⤷ november 14, 2012
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The months begin to fly by, either going slower or faster in ways she can't begin to understand why. Her and Steve stay on their daily routines. She goes out in the morning to work, and comes back in the afternoon. He runs in the morning, and sketches in the afternoon, and occasionally disappears for a mission once or twice every two weeks. They manage to settle into that routine nicely.
Some nights, she can sleep fine. She sleeps from late in the night 'til early in the morning, and wakes to the smell of Steve's delicious breakfast.
But there are those rare nights, those few sprinkled across the next few months that she just can't sleep through. That she wakes up to in a running sweat and an anxious panic.
When those nights happen, she finds herself going into the kitchen to fix herself up a cup of herbal tea, something she's done ever since her first nightmare here, when Steve took care of her.
And on even fewer nights, when she goes out to the kitchen to make her tea, she runs into Steve.
𓆩*𓆪
The first time she runs into him in the middle of the night.
He's sitting in the kitchen, charcoal scratching against textured paper, his fingers stained with black.
He doesn't notice her at first, working away on whatever latest project he had going on. It doesn't take until she steps on the specific floorboard that's loose, and creaks under the weight of her foot, that his head darts up.
He's surprised to see her, and it's obvious. "Roberts?" He asks, blinking owlishly.
She offers him a tired smile as she walks further into the kitchen, checking that the kettle was still full from earlier that day. It was. She flicks on the burner, and leans against the counter as she waits. "The one and only," she drawls. "Actually, scratch that, since there's actually another Emma Roberts out there —"
"What are you doing up?" Steve interrupts her, looking concerned.
She fixes him with a knowing look, and he immediately understands.
With a small hum, he hesitantly looks back at his sketchbook. "I see..." he mumbles.
They don't say much more after that, and Irina wordlessly makes her tea, before she takes the mug and takes it with her back into her room. Steve watches her go with a frown.
𓆩*𓆪
The second time it happens, Steve is walking out of his room while Irina is already in the kitchen, sitting at the round table and reading that day's newspaper. Steve liked to buy one from the local newsstand every day after coming back from his run.
The stove light was turned on, giving her a warm ambience as her eyes tiredly drag across the paper, noting its contents.
"Oh," is what Steve blurts out when he sees her. She looks up, meeting his eyes with a grim smile.
"Morning," she says after glancing over at the clock. It was just about time for Steve to head out for his daily run.
"How long have you been out here?" He asks immediately, walking over to her and pulling out a chair to sit in.
She gives a weak shrug, continuing to read the paper while taking a long sip of the herbal tea. It's never as good as Steve's, but it helps her calm down, nonetheless. "Not too long," she mumbles out, setting her mug down. "I'm about...three quarters through my mug. Maybe an hour and a half."
Steve lets out a soft sigh, but it's the only sign of opinion he voices. They sit in a few minutes of silence, with Irina occasionally taking another long sip of her tea as she flips through the paper. When she's done with it, Steve is still sitting there, looking out the window as the sun begins to rise. He doesn't even have dark eye bags under his baby blues, unlike her. The bastard.
She sets her tea down when she swallows the last drop, staring blankly down at the paper as she runs thoughts through her mind.
She thinks.
And then disregards those thoughts.
Without another word, she gets up and sets her mug in the sink, leaving the paper on the table for Steve to read, if he felt like it. She begins to make her way back to her room when the captain blurts out,
"Bucky."
She stops.
Slowly, Irina turns to him, confusion set on her face. Steve's lips are pursed for a second, like he regrets his decision, before he focuses his eyes on the paper in front of him. "My best friend's name. It was Bucky. Bucky Barnes. We were on a mission, infiltrating a HYDRA train —" her breath hitches at the name, Steve doesn't seem to notice, " — when it went wrong. There was an explosion. Bucky, he...I almost had him, he was right there, and I —"
However, Steve can't finish, because Irina is gone, the door to her bedroom slamming shut, the sound resounding throughout the entire apartment. Steve is left alone.
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The third time she wakes up from a nightmare, panting and sweating and shaking, it's getting cold out, December slowly rolling in, and with it, snow. When she steps out of her bedroom and passes the living room, she finds the first snow has fallen outside, specks of white trickling from the sky.
First, instead of making herself a tea, Irina decides to sit and watch the snow fall.
Steve had just gotten a record player, as well as a bunch of vinyl records from a vintage antiques shop a few streets away. She rummages through the records, before picking out a song she thinks she'll like best. She sets it on the player, picking up the stick and placing it over the disc. The music rings out from the horn.
Satisfied, she sits down on the couch, her upper body turned into the back as she peers outside, watching in a daze as snowflakes gently rain down upon Washington. It'll be her first time not experiencing Christmas in New York, she realizes.
Without the Parker family, too.
Every Christmas morning, she'd wake up to the sound of Peter spamming her doorbell. When she finally and begrudgingly got up from bed, he would be there at the door, beaming up at her with the most innocent grin she's ever seen on a child. He always took her hand, pulling her over to their apartment, where Ben was situated by the Christmas tree, presents trickling out from the bottom as May readies a tray of hot chocolates for them all, always making one extra for Irina.
They would spend the morning laughing, and Irina would always be surprised when she found a single gift under the tree for her, from the three Parkers. Peter's the one that hands it to her, insisting she opens it every time.
And it was always something that she'd mentioned liking off-hand, and their attention to detail with her always made her reel in shock, before the tears rolled in, and she would tearfully hugging Peter as Ben and May smiled warmly at her.
They made her anticipate Christmas more than she ever thought she could.
Irina feels her chest give a twinge of pain as she stares out the window, the music sounding throughout the apartment, gently filtering her ears.
"Everybody loves somebody sometime..."
"I like this one," Steve's voice comes from behind her.
Immediately, Irina jumps and whips around, sending the soldier an accusatory look that dissolves at the sight of his guilty one, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pyjama pants, and shoulders hunched inwards. She feels a bit of pity for him.
She feels her lips twitch into a small smile. "Ever dance to it with someone, Cap? I'm sure you were popular with the ladies in your time," she says.
Steve looks sheepish as his eyes slide over to the running record. "No...I've never danced with anyone before," he admits in an embarrassed voice, but Irina frowns when she notes the undertones of sadness in his face and voice. "'Sides, it came out after I went into the ice. 1964, Dean Martin. He's got a good voice on him.
She purses her lips, and stands up from the couch, walking over and standing in front of the captain with a thoughtful look on her face. Steve's eyes flicker back to her, looking confused. "What's wrong, Roberts?" He asks.
She meets his eyes, giving a one-sided shrug. "Would you like to?" She asks, before clarifying. "Dance with someone, that is."
Steve shrugs, eyes flickering off to the side. "...I dunno. I never have, and I don't know how to..." He catches the look on her face, and immediately looks nervous. "I can't, Roberts. I — I might step on your feet —"
"So be it," she shrugs as the song ends. Irina walks over to the record player, adjusting the stick. "You think I've danced with someone before? Yeah, no," she snorts, placing the stick back on the record. The song starts again. She strides back to Steve, offering her hand. "Come on. I could use the distraction anyways," she murmurs.
Steve's eyes immediately turn empathetic, and Irina raises her eyebrows at him. "Don't feel sorry for me. Just dance," she reaches out, slowly sliding her fingers over his hand, and gently holding it. She begins to lead him to the middle of the living room space they had to use.
Steve doesn't stop her, but he looks reluctant. "I really can't —" he begins.
"No shame here," she says to him with a slightly amused shine in her eyes. Steve expression falls at the use of his own words thrown back at him. "Just move to the feel of the music. Come on," she takes his other hand, slowly beginning to shuffle both back and forth at the pace of the song.
Steve lets out a huff of defeat, looking amused as he stares down at her. Irina meets his eyes, lifting a curious eyebrow at him, the silent question in the air. "Dance with me, Rogers?" She asks out loud.
He lets out a chuckle, but gives one small nod. Irina feels herself smile, and they slowly get into the music, swaying from foot to foot and turning around in place. Steve glances nervously down at their feet, but Irina keeps her eyes glued to his face, huffing out a small laugh of amusement.
"Don't look down there. That's not flattering," she scolds lightly. Immediately, Steve's baby blue eyes dart back up to meet hers. She snickers. "Eyes on my face. Don't think. Just feel. Like..."
She lets go of one of his hands, lifting the others and giving a small, slow twirl, before she faces him again, and reaches for his hand. Steve meets her halfway, slowly nodding in understanding. He breaks out into a small smile at her action. They begin to sway once again, stepping to the beat of the old song.
"If I had it in my power...
I would arrange for every girl to have your charms
Then every minute, every hour
Every boy would find what I found in your arms
Everybody loves somebody sometime..."
Irina finds herself grinning up at Steve as the song slows, the end coming once again. "There you go, Rogers. Like a pro," she compliments. Steve smiles at her, and as the voices trail off, she finds them still swaying, even after the song is over.
She finds herself looking down at their feet like a hypocrite, but only because she's too anxious to meet Steve's eye.
She sucks in a breath, along with a bit of courage, and her lips part.
"Aleksei," she whispers just under her breath, but the silence in the room is loud enough for Steve to hear. They slow down, and eventually stop swaying. They're still holding onto one another, and Irina finds an odd enough comfort in it. It felt like having a friend — could that be what her and Steve were, now? Maybe. If she tried a bit more, maybe.
She feels Steve's curious eyes on her, and continues. "My best friend's name. His name was Aleksei," she frowns at the floor. "...He's dead."
"Roberts..." Steve punches out, voice sympathetic and kind.
"I don't want to talk about anything more," she interrupts him adamantly. "I — I can't. You told me Bucky's name, so I should tell you Aleksei's. And I have, so —"
"Thank you."
Her mouth slams shut, and her eyes dart up to look at Steve's face. He lets go of her hands, but doesn't step away. His smile is soft and ever so gentle, ever so understanding.
After a moment, she swallows to hydrate her dry throat, and blinks rapidly while she gives a stern, single nod. "No problem," she murmurs.
For a long while, they just stand there, in the living room they shared, staring quietly at the other. When Irina feels herself break free from whatever trance she had been in, she turns her head away and steps past Steve, darting for her bedroom. However, she hovers in the open doorway, hand holding the doorframe to keep her steady.
She looks back at Steve, who stares out the window with a sad, melancholy shine to his eyes in the soft lamplight.
She can't ask him what's wrong.
Because she's too much of a coward.
Without another word, she steps into her bedroom, the door clicking shut softly behind her.
She finds she can go to bed that third night she runs into Steve after waking up from a nightmare without an herbal tea to calm her.
𓆩*𓆪