'Twice
I would die
for a little more
once
with you,'
Atticus
~
Darkness.
Agony. Anguish. Stark? Voices. Numbness. Needle?
Darkness.
Darkness, always darkness.
I've struggled with it for as long as I can remember. Whether it's been dark thoughts, a dark past, or an all-powerful cosmic space stone inside of me that's cultivated by an ugly, low rent, murderous Barney the Dinosaur in Titan form. By this point, it's been a constant I can almost say I've relied upon in my life.
Perhaps, I was a bit hasty in labelling it at the beginning of the book. It is, and never will be, something that you can trust. It's changeable. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Sometimes it's hurt me, other times it's offered me reassurance. Don't get me wrong, I am absolutely relieved that the Dark stone is no longer a part of me. Bouts of nausea are likely to still surface every once in a while for the next month or so, maybe some other side effects along with it, but that's just my body expelling it, cleansing it. I am, however, no longer cursing darkness as a whole.
My past remained in the dark for so long; and now that it no longer is, not fully, I can't help but feel this massive reprieve. Respite. Comfort. But for a long time, darkness still offered to hide that past until I was mentally and emotionally ready for it to no longer be hidden.
It isn't a good thing, but, I suppose it isn't altogether evil or bad either. Just like how light can burn, darkness can comfort.
It's allowed me to hide more than just my past; thoughts, emotions, sentimentality, my dirty hands. I don't need it anymore though. I relied upon it, it helped me as well as took advantage of me in my low points, and now....
I don't need it.
I'm not a criminal trying to hide anymore.
I'm not emotionally fractured or broken anymore.
I don't need it.
I have Tony.
I have Sam.
I have Adelaide.
I have Nicky.
I have Steve.
I don't need it.
Darkness. Needle. Numbness. Voices. Stark. No anguish, or agony, I think. Just... uncomfortable.
Darkness.
I don't need it.
My eyelids are ridiculously heavy. I'm struggling to even open them. Did they use the needle to sew them shut? Feels like it.
Every part of me that feels like it should hurt, doesn't really. Uncomfortable is the world I used before, and I'm going to stick to it. That, and numb. And dirty. I need a shower, that's what I need.
But it's dark.
And dark is not what I need.
Fighting harder, I manage to crack the seal over my eyes, my eyelids lazily opening to a blurry world. I blink a few times, trying to call to focus my pupils like they're a camera lens, and eventually, they do.
Hospital. Definitely a hospital. Private hospital room as well. Huh, perks of being friends with a billionaire I suppose. A hospital would make sense, I suppose. Would also make sense why I can't feel most of my body now. Probably don't want to feel most of my body right now.
Glancing down without craning my neck too much, I notice that, much to my disgust, I'm in a hospital gown. God I hate these things. How did I even get here? Last I remember, I think is... Stark?
"Yeah, didn't think you'd appreciate the ugly hospital gown. Doctors wouldn't let your sister dress you unfortunately, however I did bring you spare clothes for when you inevitably change as a result of your ongoing problem with authority."
Craning my neck enough for the right side of my bed to fall into my vision, I notice a tired Tony Stark seated beside me, confirming my last hazy memory, and though my gaze remains firmly on him, I do also spy a comically and ridiculously large bouquet of multicoloured flowers behind him, as well as a couple 'Get Well' balloons. When his form and words slowly register in my boggled state of mind, a small grin tugs at the corners of my lips, but when I open my mouth to snarkily respond, I find that my throat is overwhelmingly dry, and instead just end up uncontrollably coughing for a couple seconds.
Reaching for a glass of water faster than I thought humanly possible, Tony begins giving a half-hearted sarcastic, accusatory commentary as he goes through the motions of tilting my chin up and lightly adjusting the straw within the glass until it's in my mouth, making sure that I'm drinking the water without a problem. "What was that Shady? You're going to try and take down an extremist Nazi espionage organisation and fish Cap out of a river after being stabbed and severely injured all over? I'm sorry I must have heard that wrong, because that would be suicidal."
Allowing my eyes to flutter shut for a few moments after pulling away from the straw, I sluggishly smile, forcing them back open to glance at Tony in amusement. "Didn't die, did I?" The words are raspy and heavily laden with sleep, much quieter than Tony.
"I don't know what's going to give me a heart attack first; all the caffeine I drink or your stubborn, needless, life endangering stunts," Tony honestly admits, resting a hand over his chest where his arc reactor used to reside after placing the glass back down on the side table.
I weakly huff, my frail voice nearly pitiful. "You're one to talk. I'm surprised Pepper hasn't had an aneurysm from your reckless heroics yet."
"Jury's still out on that one; pretty sure she has and just hasn't told me."
Laughing pushes the pain through the numbness, but not unbearably so. Wincing halfway through my chuckle, I notice a sharp tug of pain in my left cheek and a dull ache in my nose, deciding I should probably get the big question out of the way. "How bad am I?"
"Bruises covering sixty percent of your body – from throwing yourself out of a car speeding down the highway at 70 miles per hour, according to Sparky, like I don't even know why I bother telling you not to do stupid things like that – two splits in your lip from being hit by multiple people apparently, a fractured nose, three cracked ribs, eight stitches in your cheek and twelve stitches in your abdomen from being stabbed. The other guy better look worse or I'll be sorely disappointed in you."
"Good for Brock," I falsely cheer the bastard, not responding to Tony's last sentence. Will admit I'm mildly impressed in the number he did manage to pull on me, but more so just bitter. "First person to get that close to breaking my nose; not the first to stab me, crack my ribs or give me this many stitches though. Kudos to the Nazi dickprick. Too bad he's nothing more than a charred corpse now."
"Morbid, but I approve nonetheless," the billionaire nonchalantly nods at the end of my sentence, his rapid word pace and flippancy evident signs of the concern and anxiety he's trying to suppress. "Shady Jr and Sparky have already given me a rundown of what happened, but I imagine your version will fill in a few blank spaces their recounts left. Like how you and Cap ended up on that river bank, for one."
"I will I will," I assure, clearing my throat a couple times in an attempt to make it sound at least marginally less croaky. "For starters, though, how'd I get here?"
"I found you a minute before the others in the helicopter did," the Avenger recaps, crossing his legs as a crack in his casual facade travels across his concerned eyes. "You were in worse shape, so I let the others worry about Rogers whilst I got you here. He's fine, by the way. Woke up about an hour ago, doctors won't let him out of bed just yet though, so he's gone back to sleep after a lot of persuasion and insistence. FBI has the floor secured, so no need to worry about any attempts on your life by the charred corpse of an apparent Nazi dickprick. Your sister and blonde shadow went and got some lunch after I convinced them that all three of us don't need to watch and see when you wake up. Took me a long time to convince them as well. Why is everyone so stubborn?"
"At least Steve is alright," I sigh in relief, suddenly exponentially more tired than I was before, as if a large part of me that was still on alert about his wellbeing has finally laid down to rest. "Thank you, Tony."
He swiftly waves off my gratitude, gazing anywhere but my eyes as I thank him. "Don't sweat it Shady, just promise me you won't get yourself stabbed or mortally wounded again. I get enough panic attacks as it is."
"How are those, by the way?" I sincerely inquire, sitting up a little straighter. "Did you take my advice?"
"I think I should start seeing you instead of my therapist," the billionaire answers, tapping his hands on the ends of the armrests restlessly. "She's great with all the emotional baggage when it comes to father issues and everything else, but funny enough your pointers for my anxiety attacks – despite being similar to hers, I think I just listen to you more – have helped a lot. Who knew more sleep, down time with Pepper, quiet nature walks and time away from the city, being more open with close friends, cutting down on alcohol, taking time off, and music could help so much? I mean maybe I knew about most of that, but I wasn't really listening or doing any of it until you threatened me with castration."
"Just looking out for my bestie." And just like that, Sharon Carter has been demoted again. Sorry Sharon, still love you, wherever you are.
"For once however – and I can't believe I'm saying this – that's enough about me," Tony ends the conversation, much to my surprise, about to direct the topic elsewhere.
I dramatically gasp in faux horror before he does, aghast. "Enough about you? Impossible, how could you say such a thing. My entire world revolves around you; you are the sun to my earth. I would surely perish if you deprived me the chance to talk about the famous, fantastical, pure genius that is Anthony Edward Sta—"
"I don't think I appreciate your tone," he playfully admonishes, scrutinising me in a mocking search for sincerity. "But I'll ground you for it later," he promises, pointing a finger at me as he rises to a stand. "In the meantime; sleep. I won't ask about your undoubtedly eventful and bizarre version of what went down until you're better rested."
Nodding in what I hope is a convincing manner; I know that in spite of how exhausted I really am, proper sleep is going to evade me for quite a while. I still haven't truly allowed myself a moment for everything that transpired the past day to settle and cement itself within my head, and now that there is no imminent danger, it has the time to. Every niggling little and big thought is slowly creeping up on me on by one –the fact that I'm capable of fire manipulation and creation again, that I lost Loki's sceptre which has an infinity stone in it, that Bucky seems to remember everything that happened between us in spite of my feelings for him being long ago, or really just everything else that went down. Sleeping would help as a distraction, I imagine, but because my mind is so damn busy, it likely won't happen anytime soon.
A nurse comes in not too long after Tony leaves, checking up on me, asking me if I need anything, if I'm comfortable, am I in too much pain, etcetera etcetera. For forty minutes it goes on like this, stiffly tossing and turning as every occurrence and thought lazily sinks in one by one. Adelaide and Sam briefly distract me from the onslaught, expressing how glad they are that I'm alive after chiding me for my reckless behaviour. It doesn't take long for them to order me to rest either though, leaving me to my speculations once again. I get over most of these realisations pretty quickly, until one, glaring revelation slaps me.
Steve remembers.
He remembers.
Slipping out of the bed, I abruptly find myself unable to simply stew away in this room. My brain works best when I move; or when I'm in a shower, which, despite desperately needing one, I think I will forgo in this instance. Coffee. Coffee is what I need.
Everything hurts under the heavy cloak of morphine. In bed, still, unmoving, dormant, I didn't really feel the agony. Uncomfortable, numb, yes, but now that I'm vertical once again, and actively using lethargic and very much aching muscles, every sore and bruise and cut I was both aware and unaware of yells for my attention until they're raw. Stumbling frailly, I catch myself on the bed before collapsing as a whole, allowing a few moments for my muscles to wake up at their own speed.
"Well, this sucks," I grumble under my breath, righting myself and swiping up the change of clothes Tony left for me on the chair next to my bed; a grey Metallica shirt which is obviously his, some underwear, a bra – not going to even ask how he knows my sizes in anything – and black tracksuit pants. I get dressed at my own pace, running my fingers through my hair to untangle at least a few knots, suddenly grateful that I cut my hair shorter to make it more manageable. Shuffling bare foot towards the door through the misery, luckily I'm heavily anesthetized to the point I still am capable of moving without too much of a fuss, but the stitches in my face and gut hurt the most, almost ignoring the morphine.
Exiting my room, I'm immediately met with four glaringly out of place security guards in hall full of bustling nurses, doctors and other unidentifiable people – or if I'm led to believe after Tony's recount, FBI agents – all of which snap their scrutiny to me, crowding around me in a second's notice.
"Miss Nightshade, you must remain in your room at all times until you have fully healed," one professionally orders, as if I'm actually going to listen.
Quirking a sarcastic brow at the cost of a little more discomfort in my facial injuries, I also lightly smirk, immensely humoured by the fact these four think they're capable of legitimately telling me what to do, even if it is for my own health. "Here's the thing; you all remember me by now, right?"
Four stern nods follow, a mumbled "Yes ma'am" or "Yes Miss Nightshade" also tagged on.
"Good," I approve, my left hand ghosting my stab wound over Tony's Metallica shirt. "Then you know that I'm an internationally acclaimed assassin who's gone up against the Avengers, SHIELD, and the Fantastic Four, who is also the daughter of the Norse god that almost enslaved earth two years ago and therefore does not give a shit if someone tells me I should be in bed or not. Now please, I need a cup of coffee before I launch my own assault on humanity like my father before me, and I want to get it myself."
There is a distinct tense lull that settles in the air between us, the resolve of all four agents palpably wavering. My gaze darts between them, waiting for one of them to respond or stop me from my mission, when the only lady of the four clears her throat stiffly. "Then we must accompany you, ma'am."
"Whoop-de-fucking-do," I sarcastically throw my arms up in the air in a manner which could only say 'finally!' "Do however as you please lady, I just want my caffeine." Turning abruptly on my heel, I commence my search for a good coffee machine; my four shadows dutifully following me every step of the way.
Eventually, a lovely nurse who first admonishes me for being out of bed points me in the direction of one. I begin to think that things are finally looking up, when after pressing the button on the device a couple times, I realise that it doesn't look like its even working. Violently slapping the side of the machine, I quietly curse, suddenly remembering why I swore off hospital coffee. These machines never work. It's like those damn soft serve machines at McDonald's.
"You have got to be kidding me," I hiss, taking my own emotional baggage out on this stupid not-working coffee making monstrosity.
"What are you doing out of bed young lady?"
Snorting at the fatherly tone, I take a break from my assault on the hospital hallway coffee machine, smiling amusedly at Robocop over here as he continues to hassle "I knew it, I'm psychic. I predicted that you would completely ignore the doctor's orders and be up and about in the hour. And don't you dare get blood on my Metallica shirt just because you have a problem with authority and refuse to listen to literally anyone but your Star Spangled Popsicle."
Grinning wider and wincing at the act, I tease "Careful Tony, you use that tone on me again and I'm going to have to start calling you dad—"
The jest dies on my tongue when I spy the two thermo mugs he holds in hand, one with an arc reactor design, and the other, Steve's iconic shield.
"Why is it always a father-daughter comparison? Why can't I just be some overprotective big brother?" Tony rushes out, mildly offended but only half-heartedly so.
"Is that...?" I trail, eyes still firmly locked on the mugs.
"Black Ivory coffee imported fresh from Thailand," the super hero finishes off for me, handing me the Captain America mug. "Two sugars, splash of milk. Just how you like it. I knew you'd ignore the whole sleeping thing the moment I said it, and the only person who perhaps loves coffee just as much as me is you, but the coffee here is atrocious. No sister of mine shall ever be subjected to watered down, hospital bean juice. And nice security detail by the way, very Hitman's Bodyguard."
Glimpsing at my FBI shadows again, nearly having forgotten they're even there, I shrug, graciously accepting the caffeine. "God I wish I had Ryan Reynolds guarding me; though, at the same time that would be weird because he's also kinda my cousin – well, not Reynolds, but Wade Wilson – according to Adelaide, who claimed he's her cousin, ergo, he's my cousin. Anyway, thanks for the coffee bro." Not even checking if the drink is too hot, I swiftly take a hefty gulp, allowing the flavour to linger in my mouth before swallowing.
Oh. My. God.
"You didn't tell me you had access to God's own secret stash of coffee beans," I accuse, gaze narrowing on the Avenger. "Our sibling-ship is built on lies. I can't even look at you, traitor."
"Okay, see this thing you're doing here?" Stark rambles out, pointing a finger in my direction and gesturing it around in a small, rushed circle. "The sarcasm, dry humour, topic deflecting – that's my thing. Don't use my thing on me, it doesn't work. So, let's try again. Why are you out of bed, and what's got you wound up? Because whilst hospital coffee machines make me dislike the general population of humanity for a couple hours as well, they definitely don't make me antsy, impatient and short-tempered with the world."
"I'm not being short-tempered."
"The coffee machine that's about to take you to court with a charge of assault would beg to differ."
Pursing my lips together, I sense my resolve crumbling, glancing away from Tony's intense, pinning stare. "It's Steve," I laconically answer, throat constricting like a python is wrapped around it.
Understanding washed over the billionaire's features. "He's been through worse Lilly—"
"No, not that."
When the knot of perplexity returns between his brows, I impatiently sigh, knowing it's not Tony's fault but my own cryptic, deflective self. Tearing myself from the tempestuous thoughts that have been storming my brain the past forty minutes, I decide to accept Tony's metaphoric offer of an umbrella to that storm, unburdening the main revelation branded on my mind to him. "He remembers now, and all I did during the time that he didn't recognise me... is lie. I lied about my parents, I lied about my upbringing – even then, he still doesn't know it – he'll probably think I lied about not having any living blood family besides my father before he lost his memory, even though I didn't know I had a sister until Asgard. And there have been so many little lies all along the way. You know how much Steve hates secrets and lies."
"You don't give him enough credit," Tony rebukes, eyes softening. "Guy went crazy trying to find you when you went missing after Braga. He got his boyfriend from World War II back, but lost you. He's lost enough people to not let you go over a few reasonable lies. Have more faith Shady. And in the mean time..." dark brows rise expectantly, gaze flickering between the coffee he handed me and my own hazel orbs. "Drink your bean juice and go lie down."
Chuckling lightly, I feel the sarcasm beginning to flow back through my veins. Must be the rich person coffee. "Me? Lie down? I'm fine, really don't know why you're so worried. I only have bruises covering sixty percent of my body from being thrown out of a car speeding down the highway at 70 miles per hour, two splits in my lip from being hit by multiple people, a fractured nose, three cracked ribs, eight stitches in my cheek and twelve stitches in my abdomen from being stabbed. Like I said, it's not like I died."
"I retract my question from before, because I now know the answer to it. You are definitely going to give me a heart attack before all the caffeine I drink will," Tony muses to himself, staring at me like I'm a hopeless cause.
Chuckling, in the corner of my eye I notice a familiar figure round the hallway corner. Turning my head at the same time as Tony, the both of us regard my little sister making her way towards us curiously, for instead of looking irritated at me like I expected her to be for not being in bed, she seems anxious, and nearly... nervous?
"Tony," Adelaide politely nods at the billionaire in greeting, Tony nodding once kindly in return.
"Shady Jr."
"Mind if I borrow my sister for a bit?" Addie asks, fidgeting restlessly with her fingers. My eyes zero in suspiciously at the tense display. What is up with her?
"Actually last time I lent you and Capsicle my Lillian I ended up getting her back with a stab wound, several stiches, bruises, a fractured nose and three cracked ribs so no, she's mine now, and you and Rogers will be hearing from my lawyers—"
"Tony, chill," I freely laugh, resting my free hand on his arm affectionately. "I'll head back to bed, with my rich person coffee." Shaking the mug pointedly for emphasis, I allow my hand to limply drop from his arm, making a start in the direction that Addie came from as the four agents diligently surround and follow me once again. "Come on sis, walk with me and tell me what's got you so nervous. You're not asking me to prom are you? Because I hate to be the bearer of bad news—"
Laughter bursts past her lips, the tension in her frame lessening. The sight is a reassuring one. "You know, back before Asgard, there wasn't really anything or anyone in my life that actually meant something to me. So, even though the space prune with the nut sack chin is, without a question, the biggest douche bag in the universe, I am grateful he led me to you and Sam."
Glancing at her besides me, I narrowly eye her crumbling face, noticing her emotional fragility in this moment. My nineteen year old little sister; sharper than a fox, more mature than any kid her age should be, and stronger than all the vibranium and adamantium in the world, is currently holding back tears.
"Don't," I seriously warn, face turning grave after comprehending the situation. "If you cry, I'm going to cry like a fucking moron. I don't cry. I've used up my quota of tears the past three years. This is why I distanced myself from growing attached to people. If you make me cry, I'm going to punch everyone in a two mile radius."
Laughing emotionally through her watering eyes, Adelaide hooks her arm with mine, hugging it uncharacteristically. "I know I've already chastised you for this, but you turned your comms off you idiot. I thought you might've died."
Ah, now that explains her sudden blatant display affection. Didn't really think about that at the time, my logic being hazy and all. I'm starting to see why people call me impulsive and reckless. "Me? Die? No, no. I'm invincible. I'm going to live forever. Puny mortals shall never strike me down—"
"I'm serious Lilly," Addie admonishes, bronze irises glistening. "Like you, I grew up without mom, but Loki was almost completely absent, rarely saw him in my dreams. I don't know where you spent your childhood, but I spent a good portion of mine in Soviet Russia. I didn't get the whole experience of being a kid. And once again, I don't know the conditions you grew up with, but I know they weren't good. Yet amongst all of that, you still act like a child at heart, whether it's at home or in the middle of a mission. With you, my big sister, I feel like..."
"You get to be the kid you didn't have the chance to be growing up," I finish, grasping the direction her point is taking.
Adelaide smiles, brighter than I've ever seen her smile before. "Exactly. It's why, before you go off and do something reckless and stupid again, I want to tell you something."
Pausing, my footsteps hesitantly die out just in front of my hospital room door. Conspicuously regarding Addie as she tugs me into the room, ditching the security detail outside and closing the door before pulling away to stand in front of me, face to face, I feel both of my hands now move to grasp my mug, almost like a protective guard between her oncoming speech and my already tangled state of emotions. Those words are never good.
Apprehension, emotions, and realism; all three factors that immediately trigger my sarcastic, joking, topic deflecting tendencies.
"Oh my God you're pregnant—"
Her hand instinctually slams over my mouth, cutting me off with the act as well as her stern gaze. "I swear, I will pull an X-Men Origins on your ass and sew your mouth shut."
All she receives in return is a disbelieving snort behind the hand plastered over the lower half of my face. Allowing it to slip away once she trusts me not to yap on, I watch concernedly as my little sister steels herself, fiddling with her fingers again out of anxiety. "You might be wondering why I seem, overall, off as a person. Certain things about me don't exactly make sense, or add up, yada yada."
Nodding as a sign for her to continue, she heavily inhales, wincing in anticipation. "That's because... I'm not from here."
Both of my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. "What, like, America? Yeah, I gathered that from the whole Soviet Russia thing—"
"No, no, not that," Addie corrects, struggling with words. "I mean, like... I'm from an alternate universe, or timeline, or whatever."
Now both my eyebrows feel like they're past my hairline. "Wanna try that again?"
"In my timeline, you're the one that didn't survive the childbirth instead of mom," Addie elaborates; the most vulnerable I've ever seen her. "She was apparently a wreck, as well as Loki. After four, five years they tried having a kid again. That's when I was born, but this time, she's the one who passed. My Loki always blamed me, because the you in my universe that died in birth didn't kill mom, but I did. Thanos needed two of you for his two new infinity stones, so he just pulled me from my timeline to act as a second you, because our genetic makeup, perseverance and fortitude are practically identical. So, technically, we are sisters, but from differing timelines."
Thick, heavy, deafening. The silence that follows is perhaps longer than it should be, but give me a damn break. My brain is on overload from a million and one other things that have gone down in the past twenty four hours alone, my body is also on a pain overload despite the crap tonne of pain killers currently in me, and Adelaide just dropped a big fat multi-verse or multi-timeline or whatever it is on me.
Being at the present level of tired I am with the world, my short-circuiting brain not helping either, my verbal filter seems to have up and taken a vacation, because the next words that come out of my mouth – after taking a long gulp of my coffee because I'm not letting this get cold – are straight up blunt, in spite of Adelaide's evident anxiety and sensitivity about the subject. "Wait, that's why you've been nervous about telling me? That you're from another timeline or whatever? Addie, you've been with me to hell and back. I couldn't really give a damn if we're sisters, but from differing timelines. And your Loki is a dick. End of conversation. Doesn't change my stance with you, or yours with me. But if you do try and make me cry again, I'm not kidding, I will punch you."
It's times like these where I wished I was a telepath instead of an elemental mutant demi-jötun-god. The human face tells a lot, the eyes even more so, but they're only a preview, a sneak peek if you will, in comparison to the thousands of thoughts, emotions and speculations that swarm within the human brain every second. Facial expressions are like a small mirror that tries with all it's might to reflect a mountain range of cohesive thinking, yet only succeeds in reflecting a hill or two of jumbled thoughts. I can see those couple jumbled thoughts flitting across Adelaide's face right now, but I know there is so much more behind it. What, I'm unsure, but the one standout reaction I can identify, is relief.
"You might lie a lot about yourself, but never let it be said that Lillian Nightshade isn't bluntly honest when it comes to her opinions and thoughts," Adelaide laughs quietly, but like the weight of the world has just been lifted from her shoulders. Hurrying to rub the remaining tears from the corners of her bronze eyes, she sniffs once, shoulders easing and allowing her composure to return to her as best as it can. "Right, well, now that you've said it like that, I kinda feel a little stupid about it all."
"Because it is stupid," I agree, though not unkindly. "You know I don't give a damn about things like that. Why would I make a big thing out of where you come from? You're still my sister, just like Sam's my brother. I never judge a person based on anything but their actions and their opinions. You've had my back, been overall morally aligned with good people, and your opinion isn't aligned with anything malicious or Nazi inclined. You're good Addie. If people weirdly do end up judging you for being from a different timeline or universe or whatever, then they're douchenozzles that I will personally take care of."
Nodding, content with myself and my excellent advice giving skills, I blissfully revel in another mouthful of the warm caffeine, praying to Tony Stark wherever he is on the floor right now in deep gratitude. Adelaide, immensely amused at the entire exchange, now appears a thousand times more at ease than I've ever seen her, paranoia no longer sinking its claws into her waking conscious. Gazing up at me, I see a light behind her eyes, one that touches my little dark heart. "Thank you, Lilly," she earnestly expresses her appreciation, hand grasping and gently squeezing my upper arm.
"Don't sweat it Addie," I assure, quick to jump to a lighter, less serious subject. "Though, you could pay me back by sitting and watching a couple episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine with me. I need my daily dose of Peraltiago, which I have shamefully been deprived of for days now."
"You ask so much of me," she dramatically sighs, back of her hand theatrically against her forehead. "But alas, you are feeble and wounded, 'tis the least I can do."
"How noble of you," I deadpan, facade breaking the same time Adelaide's does. Delicately guiding me back to bed, my little sister goes through the motions of setting the TV up in front of the bed, lying down with me afterwards. Sam joins us not too long later, as does Lewis, and even Tony, much to my surprise. Glancing around me, I can't help but stupidly smile at the idiots crowded around. I feel no compulsion to fall asleep, to escape all the problems plaguing the waking world, to plunge my consciousness into darkness.
I don't need it.
I don't. I have them.
***
"I literally look like a dementor is trying to eat me from the inside," I curl my lip in annoyance, just knowing that it'll be weeks until I'm capable of at least starting another bar fight. My own fingers dust over my heavily bruised and battered stomach and chest, the disfigured amalgamation of purples, blues, blacks and yellows splattered across my body roughly as much as my normal skin colour. Water gently trickles down in delicate dew drops over the harsh blemishes in my skin, my fingertips ghosting the twelve stitches splayed across my lower abdomen. My own hazel gaze traces the movement in the small mirror positioned above the sink, amber hair in tangled wet waves as it urgently drips as a result of not being towel dried yet.
Yet another moment I find myself gracious for being friends with Tony Stark. Private hospital room means private bathroom, and though I spent a rough half hour in the shower delicately trying to wash myself without pulling anything or making things worse, like showers always have in the past, I found the rhythmic drum of water against my skin soothing and hypnotic, washing away the remaining stress and paranoia that lingered in my muscles.
Surveying the extent of my injuries in the mirror theatrically after a solemn shower may be a cliché worthy of a sin by the almighty CinemaSins, but as anyone would logically be after the past long three days, I found myself undeniably curious as to how bad my wounds and bruises look. I can safely say I haven't looked this bad in many years.
My body I can at least hide behind clothes, not that I really care if anyone sees the bruises or stitches beneath, I'm not exactly Tony Stark when it comes to vanity, and I've gotten used to walking around with some kind of bodily damage as a result of being an assassin most of my life so far. However, my face definitely won't be on America's Next Top Model anytime soon, between my busted lip, lightly bruised and fractured nose, and the stiches in my left cheek.
I see I've been spared the 'main character only has prettily placed injuries so she still looks pretty' plot device. Thanks, author. Really appreciate it.
Carefully drying myself off, I gingerly slip on the thing strapped loose fit black crop top, deciding that my bra was digging into my bruises perhaps a little too much. Underwear is seamless and fine, as well as a pair of matching black loose fit pyjama shorts. In an attempt to somewhat drag attention away from the heavy bruising and stitches in my gut, I slip my simple silver belly button piercing on regardless of how it's mildly discomforting in my current state, not having worn it for a few days, and also not wanting the hole to close up. Upon my inability to find the baggy hoodie Addie had brought as pyjamas along with this change of clothes, I realise I must have left it on the bed. "First world problems," I unenthusiastically grumble, swiping the towel up again and progressively drying my jaw length hair as I amble out of the bathroom, immediately spying said article of clothing on the bed.
Tossing aside the towel, I nab the hoodie off the bed, but abruptly find myself distracted by a growing commotion outside. Tilting my head towards the door, I feel caution slipping back into my bones, the clothing in hand no longer the centre of my attention. What the he—
SLAM.
Surprised would be an understatement, if the word was used to describe my current state at the moment. The poor door, though still standing, wasn't opened kindly, and in its place now stands one lightly dressed Steve Rogers, wearing a hospital gown that's even too big for him. Which, come on, with a torso like his shouldn't be humanly possible.
Standing there stupidly like a gawking trout, my mouth opens and closes several times in its search for a coherent sentence, whilst Steve also stupidly stands there like everything he thought of saying has mysteriously vanished from his head.
When one of my Men in Black entourage tries to reach out and pull the super soldier from my room – which, I don't exactly blame them for, it's at least ten o'clock at night, and Captain America or not, they were assigned to guard me – Tony literally materialises out of nowhere, cutting the agent off and hurriedly explaining "Yeah no you don't want to try and stop him now that they've seen each other, let the lovebirds go at it for a while, and should they have a little domestic, then... well actually I'd still let them be, she has a tendency to throw fire or snowballs depending on her mood. Come on, run along now," the billionaire ushers the guard out, reaching for the door handle and sparing the two of us a glance. "Play nice – and I'm talking to you Shady." With that being said, he lightly pushes Steve forward, closing the door and abandoning us to the lingering silence of the room.
Tony Stark; Ultimate Wingman. Hamish Blake has some serious competition to keep up with. The devil works hard, but Tony Stark words harder.
Dropping the long forgotten hoodie back on the bed, the longer the silence drags out for, the tighter my throat gets. He doesn't look pleased, nor does he look upset. It's like looking at a friggin Madame Tussauds wax figure, and it's freaking me out.
"Well," I impatiently clear my throat, the words pouring out not having nearly as much conviction and mettle behind them as I'd hoped. "If you're going to go on about feeling betrayed and lied to all this time, and get angry for me withholding important information that could've been crucial and hurried things along the past few days, can you please get it out of the way? I'm sore, and tired, and love nothing more than going to sleep with a guilty conscience. Really, it's one of my favourite pastimes."
Slow, patient steps. With a solemn expression, his approach is agonisingly unhurried as I ramble, stopping just short of pinning me against the end of my bed. The tense silence he maintains, deciding not to speak for such a long period of time, is again reminding me about how extra and dramatic he is. Any other time I would laugh or poke fun at him for it, but all it's doing at the moment is driving me insane. Being the stubborn person I am, I refuse to utter another word, instead opting to stare expectantly at the top of his broad chest, which is what's actually level with my gaze at the moment anyway, the tall ass.
Finally, after what feels like a couple centuries, a smile cracks at his lips, the sad-happy kind of smile one usually wears before breaking into reticent happy tears, eyes soft enough they may break at any given moment. "By the sounds of it, you've been a lot of trouble," he weakly says, tone vulnerably raw despite how hard he's currently fighting against his exposed, bare emotions.
"You've been a lot of trouble," he acknowledges, eyes flickering to his shield imbedded in the wall beside me.
Losing my own battle against my profoundly relieved, emotionally shaky laugh, I shake my head at the corny bastard, still staring straight ahead at his collarbone. "It's my middle name; Lillian Trouble Nightshade. God given trait of mine I'm afraid, it's a gift and a curse."
I smirk mischievously. "It's my middle name; Lillian Trouble Nightshade. God given trait of mine I'm afraid, it's a gift and a curse."
"Haven't seen the gift side of it yet," the words that were once scathingly sarcastic are nothing more than a raw whisper, calloused fingers brush over my bare waist on either side down to my clothed hips so goddamn gently, they leave a ghost of the sensation in their wake, my skin alive and alert at the contact.
"Haven't seen the gift side of it yet," he comments, his unblinking eyes piercing into my own.
My eyes dance in ecstasy, dragging themselves up to lock onto those soft, vulnerable baby blues, barely noticing the bruising and cut on his right cheek, or the other cut in the corner of his mouth. I bring my own fingers up to oh so gently dust across his jaw and cheeks, light as a feather, his face in my hands. "Oh don't worry, you will."
My eyes dance in lust for danger. "Oh don't worry, you will."
Conscious and careful of each other's injuries, his hands draw me flush against him the same time that mine bring his face down to level with my own. Mouth against mouth, gentle yet passionate, slightly messy but so euphorically satisfying. The cuts in both of our lips start lightly bleeding again, but are entirely ignored. The width of his entire torso consumes me as much as his mouth does, arms now wrapped fully around me and possessively trapping me against him, as firmly as he can without harming me.
Then it hits me.
Guilt.
About another certain super soldier.
Regretfully trying to pull away, the hands that once grasped his face instead press lightly against his chest, attempting to pathetically push him back. "Wait, Steve, I need to tell you something before I forget and it comes back to bite us in the butt and irreparably hurts our relationship. It's about Bucky—" I impressively rush out as quickly as a Stark, but Steve Rogers has apparently had enough gently dancing around things, turning as blunt as me.
"You were more than his doctor, I heard."
Blinking, I try to find some semblance of annoyance or even anger behind his gaze, and infuriatingly find nothing. "So you were partially conscious? Christ, then why the hell aren't you getting angry? Yell at me or some shit. I lied about a million and one things, didn't tell you about having a kind of fling with your best friend, screwed up the timeline – you are being unrealistically calm about all this and I really do feel like I'm in a telenovela now that I think about it wow Tony was right – "
"Your sister filled me in on everything that happened on Asgard, as well as why Tony seemed to remember but no one else," he intervenes again; closing in on the miniscule amount of space I had created between us in my attempt to push him away. "And you told me all about being his doctor before all of this, remember? If you weren't there for him, if you didn't slip that bug into HYDRA's system with Ally, if he didn't hold those memories of you showing him small acts of kindness during everything HYDRA put him through, he might not have remembered me today. I admit, it's a little... weird... but for the past two months you've had my back like no one has since Bucky. And the whole time, you couldn't show how you really feel, despite spending days – weeks – in my company. You've tried so hard to be good these past months, a testament to how you've grown since we first met, even though you've been hurting and have this..." he trails, gesturing vaguely at me, still mildly perplexed about whatever I apparently have "... dark stone in you. If I'm being honest I still don't really understand it all, but we have all the time in the world now to talk through everything."
With his left hand still tightly wrapped around my body and grasping my right hip from the back, his opposite hand steadily raises until it's loosely, gingerly grasping the back of my neck; a much kinder, loving contrast to how the Winter Soldier was vehemently choking me back on the highway earlier today. The gentle caresses are fantastic, sure; they hypnotise me to fall into his touch like liquid. It's his eyes, however, that make me want to give him anything and everything he wants. So tender, devoted, enamoured, delicate. I'm almost scared I may say one wrong word and they'll shatter before me.
Fuck it; I tried taking the moral high ground.
Slipping my arms longingly around his waist, my hands deeply furrow into his hospital gown from behind, knuckles digging into his back in the immovable iron grip. Resting my forehead and face against his right collarbone so firmly the light and colours of the world around me disappear, I adjust my face until I'm not hurting my nose or injured cheek, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed up by everything that is him.
The hand that's still curled around the back of my neck holds me even firmer against him, his arm constricting around me like an anaconda that's not letting loose anytime soon. I'm precipitously hyperaware of every sensation and touch; his nose and the side of his face pressed against my head, deep breaths tickling my still damp hair, his torso wide enough and biceps large enough that the width of my frame fits between each shoulder, the barrier of fabric between the two of us so thin and airy that our bodies are practically flattened against one another skin to skin. There's eminently much of him to hold, the sensation solid and beautifully freeing under my fingertips. Whereas in comparison, there's little of me to hold, his embrace consuming me entirely.
"You found me, Lilly."
"God bless America."
He seems to take a moment to register my words, before he eventually breaks out into a contagious grin and takes his sweet time laughing out his entertainment. Unable to stop myself from doing so, I join in along with him, and for a short while, the two of us just enjoy a laugh together.
A few minutes later, after we've died down a bit, he breathes a tad labouredly as his smile threatens to tear his cheeks in half. "Where on earth did you come up with that?"
"I used to say it to someone who meant a lot to me. He was rather patriotic himself, always jumping into the firing line for others, no matter what it cost him. Pissed me off sometimes, the man refused to be even a little selfish, even when his life depended on it, but he cared for the people around him, as well as the innocents that didn't deserve any trouble that came their way. He was too good for this world, this world didn't deserve him," I explain, the ghosting remnants of my smile still playing at my lips.
Steve's head tilts inquisitively, asking "Sounds like selfless, good man. What happened to him?"
"I lost him," I answer, searching his eyes hopefully with all the faith in the world. "But I think he'll find his way back to me. If there's anything he's ever taught me, it's to never give up, even when the entire universe is against you."
"How dare you even doubt me for a second," I accusingly muffle into his shoulder, gripping him tighter. "I'd punch the Grim Reaper itself if it meant getting you back. Stick that scythe right up his ass."
"I know," he breathes into my hair, lips moving against my head, every little touch a drug I find myself soaring high off of. "I know."
For what simultaneously feels like an eternity yet not long enough, we indulgently revel in the mesmerising embrace of one another. Even when I begin to feel my bruises protesting against the secure entwinement, I don't say anything. He's here. He remembers. He's mine. My injuries can frankly take a damn hike.
I'm just surprised he hasn't noticed how... well... indecently I'm dressed right now. In fact, I'm surprised he hasn't felt how indecently dressed I am right now. It's not like I'm wearing a bra right now, just a thin crop top. I was going to bed, alright? Didn't expect America's Golden Boy to stop by and visit. Not that I personally care, he's the one that gets all well-mannered and old fashioned about things like this.
Yet, I also understand why he likely hasn't noticed. We're so lost in each other that our breathing is synchronised; our chests rising to press against one another and falling in perfect unison. His grip on me belongs to that of a man who has lost so much, and now that he has recovered something, someone, he's not letting them get away anytime soon. A sentiment I can share.
"What is that metal thing digging into me?"
Taken aback by the abrupt break in the silence, it takes a moment for me to understand his inquiry, and when I do, I fail to catch the reflexive laugh that escapes my lips. Drawing back, much to my dismay, I remain in his embrace but put enough distance between us to stare pointedly at my belly button, right hand tapping the piece of jewellery centimetres away from my stitches. "It's a belly button piercing grandpa, get with the times."
"Aren't you a little old to be going through a rebellious teen phase?" He teases, fingers moving down from my neck, bewitching, until they tantalisingly trace the tribal rose tattoo on my right shoulder blade.
Snorting, I shoot back "This is coming from a man eligible for senior pensions and discounts. I hear Burger King is giving out free cups of coffee for senior citizens. Though, you may need to ask about the exact guidelines around that, because I think ancient citizens might even get a free burger—"
"Hilarious," he cuts me off, feigning hurt and losing all credibility when his smile wins over instead. "I'm now realising how much you've been holding back these past few months. Which soul was unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of your pent up sarcasm? Stark?"
"He can't take all the credit, I wasn't particularly easy on Sam or Addie either," I shamelessly admit, unable to stop stupidly smiling up at the dork.
The super soldier hums thoughtfully, his own sappy contentment mirroring mine. "Your sister is definitely interesting. Politer than you when we first met as well."
"You didn't try to throw a shield at her best friend," I defensively justify, tongue darting out to clean my freshly bleeding lip, the taste of iron settling on my buds.
Even as he talks, his eyes trace the movement, partially distracted. "If it makes you feel any better, I was aiming for you."
"Well then, you better work on your aim a bit more soldier."
Smile is too weak a word for me to continue using. So is happiness, contentment, fulfilment, and most other words in our universal vocabulary. Nothing I have ever felt, experienced, or seen can compare to this moment. It is not something I can easily describe, something that you could read and feel along with me. Sympathize, sure, but never could anyone but Steve Rogers empathize with me when it comes to this little pocket in time. I could tell you all about a thrumming, drunken, all-consuming sense of euphoria, or how my chest is almost hurting with how much intoxicating devotion, respect, fidelity and love I feel for this man. None of it would really ever express or even come close to describing what I'm really feeling though. No one truly ever understands an emotion in such intensity until they find themselves in a situation where they experience it themselves.
I hope you all one day find a little pocket in time in which you truly feel some kind of love and euphoria with that level of intensity. Then, you can look back at my own little moment right here, right now, and empathize every second of it with me.
***
Natasha Romanoff barely had enough time to recover from her nasty bullet wound before the United States Congress was on her ass about leaking all of SHIELD and HYDRA's top secret information. Maria Hill and several other agents were unfortunate enough to also be subjected to a Congressional, but Adelaide, Sam and I didn't dare touch Congress with a twenty mile pole. I'm still healing, and will be for weeks. Fortunately for me, that was enough reasoning to avoid my own hearing, in spite of the Senate and House of Representatives now remembering my identity, and emphasising their distrust and disapproval of my questionable character fighting alongside Earth's Mightiest Heroes.
My favourite red-haired assassin was also privy to these misgivings, due to her now revealed service record fighting for and against the United States, but, in the politest way possible for Natasha Romanoff, practically told them a big fat 'fuck you, I'm a bad bitch you can't arrest me'.
She didn't actually say that, though God that would have been fantastic. No, in Natasha's eloquently worded response, she maintained the same level of theatrics that Steve seems to hold in high esteem. By this point I think they're just trying to rob me of my title of Top Dramatic Queen.
"You're not going to put me in a prison. You're not going to put any of us in a prison. You know why?"
"Do enlighten us."
"Because you need us. Yes, the world is a vulnerable place, and yes, we help make it that way. But we're also the ones best qualified to defend it. So, if you want to arrest me, arrest me. You'll know where to find me."
Tell me that's not dramatic.
Either way, Nat's simple, short and sweet response has so far been convincing, for no one has come knocking on my door with handcuffs yet. Which, is actually a surprisingly nice change of pace for me. This may be the first moment in my adult life where I no longer have to fear the legal system or espionage agencies coming after me yelling 'bloody murder, cuff the criminal'.
After spending four ridiculously long days in the hospital I was finally discharged and sent on my merry way. Now that my healing is back to a normal, everyday human's pace, I have to wait a few weeks until I'm at full health again. Adelaide theorises that the reason she and I were healing quicker than normal on Asgard was because of our constant interactions with the infinity stones, which would make sense. Lucas gave some long-winded, scientific backing for Addie's theory as well, but to be honest, I wasn't really paying attention.
Tony is putting the final finishing touches on Avengers tower, and even though it isn't quite ready yet, he has already set up a nice little floor for Addie, Sam and I. I'll likely spend the next three or four weeks there recovering. Tinhead seems ecstatic about that, already planning God knows what. I won't rob him of his enthusiasm though, especially when he seems so keen to introduce me to Pepper and his long time best friend James Rhodes.
As of now, I have found myself basking in the generous, warm sunlight, surrounded by solemn tombstones, a little ways off from Sammy Wilson, Steve, Sam and Fury. Presently, they're checking out Nicky's fancy new gravestone. It won't be hard for Nicky to pull off the faked death card, because that's the thing about Nicholas J. Fury; if he never wants you to know or find out something, you won't. Ever.
Humming into the phone held against my ear, I express such thoughts to the recipient on the other side, earning a scoff from Tony. "Are you sure Fury is human? Has anyone actually checked that? He could come out as an alien or an android or a ghost one day and I wouldn't even be surprised."
"I'll get back to you on that," I amusedly smile, watching the four men interacting a few graves away. "How's Hill? She settling in?"
"Little overqualified for a place in Human Resources, but Pepper is pretty over the moon about having her in Stark Industries. Apparently, those two go on coffee dates all the time. I feel cheated on. First it was Phil, now Hill. Next I'm going to find out that she does yoga with Fury and Pilates with your boy toy."
"From all the stories I've heard so far, I am both eager and terrified to meet her," I admit, wrapping our conversation up. "Anyway, I gotta meet up with the others. Catch you soon Tony. Take care of Maria, she's a good agent."
"Both you and Fury have said that to me now, and I feel mildly threatened. Will do. See you soon."
Click.
Pocketing the device in my leather jacket, I tiredly make my way over to the small, conversing group, feeling every numbed pull and twinge in my injuries. Probably another good reason I didn't appear before congress; I'm still pretty drugged up, and though I would never regret telling congress where they can stick their threats of prison – Tony would frankly applaud me for it as well, if his hearing back in 2010 is any indication – in a situation as tense as it currently is, it would not bode well.
"... we've been data mining HYDRA's files. Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship." Catching the end of Nicky's sentence as I arrive to his grave, I stuff my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. Unable to repress my scoff of amusement, my mouth is quick to open and respond before I even come to a halt before the men, nonplussed by the update.
"Rats can tread water for three days straight, so not that shocking," I grimly grin, stiffly standing beside Steve. "Plus, last time this happened, I still joined them a year or so later and beat the collective asses of the Fantastic Four and Avengers, so we knew this would happen."
"Not planning on turning on us anytime soon, are you Lilly?" Steve fondly teases, his own hands also resting in the pockets of his pants.
Affectionately bumping shoulders with the dork, my smile morphs into a more amorous beam amidst my continuation of the light jest. "Like you would stand a chance Captain Kill Joy. I'm granting mercy on you, appreciate it."
A gentle laugh escapes his lips, Steve's own grin growing. "Mercy? The old Lillian would never."
"Is that a challenge Rogers?" I arch a brow disbelievingly, now properly facing the super soldier.
"It's amazing how good the two of them are at making everyone feel like a third wheel, even in a group of five people," Sammy Wilson casually remarks, the witty remark directed at Sam Hemmings positioned beside him.
Sam nods affirmatively, the Sams – or as I have come to call them, Sam Squared, or even Sam Cubed if you count Samuel L. Jackson – running their own string of entertainingly clever commentary mere feet away. "It's actually an ongoing contest at the moment. Which duo is better at making everyone in the room feel like a third wheel; Steve and Lillian, or Lillian and Tony?"
"Ooh, tough call man," Sammy Wilson sucks in his breath, feigning deliberation. "Bachelorette; Avengers edition. Who gets the final rose? Find out next week—"
"Are you all quite done?" Fury interjects, cynically staring down the four of us. Even through his dark, tinted sunnies I can feel the judgement, judgment that's simultaneously veiling a playful twinge of entertainment. "Because before Lillian and Cap here started flirting again like a couple love sick fools, I was giving a rundown on the whole Nazi espionage agency that took down SHIELD situation."
"Sorry, Nick," Steve earnestly apologises, sternly nodding his head at the ex Director of SHIELD. "You were saying?"
Harrumphing, though not whole heartedly, Nicky continues from where he left off, disclosing "All I was gonna say is that I'm heading to Europe tonight. Wanted to ask if you'd come."
A brief beat, a pause for thought, but only one. Steve doesn't think twice about his answer. "There's something I got to do first."
Nicky glances at me, but doesn't even bother with an inquiry, just a small, knowing grin. "I guess it'd be too much to ask you to leave your boy toy's side and join me this soon after getting him back, wouldn't it?"
I ignore Steve's slightly indignant expression at Fury's wording, instead apologetically smiling at the man who has been my father figure as long as I can remember. "Sorry Nicky. Should you really need my help though, you know I'll have your back."
"Mm, thought as much," the ex Director of SHIELD sighs, though in understanding. Turning his scrutiny towards Sam Squared, a brow raises behind his sunglasses. "How about the two of you, Wilson and Hemmings? Could use a couple men with your skills and experience."
Sharing a glance with Steve, Sammy is the first to answer Nick, apologetic smile mimicking mine from moments ago. "I'm more of a soldier than a spy."
"And I'm actually taking a break," my boy Hemmings announces, to the surprise of the other three men. Having sat down and discussed this with him already earlier on, I'm already aware of Sam's future plans. "Lewis and I are taking Tony up on his offer to work at Stark Industries. Lewis' work on microbiology and cell biology is almost unparalleled. Stark's already got him teaming up with this doctor from South Korea on a project, it's pretty cool actually. Meanwhile, I think I'll go back to my work on Information Technology and Electrical Engineering. I've always had a knack for coding and computers – especially with my powers – but turns out, I'm not too bad at engineering either. Gonna personally help Tony with a few projects he's got going on."
"That'll be good for you Sam. Since you've been a kid, you haven't had a break from HYDRA or SHIELD or espionage in general," I support, sharing a smile with my friend. "Tony's excited to have you as well."
"Well, alright then," Fury concedes, nodding his head in acceptance at the fact that he'll be going at this alone. Peering at his grave in contemplation, a lapse in the conversation settles amongst the five of us, acknowledging the deviation that each of our paths are taking from one another. I've always been there, ready to respond to anything Fury sends my way. Right here and now, it feels like I'm severing the very last tie that was committing me and my professional obligations to a person or organisation. It's liberating, freeing, yet also new territory. I've never been very good with new territory, but I also used to not be very good with letting others in, and look at me now. It may take an adjustment period, but I'll learn, like I always do.
Outstretching his hand to each of us, Nicholas Fury bids himself farewell with a firm handshake, getting to me holding my grip a couple seconds longer. "Take care of yourself Lilly."
"And you, Nicky," I fondly farewell, hesitantly releasing my father figure's hand and moving closer to Steve.
With Steve's hand now in his grasp, the ex Director of SHIELD iterates with a nod to hid grave "Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me, right here." Arm falling to his side, Nicky takes a couple measured steps back before walking away altogether, off to engage in who knows what acts of secrecy.
"You should be honoured. That's about as close as he gets to saying thank you."
The remaining four of us slide our gaze to the right to spy the source of the declaration, a certain Russian and my sister approaching us unhurriedly. Smiling at my sister, Addie beams back, and as Steve nears Nat I pull my baby sis in for a brief hug, still restricted by my injuries, before Sam does the same. Steve sounds mildly surprised when he asks "Not going with him?" to the red head.
"No," Natasha vaguely smiles.
"Not staying here?" The super soldier persists.
"Nah," the Russian vaguely answers again, as evasive as always. "I blew all my covers. I got to go figure out a new one."
"That might take a while."
"I'm counting on it," Nat continues with her ominous ways, taking a second to share a fond moment with her friends. After a beat, she reaches for a folder littered in Russian scrawls from her coat, adding "That thing you asked for; I called in a few favours from Kiev. Will you do me a favour?"
When Steve glances questioningly at Nat, Natasha in turn stares pointedly at me "Spend some time with this one. Go on a date, have a coffee. Do something couple-y."
"Oh he doesn't have a choice," I pipe up, entirely serious when I exchange looks with the super soldier and spy. "I plan to take him hostage if he says otherwise."
"That worked so well for you last time," he teases, a light shining behind those cerulean eyes.
"Hey," I warn, pointing a threatening finger at him. "I let you kidnap me last time. I wanted to be kidnapped. That museum trip was very enlightening, because now I know how to go about kidnapping you all the much more. So ha, jokes on you, Fourth of July Stripper."
"Should we be concerned?" Addie asks Sam, the latter responding worrisomely quickly with an "Always."
Turning away respectfully from the red head and Steve as they say their goodbyes, I return my attention to Addie in front of me, inquiring "What about you? You coming with me or...?"
"As much as I would love to make up for lost time with my big sister, that's going to have to wait," Adelaide regrettably sighs, tucking a stray strand of burnished brown hair that had escaped her high pony tail behind her ear. "I need some time to myself. So much has happened since Thanos pulled me from my timeline, and even when briefly settled down for a quiet life, I never really settled. Gonna figure myself out first, and my place here, Nat's actually going to help a little with that, then I'll probably join Fury out in Europe or something. I'll always be a phone call away for the two of you, though," my little sister ends reassuringly, affectionately squeezing the arms of Sam and I.
"Call regularly," I emphasize, drawing her in for another hug, ignoring the alerting scream of soreness from my stitches at the act. "If you don't, I'll assume you dead and enact vengeance upon your killers."
"I would expect nothing less," Addie chuckles, fingers curling in my hair comfortingly before releasing me, pulling Sam in for another hug directly afterwards. "Try not to burn down Stark Industries whilst I'm away Hemmings."
"You almost burn down one pizza place and the lady never lets you live it down," Sam sarcastically mumbles to himself, unable to hide his growing amusement as he heartily embraces the younger Nightshade. "But alas, for you, I will try. Be safe Adelaide."
Relinquishing his grasp on Addie once more, Sam and I swivel our attention onto Nat as she nods her departure at the two of us, smirking slyly at me. "I'll take care of her if you take care of him," she promises, gesturing at Adelaide and Steve.
"Will do," I vow, at the same time that Addie farewells Steve.
"That's probably my cue to get going too," Sam lamentably announces, finding myself in yet another hug so soon. My stitches and bruises are just loving this. "I'll likely see you around whilst you're recuperating, but just in case, I bid you adieu, my troublesome little Nightingale."
"You're such a dorky twat," I laugh, patting him on the back. "Don't change for the world Sam."
"Lills, if I've learned anything from you, it's that the entire universe could be telling you to be a million and one different people for it, but in the end, it's just better to say 'fuck it', and be one person for yourself," he ensures, pulling away to say goodbye to everyone else. Don't know where he pulled that from, but it does sound like something I'd write, drunk, for a fortune cookie, so kudos to me I guess?
It goes on like this for another couple minutes, becoming more and more starkly apparent at the distinct divergence each of our lives have taken. I've grown so attached to this group of people these past months; it's hard to imagine living a day to day life without some of them for a while to come.
Stealing a glance at my other half, I find him already blatantly staring at me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Don't worry Lilly," he soothingly assures, tone so tender and gentle, it's as if he's trying not to scare me off. Raising the free hand that's not holding the folder, he lovingly clasps the back of my neck, fingers furrowing comfortingly through my short hair and drawing me towards him, only for his ginger lips to press fervidly against my forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
Taking advantage of the moment, gravitating towards his touch, I mindfully lean against his shoulder, nose and lips pressing a fleeting kiss into the brown leather of his jacket. "It just feels... surreal, you know? My life is an everlasting storm that refuses to tire, one to weather 'til I stand before my hellfire. Yet I don't find myself standing before hellfire, or amidst the throes of a storm. Where am I, Steve?"
"You're with me," is all he answers, and if I'm being honest, for once I find myself content with that simplicity. He is my pulse, my shelter, and I don't give a damn if that's sappy or too dramatic. It is what I earned; it's what I weather this goddamn storm for.
And I would weather it twice, for a little more once with him.
***
3rd Person's POV (aka Air, the Stan Lee cameo equivalent of my books)
A world with Lillian Nightshade in it has illustrated both its merits and its woes, at the hand of the assassin as well as a result of her. A world without Lillian Nightshade, however, also has its fair share of benefits and misfortunes.
And before the notorious Nightingale got her hands on her father's sceptre, this world was a world without Lillian Nightshade.
Every life she had taken, every life she had saved, every life she had affected for the better and the worse. For SHIELD, for criminals, against the law, against criminals. The memories have now returned to the minds of every single person she has ever touched in one way or another. Unfortunately though, in this world, that's all they are; memories of another time. Lillian was not there to actually act out these experiences this time around, and whilst in many instances, as it was aforementioned, it has been for the better, in others, it has been for the worse.
Far, far worse.
"Kuikku! Tsukamu—" (Quick! Grab—)
SHIIING – SQUELCH – SPLAT.
Sword – head – floor.
A manifold of Japanese curses and cries create a cacophony in the cavernous compound, shrouds of mist entirely obscuring the vision of numerous skilled martial artists. All have been trained since they were children to fight in such conditions; in fact, they often use smoke bombs themselves. Yet this is no ordinary opponent the ninjas have found themselves contesting with, this was an entirely new devilry, one that not too long ago, was fighting beside them.
Everyone makes a sound when they move. Even when they remain stationary, the members of the Hand have been conditioned and disciplined to pick up on the faint heartbeats of their targets, always knowing where they are in clouded room, for it is near impossible to mask the very beating of one's heart, the pulse that signifies life.
This devilment – this snake in the grass – has no beat.
One by one, heads rolled, tongues tied, blood spilled. One by one, swords clanged, bodies dropped, breaths stopped. One by one, the sound of heartbeats decreased and dwindled, until the mist cleared, and in a room with thirty two Hand corpses, one ninja stood standing, weapon less, worthless.
Pathetically, he crawled. Like a goddamn movie, his sword lay mere feet away, but not close enough. Kicking him onto his back, preventing the Hand member from crawling any further, the traitor stood over him, garbed in shades of the very mist that just dissipated. Staring up his maker, the ninja – one of the few recruited in America, rather than Japan – sees no other way out, trying to reasonably persuade "You – You are no Black Sky, do not think that you are important enough to be above forgiveness for this treachery, Revenant—"
The Revenant promptly muffled the blabbering with a single boot to the Hand member's throat, yet that did not stop his rambling as a whole. "Y-You can only die s-so many times, before you stay d-dead. Your father will be d-disappointed with this b-betrayal. All you h-have ever known is t-the Hand—"
The Revenant pushes down harder, colour leeched katana millimetres away from the wide eye of the defeated ninja. "I am the unholy matrimony of every transgression and evil conducted by my father. His opinion no longer holds sway over me. And no, the Hand is all the Revenant has ever known..."
Removing the grey mask muzzling her mouth and pushing back the hood of her robes, Allison Renegade stonily regards the man beneath her boot, no anger, no resentment, just a cold, hollow, harrowing void behind her icy blue eyes ".... not Allison Renegade."
END OF BOOK TWO
LILLIAN NIGHTSHADE AND ALLISON RENEGADE WILL RETURN
A/N: FINALLY. After a couple years, many infinity stones and tears, Played by the Enemy has drawn to a close. It feels a little surreal tbh, because Falling for the Enemy and Played by the Enemy were both Lillian books, yet each felt so very different to write, and Broken by the Enemy will be like that all over again.
Many things that you guys think I may have long forgotten or haven't yet addressed in this story will actually be addressed in the next book, and tbh, I think the first few chapters of the next book will be the most fun I've had with Lillian for a while, because before launching in Age of Ultron, there will be a fair share of Captain Nightshade and Avengers fluff, as well as some other MCU and Marvel links....
Broken by the Enemy will released end of December, or at the absolute latest, the beginning/mid January. I have so many books to focus on which haven't really been focused on for a fair while-
*cough* Conquering an Untamed Flame *cough*
Sorry bout that, I think there's a little bit of procrastination stuck in my throat.
I will, however, be posting Lillian one shots when I can, and will likely put up a sneak peek of BBTE soonish, so do not fret!
Thank you guys so much for sticking around this long! A lot of people end up leaving after the first book in a series, and not only have you continued on to this one, but you've stuck around for the entire book. Whether you've been here since the beginning of FFTE or BBTE, or are a new reader that has only recently discovered this series, I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart. Whenever I'm down or want to have a good laugh, I go through all the comments you guys have left across my chapters, and they always make my day better.
Seriously guys, I cannot thank any of you enough.
Last QOTD for this book: What is a wild conspiracy that you believe/predict about the next book, and what would you like to see in the next book?
Thank you so so so much for reading, and that's all for Played by the Enemy, bye! xxx :)
~ T.L