I'm so sorry that I've been absent, it's been a stressful couple of months due to exams, stress, revision, relationships etc but here I am, in the middle of Greece, dedicating my time for y'all to grace you with the much anticipated Steve POV chapter.
I wrote some of this back in March, other parts before chapter 28. I haven't wrote in ages so I'm a bit rusty so bare with me on spelling mistakes and if anything comes out awkward.
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Been told to start writing more dialogue? No?
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Steve would never forget the look on his mother's face the day that he told her that he was joining the army, that her son, her baby, was being jetted off to a war torn third-world country to fight a never ending battle over land, oil, money, power. It had been a look of utter heartbreak, a freeze-frame imagine that would forever be etched into Steve's mind because despite the fact that this was something he had his heart set on doing for years, he was still breaking his mother's heart by going.
A lot had changed when Steve returned and for a long time, Steve was unsure if it was the world around him that had began to change or if it was himself, and for an even longer time, he was scared to know the answer. Because change was not something that he was use to, especially when it came to his home, to his friends, to the routine that he had so regularly gotten himself wrapped up around for those years up until he met Tony, and the months after he had left.
It was the slightest of things, the smallest of things, the tiniest of things that Steve was able to notice the changes in and for some staggering reason, it had bothered him more than it should've, and it bothered him more than he was allowed to be bothered. Steve had been the one that had decided to join the army, he had been the one that had decided to get up and leave his hometown, his home, his friends, his mom, his life; so, so what if his neighbours mailbox had changed from blue to red or his mom had been miraculously gifted a new car. It doesn't matter. These changes don't matter.
But they do, the changes matter a lot because even if it's just mer objects, articles of clothing in new wardrobes or ornaments in a garden that was once cobbled with stone but was now layered with green grass, it meant that he people around you had changed too. And more so, it was Steve that had changed the most from his experiences in Afghanistan, even if he didn't know it truly himself.
He'd seen things, much like any other man or woman who has had to experience the horrors of war, and those things; the blood, the gore, the violence, the power that such a person can have just because they're the one that holds the gun or just because they seem to be fighting on the justice side of the war. It's not the criminals that had gotten to Steve, it was the civilians; the women, the children, the ones going about their life and only twisted among the violence because Steve or such put them through it.
Steve had become haunted, a ghost floating above the empty husk that was his own body, his own mind, his own conscious. But he had nowhere else to turn to because the friends that he had had gained their own lives, new and exciting and just as dangerous as his own has become, and he couldn't bare to be a burden to his mother, hardworking in her older age. And so, Steve toured again, and again.
And then came the incident
He knows of the reasons of his discharge, he knows because he was told quite frankly one dusky evening that the army was discharging him with honours, with medals and a fancy Sargent Captain title, whereas Bucky had told him of the real reason, the reason that for the life of Steve, he cannot remember is.
It must've been bad because Steve can still remember the way in which Bucky had looked at him, talked to him as if he was a child who had just witnessed something tremendously awful like pulling on the cats tail or drawing a crude picture on the wall. He can still remember how, as he left, everyone who remained in his barracks had refused to make eye contact with him, shied away at his wondering eye, questioning look, nod of a head.
Steve has become haunted in more ways than one.
Steve would never forget the look on Tony's face the night that he turned up on his doorstep, shaking and pleading as Steve had spat venom at him, snarled his lip, spoke to Tony in a way that Steve had never thought that he would because he had never thought Tony would betray him like he had. And was it really a betrayal, or was it more the fact that Steve had felt used, taken advantaged of, embarrassed that he had let a complete stranger into his life, into his home, only to be exposed as more of a stranger than Steve had wanted himself not to believe.
But nevertheless if Steve had felt all those emotions, that he had felt more battered and bruised in those last moments he had with Tony than any street fight or scrap he had been involved in, he still longed for him. Tonys touch had still lingered in places where his hands had smoothed over, his lips had placed butterfly soft kisses upon, his foot had gently pressed against, his body had leaned into. Tony's touch was a ghostly reminder, something to gravitate towards when he was pressed flat to a dusted road in a tattered country of bullets and bombs.
Despite it all, Tony had still floated in and out of Steve's thoughts in the oddest of moments after he had enlisted and served. He still longed for his touch as he was camped out on dusty wastelands, awaiting for a war criminal or an enemy to strike. Steve would still find himself wanting to rush to his mobile phone and type out a message to Tony about a new type of coffee he has come across, or how Tony's 'bots would put the Army's to shame. Or that Steve's nose was still haunted by the smell of Tony; of freshly ground coffee, of motor oil and grease, of sweet, expensive cigarettes imported from Turkey.
But Steve's notions would suddenly become tainted when reminded that he no longer had that privilege of texting Tony, of telling him of his latest trek through the desert or of how Bucky recently gotten on his nerves, treating him like a kid with a bad temper or what not. He would suddenly be pricked with the realisation, even after all those years, that Tony was no longer his, not as if he was his in the first place.
And so, Steve would shake himself off, preserver because then he would be reminded that there were a lot bigger problems in this world than Steve's desert dry love life, or the fact that he's still pinning after a man no Steve hadn't heard from in years. He has had heard so much about him, however, especially upon the announcement of the gracious Stark Insurance that newly entrusted Tony Stark had established for the men and women fighting for America's front, a gesture to wave over the gossip of where or who exactly Stark Weapons was being manufactured for had begun to appear.
Steve heard of Tony, but he never spoke of him because he had bigger problems to deal with, and that bigger problem just so happened to be Bucky and his accident, so much more vital and important than Steve and his own.
As Steve walks away from the hospital, there's a car cruising along the side of the road and all of Steve's anxious, army fuelled skittishness seems to flare up in those moments that with every step and every turn that Steve seems to make, the car follows. He's about to break into a jog, loose the car as he dodges into an ally way and jumps a couple of fences when the car speeds up, as if almost sensing Steve's intentions, and the window is rolled down, revealing a familiar face with just as vivid, red familiar hair.
"Get in."She says, sunglasses perched on her nose, the dark tint of the shades contrasting against her porcelain skin, smooth as it was back when she was 17 and doing donuts in a parking lot as she waited for Steve or Bucky or Clint to come stumbling out of ER with the latest scar to their growing collection. The anxiety within Steve jolts a little, melting away when he realises who it is, but he's not over all convinced of her reason being here.
"I hadn't-"
"Bucky texted. Get in the car, Steve."He tenses at her tone, looking down the street as if he's going to see Bucky sprinting down the pavement, the sleeve of his leather jacket, of where an arm use to be, flapping behind him in the wind. He almost wishes he had been because Steve would rather sit in stony silence with Bucky over having to talk with Natasha.
"I thought you weren't talking."There's a pause in her reply and Steve almost sees her hesitate, mull over the silence and the months and years it has been since Natasha and Bucky were on talking terms.
"We aren't, but he's a friend and so are you."There's a sharp click, the doors of her newly purchased car unlocking and she cocks her head to the passenger seat that remains vacant, her patience running thin because she has places to be and people to see but a bullheaded, stubborn childhood friend of hers to deal with first.
"How is he-"
"He said he's getting the bus, so Phil is taking him home."Sharp and clairvoyant as always because over the years Natasha has mastered the art of knowing what people are going to say; or maybe she just knows Steve well enough of what he is going to say.
"Phil has enough to do."Steve frowns, lines creasing at his forehead as he hunches his shoulders because he suddenly feels rather guilty for leaving Bucky alone at the hospital cause if he had stayed they would've shared a cab. But if he had stayed...
Steve isn't sure what would've happened. It was his own fault. He knows better than to press Tony into a corner (or against a counter), push for questions and losing his temper when he doesn't get the answers he was seeking. Steve just hadn't been expecting him to be there, out of all the places in the world, Steve had not been expecting Tony to be standing in that hospital cubical, as a doctor, especially when Steve remembers how adamant Tony was to peruse his degree in Electrical Engineering.
There was just something within Steve that made him unable not to get up and approach Tony, making him quiver like a frightened deer in headlights when he was trying to be professional and do his job. It was stupid. Steve was being stupid. What else did he expect? For Tony to be all grins and wide arms, welcoming Steve with the same kiss under the chin as he had all those years ago when they were teenagers and Tony had been seeking affection and Steve was seeking someone to give affection to.
He couldn't have stayed, his disruption had not only caused a ripple in Tony's professionalism, but he was becoming an unannounced barrier between Bucky and the medical care and attention that he desperately needed. The prosthetic was only but a bonus because Steve had did his research concerning the procedures that patients had to go through before gaining a prosthetic under Stark Insurance and under that it meant that Bucky had to undergo therapy and counselling, something that Steve has been urging for him to do so since day one. Even if Steve has failed to seek that type of help himself.
So he left because Bucky's health, his opportunities and life was far more important than Steve's own.
"I know."Is all Natasha replies with, revving the engine to show her lack of patience and instead of dwelling any further in this miserable cold, Steve is rounding the car and getting into the passenger seat, the car taking off before he can even fiddle with his seat belt.
"I didn't ask to be picked up, I could've walked."Steve voices when he turns to see her expression, lips pursed as she drives, eyes shielded behind her expensive sunglasses.
"So he's a Doctor now, huh?"Natasha states because it's more a statement than an actual question, told by the briefness of Bucky's text that somehow he was involved. No name was given but Natasha is far from stupid.
"Seems to be."His reply is solemn, reserved.
"Makes sense."She shrugs a shoulder, turning a corner onto an unfamiliar road but Steve has been gone long enough to know that Natasha is well accustomed to her surroundings and where she is going, it's part of her job to know."He seems to be the kind of guy that is always looking to fix things, whether that's directly because of his own fault or another's. God knows Stark Industries have done enough fault over the years, no matter how much they indorse into the military."
"None of that is his fault."He suddenly finds himself defending a guy that he had shoved out of his life, snarled and commanded to leave his home."Stark Insurance is saving Buck's life."
"I know that,"She treads carefully, sparing a glance at Steve who sorts of slouches in the passenger seat, not really looking at her but not exactly looking at anything outside either. "But you can see where I'm coming from, yeah? Stark Industries have been around the rumour mill countless times, Steve, and not for good reason."
"They're rumours."
"And sometimes rumours lead to the truth."It's not said but Steve can guess what she's angling at as he slumps deeper into the passenger seat, wishing now that he had stuck with his stubbornness and walked to his apartment rather than give in and let Natasha give him a lift. She sighs, he looks away."Bucky said he was shaking like a tree in the wind."
"And what else did he say, 'Tasha?"
"Don't play this game because honestly, you're not very good at it Steve."Steve flushes at her tone of voice, suddenly feeling very embarrassed that he even tried to take on Natasha and her knowledge, knowing very well that he is the one in the wrong."You can't stand in the way between Bucky and his future, Steve, no matter what history you have with Tony. It's being selfish."
"That's why I left."Steve looks away for a moment, watching as they past cars and street lamps. It's still early in the morning, he has a lot of things to do today."I just hadn't expected him to be there and when I recognised who it was- I don't know, just something within me just switched. He looked so scared, Tasha, and it was like this facade of his professionalism just collapsed when he saw me. So I left."
It's silent for a while and remains so until Natasha is pulling up to Steve's apartment complex, stories tall and red bricked. She doesn't shut off the engine but she does turn in her seat, red hair whipped over a shoulder as she does so and face set with an unidentifiable emotion that does nothing but make Steve more nervous and embarrassed than he already was. She's beautifully terrifying and Steve has faced many a thing in Afghanistan but nothing will ever come close to the fear that Natasha holds.
"You told Tony to leave all those years ago and leave he did, but since then you have made it noticeable to everyone that you enjoy the act of wallowing in your own self pity and I, for one, have had enough of it, Steve."Steve's eyes widen, watching how she doesn't move her eyes off of Steve as she speaks,"It's been 10 years, Steve."
"I know."He casts his eyes downwards as if a puppy being scowled before looking at Natasha whose eyes fail to meet sympathy that Steve is looking for. Natasha is strong, she's smart and she's been friends with Steve long enough to know not to give in to these types of traps.
"Then act like it's been because from my point of view, I'm starting to feel like we're 17 again."
Steve is quick with getting out of the car after that, standing on the pavement as he watches Natasha speed off in her newly furnished car, yelling something about meeting up for drinks in a day or twos time out the window as she goes. He isn't sure if she means it or not but he'll make sure to keep the next couple of days open just in case, not that he has many things to be getting on with himself.
For the last several years, Steve has occupied himself with countless number of hobbies, none of which quite satisfying his thirst away from extreme boredom than drawing. It wasn't until Bruce pointed out to him that mindless sketches of landscapes and people weren't going to pay the bills, that he actually considered drawing for comics. It was refreshing, as such, because it gave him a purpose again, a routine, something that he had to do in order to get paid, something he didn't need to leave his apartment for either.
Because if Steve is being truthful, he has become a creature of comfort since his discharge, and he's pretty sure that it's not a good thing that he is but he's not willing to admit it openly enough to get help. He finds comfort in his apartment, it's small size giving him that blanket of security and contentment that often reminds him of his small childhood home. It's an open planned, 1 bedroom and 1 bathroom with little touching here and there that make it Steve's home and not just a home of his childhood or the sofa of his friends.
Comic drawing pays well enough, even in the century of advancing technology with screens that display whatever you desire with just a tap or two and the act of reading a newspaper or cracking the spine of a book has become foreign in this fast moving world, and even faster moving city. Steve lives well, better than he has growing up but not too much off that he forgets of where he came from, and the benefits he received after his discharge have helped him too.
Steve is hanging up his jacket by the front door, closing the door with the heel of his foot as he does so. It's cold outside and Steve can still feel it's chill even upon entering his apartment, one that has settled deep as he shakes his shoulders and heads to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea because Bruce has been on a herbal tea kick for the last several months and Steve has unwillingly become a fan.
With great pride, Steve can say that he not only now owns a laptop that has all of its original keys, but a phone that he no longer needs to flip in order to answer a phone call. He doesn't the phone often enough to know the ins and outs of his incredibly expensive IPhone but he is thankful to be upgraded to a phone of this decade and a laptop that doesn't shut down if it's away from its power source for more than 5 minutes.
"Tony Stark..."The name feel familiar on his tongue but he feels dirty when it passes through his lips, as if he doesn't have the right to say that name anymore, and really, it has been an awful long time since he has said it out loud. Sure, Steve has spent many months, many years thinking of that name, thinking of the face, the body, the way it talked and walked and swaggered, but to actually say the name is something entirely different.
Because then it becomes real, much how it became real to see him int he flesh, standing and talking and moving his hands as he spoke, for his chest to rise with every breathe, for that Arc Reactor to glow that continuous blue that reminded everyone that he was still alive. That was real, that was something that actually happened, and Steve is still in awe of it so. And goddamnit, does he feel 17 again and flustered and angered.
The laptop is open and Steve stares at its screen for a long time, watching as the pictures of his desktop fade in and out of photos from long ago and those that are most recent too. Steve had searched that name once, long ago, and his fingers dance that same rhythm across the keyboard and he hits search-
"You will not believe the day I've just had!"His apartment door is shoved open and closed with a bang, causing Steve to jump in his seat, breaking out in a cold sweat at the unexpected noise and the person who makes it. Clint Barton is sauntering in with a face of thunder, looking around momentarily to see who else is in the apartment before continuing."So first- listen to this, Steve, it's actually ridiculous- Phil has the audacity to tell me, me his husband of 6 years, that we can't get a dog because I'm too immature."
Clint is flapping his free hand around as he talks, scrunching up his face and puts on a mocking voice. "Sure I'm childish, but that's just a part of who I am, and so fucking what if I am, huh? How is that going to stop me from having a dog? Blind people can have dogs and they can't even see them! Wait- is Phil trying to say that blind people are more responsible to look after dogs than me? Is he discriminating against me? Steve, is Phil discriminating against me because I'm deaf?!"
"Why can't you just knock?"Steve can still feel the cold sweat gathering on his forehead but his heart race has began to slow down as he looks at Clint who has just seemed to have grown stronger in the biceps with age, still remaining with that boyish charm about him.
"So you agree with him! You are all conspiring against me because I'm deaf! Using me for the disable badge, for the sympathy card, for the-"
"Clint, you're not even completely deaf- stop taking out your hearing aids and listen to me."He scolds, watching how Clint glares at him from where he fell backwards onto the sofa, his legs draped over the arm and a hand cradling his left hearing aid, ready to pull it out and prove a ridiculous point. He stops in his actions, watching Steve with a scowl."We are not 'conspiring' against you or being discriminatory and for the record, blind people need dogs so that they can do things that they cannot because of their lack of vision, they are not pets. I'm honestly not even sure how you ended up to that point, to be honest."
"So you're saying because I'm deaf, I can get a dog to do things for me that I cannot because of my lack of hearing?"He perks up, looking hopeful and a bit mischievous at having a new argument to use.
"You have to understand that means it's a working dog, not a pet."
"But I still get a dog."
"Phil is not gonna let you have a dog, even if it is a guide dog, Clint."The blonde deadpans, watching how Clint visibly deflates in sadness and it's sometimes rather hard to believe that Clints line of work orders for him to be cold hearted and emotionless when the man is the actual definition hormonal mood swings and chaos.
"That's discrimination."He pouts, rolling off of the couch and venturing until the kitchen area, throwing open Steve's fridge without a second thought or hesitation in his actions.
"What's your purpose here because I'm sure it's not to throw around the disability card and raid my fridge."Steve asks tiredly, watching as Clint makes a happy sound in the back of his throat, catching sight of the time on the wall before giddily grabbing the bottle of beer and opening it.
"It's that too,"The corners of his mouth pick up in a smirk, lips pressed to the rim of the beer bottle."We're celebrating Bucks prosthetic, dude! Or well, hopeful prosthetic, he's so fucking secretive man and then Phil is so loyal- which isn't a bad thing, it's just an annoying thing. Why can't the men in my life be straight to the point? Life would just be so cut easier if Phil just told me I can't have a dog because I'm deaf."
"I-No, y'know what, I'm not starting this again."Steve shakes his head, getting up from the seat at his desk so that he can dump the remains of his herbal tea down the sink and rinse its cup, eyeing Clint and the bottle of beer as he does so. "Isn't it sort of early to be celebrating."
"Now you're starting to sound like Bruce."He rolls his eyes, moving his hand so that he's pointing at the clock with his bottle of beer."It's past noon, it means I can drink. Small hand is at 12 and the big hand is at-"
"I know how to tell the time, Clint."
"Good, so that means we have 6 hours to grab everything that we need for a party- cake, balloons, party hats, the whole shabam!"
"Bucky hates parties."
"Even better!"Clint is taking a last swing of the beer left in the bottle before setting it on the marble counter, shoving Steve playfully in the shoulder as he passes to get to the front door. "C'mon, man, we need to find a baker who will bake a severed arm cake in under 6 hours!"
Steve is grabbing his keys and phone from the place where he last left them, shutting the laptop lid close on his way out the door.
What's up my lovelies, I hope you enjoyed this 4400+ chapter yo because it's the longest mother fucking chapter in the book!
I have missed you all so much and I have missed writing so much too! But I am back yo and I am gonna be back with updates as quick as I possibly can, I fucking promise! I loved writing this chapter, especially Clint because I adore Clint and his character so dramatic banter!
Please tell me what you all thought!
Was Steve's chapter what you expected? Could it have been better? Do you think I've missed anything?
What's your opinion on Steve and Tony's situation at the moment? Did Natasha have the right to be annoyed at Steve? Does Steve have the right to be annoyed in general?
How awesome is Clint Barton, ladies and gents and all those in between?
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Peace✌🏼