Chapter 24

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Two people, on the opposite sides of the door, torn apart by trepidation they thought to be different but was very much the same.

As you sat in your room, you stared blankly at your hands - the hands which now belonged to a murderess. The coarse touch of Simon's clothes was as fresh on your palms as it had been when you had pushed him in the way of..... I didn't know the car would be there! Nononononono!

Tony stood in the hallway on the other side of the door, trying and failing at gathering up enough courage to knock on your door. He knew you were leaving, and that was something he couldn't let happen on his watch.

It was as if he was in high school all over again, where the relationship needed to be defined else the negligible chance he had of getting you to stay would fade away. All that said on the assumption that the negligible chance existed in the first place.

'Maybe it is for the best.' You thought. Going back was the last thing you wanted, but that being the inevitable conclusion to your, for the lack of a better word, divulgent journey, you had to make it seem tolerable, if nothing.

However, you knew the truth better than anyone. What you had left behind was a huge void. It would be a miracle if anyone had missed you; except for the people at work. Employers didn't necessarily like paying their employees for getting nothing done.

Here, you had a life. Friends who actually cared about you. A functional relationship with your parents (who cares if they are not aware of that). A man you loved. Whether or not he loved you back was an entirely different question; a question you saved for a later time, knowing fully well that time would never come.

A dazzling blue light blinded you for a moment. Squinting your eyes to the point where they would be considered shut altogether, you channelled your entire concentration into uncovering the identity of the intruder. "Peter?"

"(Y/N)? It's you? Oh thank God." From the giant loophole that began a few inches above the floor and touched the ceiling in all its glory came Peter's disorientated voice, "I just zapped myself into Cleopatra's bedroom....yeah, never doing that again."

His rambling cut off when he realised your expression had morphed past 'Stop this, you're annoying' to something he would rather not put into words.

Still miles from anywhere near the point, Peter began. "I don't have much time. This thing could collapse on me any second, so listen closely. SHIELD just arrested two of the three people involved in the assassination attempt against Captain Rogers and the third one isn't your concern anymore. The case has been passed on to Time Patrol. I have been ordered to extract you from this mission immediately."

"That man is no one's concern anymore. He's dead." Your gaze fell down to your shaky hands. "I killed him."

Peter was visibly taken aback. "Yeah, well, no one needs to know that." He awkwardly covered, "Now come on, take my hand!"

It wasn't that he hadn't been with other people before, what was different about you was that you made him feel. Tony's heart burned for you. All he had to say was he loved you (which, by no means was a lie) and that was supposed to make you stay. At least that's the way it happened in the movies.

The longer you stared at Peter's outstretched hand, the more you realised that staying back wasn't a choice. As much as you wanted to, it never was. Regardless, you couldn't leave without letting Tony know how you felt. For your own peace of mind, if nothing.

'Get to it, Stark! You found the one, now make sure you keep her." With courage derived from the sheer fear of losing you, Tony knocked on your door. Once. Twice.

No response.

Consternation set in. Why weren't you answering? You were severely injured, had you passed out? Lost too much blood?

Tony barged into your room in a way which would have otherwise been considered rude and way out of line but at the moment, he didn't care. All that mattered was your safety.

For a fleeting second, he didn't know what to comprehend about the sight before him. Nothing seened out of the ordinary, other than the fact that you were nowhere to be seen. If he didn't know any better, he would've concluded that you were yet to enter.

Except that Tony did know better, and he had physically seen you go in. Come out? Not so much.

And yes, he would have freaked out, maybe had had a panic attack and then have inquired further into the situation, all and positively more of it if his gaze hadn't landed on a neatly folded piece of paper delicately rested on your nightstand.

Nothing masked the sense of foreboding it brought upon. On the cover, in a handwriting he knew by heart to be yours, was written one word:

'Tony...'

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