you from SHIELD, Hydra, and even the truth about your captivity.

Steve attempted to find a road forward from there. Tony didn’t want to tell you the full truth about your time with Hydra, which was justified. It was awful and would likely leave you with even more unresolved trauma.

But if human contact was important to you, knowing now that you could have it, was it worth letting you in on the horrors Hydra had in store for you? Ultimately you deserve to know why they were tracking you down.

A remaining gap in the story occurred to Steve, “So did you bring us, me, here on purpose? You didn’t plan that crash, did you? That would be insane, even for you,” Steve jabbed.

“I’m not in the business of crashing my multimillion dollar state-of-the-art jets, so no Cap, I did not plan this little visit,” Tony defended. “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about you, or even Barnes, since learning about the loophole. Like I said, I just want her to be happy. She’s all alone out here, it’s no way to live. Maybe you could, I don’t know… help her take a step towards some normalcy,” Tony almost pleaded.

Would she even want to take steps towards ‘normalcy’? And if she did, what would that look like?

Before Steve could retort, Tony asked earnestly, “Have you felt it? Whatever power the neurotoxin has over you?”

Steve flushed and crossed his arms. He didn’t want to admit it now that he knew it was something out of his control. Something that might not be from his heart.

“Yes. But it doesn’t feel like some… aphrodisiac. I just… I just like her. I want to be around her,” he confessed.

“Okay good cuz I didn’t wanna be the one to bring it up but you’ve been making googly eyes at her these last two days and I can almost hear the swarm of butterflies in your stomach from across the lab,” Tony smirked. Wanda chuckled from her end of the lab, affirming that she had caught on too.

Steve scoffed, looking away, embarrassed that he’d been so obvious. Had you already noticed?

“I still think we should sleep on it; whether or not we tell her the full story,” Wanda suggested.

Tony clapped once and pushed away from his station, “I like the way you think Maximoff. I’m pretty good at sleeping on things.” After working with Tony for years, Steve knew that he lets his sense of humor take over when he’s approaching his emotional limit. Instead of pushing further, he took the opportunity to turn in and be alone with his thoughts.

Steve laid awake in bed and listened to the small noises emanating from the kitchen. He knew it was you. You had tried to be quiet, slowly opening your door and softly padding down the stairs. But it’s hard for him to ignore little sounds, especially when he knew they were coming from you.

He had gone back and forth in his head over whether he should go down and join you. Perhaps you still wanted to be alone after everything that happened. But he felt like that would be the best time to apologize for grabbing you, for kickstarting an awfully chaotic night.

The latter felt like the honorable thing to do. Take ownership for his actions and make amends. It didn’t take much more convincing beyond that. Steve was halfway out of his bedroom door the second he gave himself permission to be around you.

Rounding the corner, Steve found you with your back facing him, while you filled a glass of water at the sink. He cleared his throat and took a couple firmer steps to make his presence known.

You turned over your shoulder with glossy eyes and a small sniffle. He felt his heart cave in on itself at the sight. You quickly returned your attention to the sink, took a sip of water and set the glass aside.

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your way,” you mumbled.

He kept his volume not much higher than yours, “Hey, woah, it’s okay. You’re not in my way. I just came down to apologize… for the second time,” Steve let a bitter chuckle escape once he realized that his apology for the hallway incident was earlier that day.

When you turned your figure away from the sink and towards him, as he was rounding the kitchen island, he caught the remnants of pain clinging to your features. Under the dim, yellow lights, your eyelids appeared heavy and swollen; you looked so tired. He felt an overwhelming desire to hold you. To give you permission to let go and let someone else carry the load for a while.

You looked down at your hands, like you had done at the dinner table the other night, and deflected, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Steve. You were just doing the right thing, I’d never fault you for that. If I hadn’t been careless and burned myself, it wouldn’t have snowballed into such a big scare. If anything I should be apologizing to you.”

Even while his heart was aching at the sight of you, a soft laugh escaped from his throat anyway, “Then it looks like we’re both a little stubborn when it comes to forgiving ourselves. Tell you what. Why don’t we agree to disagree? If I don’t think you have anything to be sorry for, and you don’t think I have anything to be sorry for, it cancels out, right?”

You sniffled and cracked a hint of a smile, which Steve considered a small victory. With a sleepy nod you agreed, “I guess I can live with that.”

“Great, it’s a deal,” Steve grinned and stuck out his hand with a surge of confidence. This was taking a step towards normalcy, right? Just a simple handshake.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his hand, but he stood firm. If he was going to help her re-acclimate to human contact, he needed to be unwavering. Although his heart stuttered, he did not allow his hand to flinch.

“What are you doing, Steve?” You asked softly.

“It’s just a handshake, Y/N. I can handle it,” he assured, catching your gaze to affirm his sincerity. Looking into your eyes felt like the most intimate thing he had done in years. The hairs on the back of his neck stood and his chest flushed.

Your heart rate picked up just before you looked down at his hand, still held between you.

He hadn’t noticed your burned hand had been bandaged until he watched your fingers twitch at your side and clench into a soft fist. There was a significant part of him that did want to take Tony up on his secondhand offer and do that for you. It must be tiring to always be the one to pick up your own pieces when you fall apart.

If he had thought a handshake would be too much for you, he wouldn’t have attempted it so soon after everything transpired. But if he had learned anything about you in the past two days, it’s that you are brave, resilient and just the right amount of stubborn. He almost revealed a smirk when you lifted your bandaged hand and slowly aligned it with his.

Although he knew you were capable of taking this step, he had no intention of rushing you in the moment. He would have left his hand outstretched for you all day, if that’s what you needed. Your eyes darted back up to his and it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“You’re sure?” you asked with apprehension welling in your eyes.

“You can’t hurt me, Y/N,” he spoke as steadily as his heart would let him. The heat of your bandaged palm radiated across that inch of space you left between your hands. He hadn’t expected your body heat to make him go dizzy.

If making eye contact with you felt intimate, that handshake was sinful. He knew how crazy he had to be to consider a handshake anything but cordial. The exhilaration nearly clouded his senses but he was determined to appreciate the moment. When he grabbed your arm earlier, he was so rash and careless, it was over before he could even comprehend it.

Your features projected a dozen emotions at once and he felt like it was his duty to study each one. It had to be foreign to you, to be in contact for this long. Steve wasn’t even sure how long it had been since you two connected hands, but he wasn’t in any hurry to let it end and he certainly wouldn’t be the first to break contact.

“I-...” your voice crackled, “I forgot what it felt like,” You appeared awestruck.

“A handshake?” Steve asked.

You breathed out a laugh with a small puff of air, “No. Skin. I forgot how soft it is.”

Steve couldn’t remember a time when someone considered his hands soft, but he had no intention of arguing that with you. You could have called his hands ghastly and he would’ve wholeheartedly agreed. That feeling in his chest pulled again when your thumb brushed back and forth over the top of his hand. He decided then that he would let you touch him whenever you wanted. He’d give anything to just shake your hand once a day for the rest of his life.

The sensation of your thumb sweeping over the unhardened part of his hand nearly overwhelmed him. It took everything in him to hold back a sigh, but couldn’t help the goosebumps that trickled down his arm.

Your hand quickly retreated from his once you caught them. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. That was too much,” you panicked.

“Hey, no no no,” Steve softly interjected, “None of that was too much. It felt… good. Gave me chills, I guess.”

You paused with your eyebrows furrowed, still processing the senses that lingered. “It’s kinda surreal,” you started, “I’ve spent so much time thinking I’d never get to shake someone’s hand again. I didn’t realize I missed it.”

He could tell your head was getting clouded with the layers of emotions and thoughts, so he hoped to clear them by diverting your attention, “How’s the burn holding up?”

You looked down at your bandaged hand, gaping a bit, “Honestly, I kinda forgot about it. It probably looks worse than it feels,” you downplayed.

“Well if there’s anything I can do to help, don’t be afraid to ask. Changing bandages on your dominant hand can be a pain. Tony’s offer still stands, if you need it,” Steve spoke gently, as if his voice would cause you to bolt at any second.

Instead of running, you simply nodded and grabbed your glass of water. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll let you know. You should get some sleep,” your tone became slow and gravely with each passing second.

Steve pushed off of the counter he had been leaning against, “Right. Goodnight, Y/N.” He wished he could’ve stood there all night, exchanging whispers with you. In order to give you a few more moments to yourself, he took the lead and made his way back towards the staircase. Before he turned away from you, he caught your gaze one last time as you breathed, “Goodnight, Steve.”

Notes: If anyone’s having a good time, can I get a ‘hell yeah’ in the chat lol

“Fine. Any tingling, numbness, or tremours?”

“No.”

“Headache? Chest pain? Blurry vision?”

“None of the above.”

“Great, we can work with that.”

Following Tony’s rapid fire diagnostic, he rattled off everything he knew about your nervous system and where he needed to start with Steve.

“From what I’ve gathered, her nervous system emits a super-charged neurotoxin when it senses contact from another life form. It doesn’t linger on her skin or surfaces, just passes from her to another being via their neurons. 

“We’ve never had the opportunity to test another human that’s been touched because… well, we don’t really have volunteers for that kinda gig, ya know?” Tony tried his best to diffuse the tension in the air, but it just emphasized how awful this could be.

You may have just murdered Steve Rogers; The Captain America. Over a foolish burn. You spiraled over a million questions: 

Why did he do it?

What was he thinking? 

What were you thinking, being so foolish with a hot pan?

How is he still standing? 

Does the serum slow the neurotoxin down? 

What if the reaction is delayed and he dies in his sleep?

What if he lives but insists his team is better off hiking through the woods than staying with her in the safehouse?

And why the hell does the wrist he grabbed burn more than your hand?

“Rogers, take a seat,” Tony ordered, ushering Steve over to an exam chair. “A few things we need to check on here. First, whether or not you’re gonna die.” It looked like Tony was trying not to think about that, but he swallowed the lump in his throat anyway. You propped yourself up on an exam table across the room where you could easily see Steve.

“The toxin her brain produces is more like snake venom than other neurotoxins. It blocks all nerve function and shuts down the brain within seconds, so based on everything you’ve told me, I’m thinking we can say you passed the first test.” Tony and Wanda seemed to let out a mutual sigh. It was difficult for you to do the same. You couldn’t tear your eyes off of Steve. Any second and his muscles would seize while his eyes rolled back and he took his final breath. 

You remembered every life you had ever taken. Most of them were Hydra guards, but you made a promise to yourself to remember their names and the circumstances of their deaths.

Maksim was the first. He was the lab assistant responsible for removing your IV cannula after the experimental procedure that changed everything for you. You were still coming out of sedation, but you heard the way he choked, like all of the air was sucked out of the room. There was a lot of red after that. So much red… It almost felt like a dream. You learned later that you lost two pints of blood because he collapsed before he could bandage up your cannula site. It was a miracle Hydra didn’t just let you die right then.

Alma was the guard responsible for transporting you to the research hall. By the time they had deemed you as a high risk captive, they were ushering you around in a wheelchair with your limbs restrained. You could tell she was nervous that day. She was young and probably pulled the short end of the stick by being assigned as your transport. 

When she parked you at an elevator, she maneuvered around you, trying to press the call button. But those clammy, underground labs were so narrow and the wheelchair was clunky and awkward; it took some finesse to get around you. You felt the weight of a palm on your shoulder and heard the sickening thud of a limb body, before you could even whip your head around. The only hint of movement you caught was the tear slowly rolling out of her lifeless eye.

Tomas was arguably the worst death in your collection. He was a fellow captive, though you hadn’t crossed paths with him until the day he died. Hydra struggled to determine where they went wrong and had grown tired of losing guards and agents, so they pulled in Tomas, who wasn’t slated for much in his time as a captive. They tested high-dose steroids and experimental antitoxins on him to develop a resistance against your neurotoxin. 

Ahead of the experiment, you were told that he was responding well to one of the antitoxins and they would like to run the final test: your touch. The doctor that consulted on the experiment assured you that Tomas was likely to survive your touch and recover within a few days. You two were placed in a room with an observation window; he was handcuffed to a chair, while you stood, uncuffed. Looking back you should have known that the doctor lied to you.

The room smelled like sweat. Not the kind after a long run or being outside in the summer. The tang in the air reeked of fear. You glanced at the doctor through the observation window and he gave you a firm nod. When you opened your mouth in an attempt to introduce yourself to Tomas, the doctor quickly ordered, “Do not communicate with the other test subject,” using the over-comm system.

After witnessing death a handful of times by then, you decided that the greatest gift you could give to someone like Tomas was efficiency. No use in wasting time, making him dread it even more. You held your breath and placed your shaky hand on his shoulder.

If only you could forget his screams. The agony in his voice embedded itself into your bones that day. Your victims don’t usually scream. The antitoxin that was so ‘promising’ didn’t work against the neurotoxin at all. It merely slowed it down and gave it time to amplify it’s effects, so what should have been a death within seconds turned into five minutes of torture. Tomas’ death was your most vivid casualty. The other deaths were so fast, you hardly knew what happened until it was over. But Tomas suffered because of you…

Before you could revisit the next name on your list, Tony’s voice pulled you away. “Next, I want to get a look at a tissue biopsy to see if the toxin is still in your system. There’s a small chance her condition has improved and become less… lethal. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on your vitals - brain activity, oxygen saturation, heart rate, etcetera.” 

You admired Tony’s focus while he hooked Steve up to various wires and sensors. But you couldn’t stop thinking about the theory he just dropped as if it was nothing. You hadn’t considered a life in which your condition wasn’t a danger to everyone around you. It felt irresponsible to get your hopes up over that.

Without the risk of harming others, how would you justify being down here? How would you atone for the lives you’ve taken? For Tomas’ suffering? You weren’t sure you knew how to exist outside of a cage so, although you wouldn’t have admitted it, you hoped Tony’s theory was wrong.

“Where did you two make contact?” Tony asked Steve, looking to disinfect the biopsy area. 

“I… I grabbed her wrist,” Steve lifted his dominant hand and continued, “She burned her hand and I tried to help; get it under cold water.” It looked like reality had started to hit him. Like he just realized how imperative and reckless his mistake was.

Tony numbed Steve’s palm with lidocaine and took a small biopsy with a steady hand, then tossed an order to Wanda, “Get the kid an ice pack from the freezer, would ya? How’re you feeling over there, sport?”

You nodded, “Fine.” You hadn’t realized how long you had been holding your breath until you spoke. It came out raspy and strained - probably not giving anyone confidence that you were actually fine.

Wanda shot you a passing glance. Her expression told you that she knew better than to believe your words, but wasn’t going to push. She seemed like she would make a good friend if she was able to look past the pile of skeletons in your closet. But maybe she had skeletons of her own.

Tony continued problem-solving aloud while peering at the biopsy under a microscope, “Okay, since Steve grabbed her arm, we can rule out her burned tissue having anything to do with your survival. The nerve endings you came in contact with are supposedly still kickin’.

“Y/N, if Cap is in the clear, I have some trials in mind that I’d like to run with you. We might be able to get some new info on your condition if he survives. You good with that?”

While Tony prefaced the next step of his plan, the ice pack came into your field of vision which you tentatively took from Wanda. You glanced at the wound on your hand. An angry red stripe, probably an inch wide, ran across your palm like a streak of paint. 

It probably hurt pretty bad, you weren’t sure. The adrenaline of possibly taking another life dulled any other physical sense. It was a gnarly spot for a burn considering how much work you tried to get done on a daily basis. Doing the dishes, typing on a keyboard, even holding a book; all of those things would be a bitch to do with a thick blister on your dominant hand.

This was your fault. If you hadn’t gotten so distracted from being called ‘doll,’ of all things, you would have thought twice before grabbing the scalding handle of the pan. How pathetic, going all heart-eyed over a term he probably used plenty in the thirties, like ‘pal’ or ‘bucko.’ He was just trying to be nice, but you turned it into a life or death situation.

Tony interrupted your self-deprecation, “Hey! Champ, you still with us?”

“Sorry. Y-yeah, trials would be okay,” you managed, hoping your face wasn’t as red as it felt. You kept your gaze in your lap, worried that more eyes were on you now than before. Tony seemed optimistic about Steve’s health, you should stay focused on that.

“Well, I’ve got bad news and more good news,” Tony announced. Your lungs halted.

“Bad news is: The neurotoxin is in Steve’s body, so your condition is still as active as before.”

Rather than let out a sigh of relief, the breath inside you dissipated. The fact that Steve’s impending death wasn’t the bad news was certainly a relief, but you still wished Tony would’ve kept his theories on your condition improving to himself.

“But the good news! It looks like the super serum is serving two purposes here. Not only is it acting like an antivenom and neutralizing the toxin, but it’s surrounding Steve’s neurons, protecting them from any damage. That’s why America’s ass is able to withstand more pain than the average meat head.” Tony wiggled an eyebrow, his wit returned as Steve’s prognosis became promising.

“Let’s keep an eye on your vitals for now in case things take a turn. Just holler if you’re feeling… funky,” Tony requested. Steve supplied a nod in response but didn’t have anything to say in return. He seemed to be rather focused on you, but you imagined he was livid for putting him in this position in the first place.

Tony spun from his station, detecting the lack of enthusiasm from the rest of the room. “I just told you guys that Rogers isn’t gonna die. Where’s the confetti?”

“Near-death experiences aren’t really my thing, Stark,” Wanda muttered with fatigue. “But I’m glad you’re gonna be okay, Steve.”

“C’mon guys, why don’t we crack open a bottle of wine or something? Kiddo, how’s your hand feeling? Want some supplies to wrap up?” Tony attempted to diffuse again. “Hey! Now that Rogers can withstand your super toxin, he could take care of it, right Steve?”

“Tony…” Steve scolded without raising his volume far above a whisper.

Your vision blurred again, but this time with tears. There were more emotions in your chest than you knew how to deal with. It was too late to force the tears back behind your eyes, so you pushed yourself off of the exam table and weakly muttered, “S’cuse me,” as you made for the staircase.