#i'm no doctor but i wouldn't be surprised if we all had some ptsd from 2020 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 17

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: Feelings! PTSD! Anxiety! Clint! Team bonding! Reader is a badass 😍 And comic book medical accuracy .

Un-beta-ed.

"It smells like a liquor factory in here," Bucky's voice came from the kitchenside, followed by noises of the team's arrival. Via portal, because the elevator made zero noise.

"I suggest you avoid the area around me and Clint. It might be contaminated." My voice sounded sharp to my own ears. I sat in silence for several hours, waiting for the team's return, while Clint restlessly dozed next to me.

My words caused the team to freeze in their tracks, owlishly blinking at me and at Clint laying sprawled on the floor, surrounded by plastic bags and biological hazard containment units. Tony's helmet swiftly covered his face - I heard muffled sounds coming from within, probably Friday's explanations. In seconds, the helmet retracted, showing an extremely worried Tony.

"How do you feel, Princess? Any weakness, any pain?"

"No symptoms, Tony. Just a fuckton of anxiety," I admitted, avoiding the concerned looks of Tony's teammates. "I almost drowned the room in alcohol but warned you just to be safe. Also, your alien pathogen protocol sucks."

"We made it so unauthorized personnel wouldn't get their hands on Thor's or Loki's blood samples," Bruce supplied meekly from where he was leaning against Steve, wearing a tattered hoodie and his hulk-out pants. "Off to decon we go," The scientist sighed. "Friday, code seven-zero-three-five-five. Pull up the data you gathered. In the shower." The man was exhausted, yet the call of science seemed to give Bruce a tiny energy boost. With newfound determination, he waddled to the communal showers, the rest of the team in tow.

Natasha's stare was truly unnerving. I was fully aware she and Barton had long history; the fact that I had to respond to one of the deadliest assassins if I had made even the slightest mistake - anxiety mixed with blind terror in me. I fought the nausea and the headache, focusing on Clint's hair between my fingers. His steady breathing.

He'd be okay. He had to be okay.

"You did great, Princess," The time passed in a blink. Bruce's warm hands were encompassing mine - gently pulling me away from Clint. I looked at Banner's face with unseeing eyes.

"I heard what Friday said and I can only applaud your quick thinking. You saved his life," Strange, sounding uncharacteristically quiet and bashful, parroted Bruce, hovering behind the scientist. His angular face was contorted in sorrow. "I believe I should apologize for dropping Barton onto you like that. I underestimated the extent of his injuries." The man sounded so, so guilty.

"I saved his life," I repeated in disbelief. Surely they were exaggerating.

"You did, malysh. For that, I am grateful," Natasha's hand found my own, squeezing briefly, before following Steve that had picked up a still-sleeping Clint, to, presumably, carry him to medical. "Come on, Banner, we need you."

Banner gave me a brief squeeze of his own, taking his leave, scurrying after Romanoff. I was left awkwardly standing in front of Strange, both of us disheveled and dazed.

"I ordered pizza," I said, just to fill the grim silence.

"Okay," Just like that, he snapped out of his trance, sitting down on the couch and picking up his food.

The others trickled in, Bucky, Pete, Thor, Loki, Sam, Wanda, Pietro. I saw it all like it was tinted by a thick fog. Their words made a jumbled cacophony when they reached my ears. Tony's arm around me - that woke me up, slightly. I focused on my favourite thing in the world - the faint smell of him, a mix of soap, machine oil and expensive cologne.

"She's shellshocked," Bucky suddenly said, pointing at me.

"No," I frowned. "No. I may be a fumbling idiot but I don't have PTSD."

Tony's breath stuttered in his chest. Promptly, I was turned around, a pair of intelligent brown orbs sharply gazing into my eyes. "Princess?"

"I'm so glad y'all are alright," I choked out, fisting the cotton of his shirt in my palm. "Even Stephen the asshole. Team bonding wouldn't be the same without his sarcasm," Hurrying to hide the fact that I was scared shitless, I did what I do best. I joked.

"Gods, you two are really a match made in heaven," Wanda's tired voice had 110% eye-roll in it. "So much self-deprication, almost as much as brilliance." The witch usually refrained from commenting on people's private thoughts. Usually, but not that day.

"I am relieved to know you hold me in high regards," Stephen's sarcastic remark made it's way around a mouthful of pizza.

Bucky's phone beeped. "They're saying Clint will be out in a few hours. No permanent damage, the gash on his leg won't scar and he's demanding Tony buy his saviour a cake," With a smile, the soldier read the text's contents out loud. "Also, the resident doc wants to hire you." Bucky pointed at me with a teasing grin.

"I, umm, I," Stammering, way to go. "I just - uh, I googled and I improvised? I'm not a doctor or a scientist, I'm a high school student," I replied, voice raising half an octave higher.

"Told you Tony, she's a friggin' genius," Peter sounded way too smug for someone who had a bruise half the size of his head.

"That she is," Tony's voice... Was different. It was honeyed and warm, blanketing me, surrounding me with safety. His arms tightened around me - not uncomfortably so, just enough to ground his presence in my personal space. I snuggled into him happily - he didn't mind at all. The cold glow and faint humming of his arc reactor calmed me. "Friday, cake. Princess cake from the bakery on Seventeenth."

Wow, Tony knew my favourite kind of cake. That was amazing.

"On it, boss." The AI immediately replied. "Well done, Miss." Friday addressed me with the same tone I heard in the lab. Gentle and understanding. It was so very strange.

We mulled around the living room until the pizza was gone and half the occupants were snoring away, dead where they sat. It was an unanimous decision to pull out the unfolding couch and form a cuddle pile of sorts - after such a long and grueling mission with one of their own facing the brink of death, all the superheroes were more than a little unsettled. I didn't exactly know where I fit in that. Obviously, all of them were close in one way or another. Even Loki and Stephen, seeing them get cussed out by Thor for attempting to leave was kind of amusing.

But it got me wondering. Maybe they felt like imposters, too? After all, I wasn't special. Loki wasn't considered a good guy. And Stephen was too much of a lone wolf. All three of us were comfortable alone, used to dealing on our own.

One look from Tony, Stark-patented puppy eyes, and I was making space for myself and for Stephen. Even if Loki insisted on grumbling all the way through, his exhaustion showed in the way he leaned on Thor's arm, using a weakly glimmering spell to summon himself a book and then closing his eyes for a moment.

Muted cheering broke out the moment elevator doors opened, showcasing a pale but smiling Clint held up on both sides by Natasha and Steve, Bruce half asleep on the blonde's other side.

"Looking pretty good for a dead bitch," Clint grinned in my direction.

I couldn't resist the bait. The boomer knew his memes, after all. "She's alive!"

He patted my leg, making his way to a free spot on the ginormous sofa bed. "Aw, pizza," He groused, spying the empty boxes.

"Should arrive in ten minutes," Bucky quipped, waving his phone. Then, the brunette super-soldier looked at me pointedly. "We usually order double after long missions."

"Duly noted, y'all hungry peoples." I said, filing it away for later. Thinking about more missions, more near-death experiences wasn't something I wanted to handle that very moment.

"So, uh, what exactly happened? My memory is pretty spotty," Clint demanded once he got his hands on some food.

"I also need to know. You're going to have to sign a statement and a mission report," Natasha stated apologetically.

I looked at her, confused. "Like... How many details do you need?"

Tony shifted beside me uncomfortably. I put a steadying hand on his leg - my palm was immediately dwarfed by his own. Natasha gave him a Look. "Fury's eyes only, but SHIELD needs to know how you figured out to neutralise a potential alien threat. Bruce ran some tests and this pathogen is... Pretty nasty, to say the least. It has the survivability to be classified as a potential weapon." Natasha's voice was apologetic, once more.

What have I gotten myself into? I was just trying to save a friend. "First of all, I'm not working for Men in Black, like, ever," I made the point to look her in the eyes. A brief moment later, she nodded. Tony relaxed, exhaling soundly. "Okay, get your reading glasses on. It went like this..." I retold the story, taking careful note to voice my thought processes as much as I remembered them. Save for a few surprised gasps and Tony haphazardly kissing the top of my head, the team gave me no interruptions.

Bruce was the first one to react once I was done. "But... How did you think of bloodletting? It's such an unusual solution," He mumbled more to himself.

"I've watched enough horror movies to know better than to introduce a foreign bacteria, such as antibiotics, to a person with an alien infection," I deadpanned, spying a satisfied smile on Stephen's face. "Worst case scenario, the substitution of infected blood with healthy would have diluted the amount of parasites or deflected their attention from eating away Clint's nerve endings. Him going bazinga from pain was my main concern," I admitted, the archer's pained cries once again filling my ears. The memory was still fresh.

"That makes sense," Bruce nodded.

"And what would you have done?" I asked, unable to withhold my curiosity.

"Sedated Clint while I examine the specimens," Banner replied with the obvious. "Then figure out how to cure the infection."

I nodded along slowly. "I considered that option but ultimately, I was too chicken to entertain the possibility of the parasites interacting with heavy sedatives. Fentanyl affects some of the blood components the parasites eat so only God knows how it might have ended."

Banner was impressed, that much was obvious. Tony's lips once again landed on the crown of my head, gentle and warm. More and more people in the room were giving me impressed, happy, grateful looks. It was strange and I squirmed in my spot, putting the half-eaten pizza slice back in the box, Steve immediately eyeing it in contemplation.

"Have at it, you human garbage disposal," I muttered, laying down comfortably. I was still shivering from the adrenaline rush and the soft blanket cocoon I shared with Tony and Stephen - their combined body heat under it - called to me like a siren.

"Are you well?" Loki noticed my state, casting a dark look over the edge of his book.

"Yeah, just cold. Us humans shiver when coming off an adrenaline rush," I remarked absently, pressing myself closer to Tony.

The engineer laid down, spooning me, tangling our legs together. We slept like that, all over each other, every time I stayed in his bed. It felt comfortable, like home, and nobody seemed to mind. Peter and Wanda, already snoozing away, were in a similarly indisposed state, octopus-ing their nearest teammates. Friends. Family.

My eyes drooped. My chest was about to burst with an odd sort of content - quiet, steady and welcoming. Tony's beard tickled my neck, breaths coming in soft puffs against my nape, spreading warmth all over me.

And there was something - someone warm in front of me, too, I could smell the sandalwood and spices of his cologne. Abandoning all reservations, I shamelessly wrapped both of my arms around a larger, more muscular one, taking note to avoid Stephen's scarred, sensitive hands. The flat of his tummy under my palm was rising and falling steadily, his breathing almost in sync with Tony's and mine.

All of us were safe and alive. It mattered to me, perhaps, more than I'd ever cared to admit out loud. As much as I refused to let them all in, for real and beyond silly gimmicks, they still wormed their way inside my heart, inside my brain. Not with long discussions and talking feelings - hell no, that's the hard and the boring shit, but with simply their presence.

Hugs. Mario Kart tournaments. Cake after I'd done good at something. Sunday morning pancakes for all. Homework. Sciencing together. Catching up on memes and just watching funny YouTube videos together. Playing Twister and Monopoly.

For the first time in my life, I had a stable presence. I belonged somwhere. It felt too good to deny, so once again, I allowed myself to be selfish.

✨ Taglist of my lovelies ✨ still open.

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

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drariellevalentine · 4 years

Text

Medically Inevitable

Chapter 1- Frivolous First Days

Characters:- Arielle Valentine, Ethan Ramsey, Jackie Varma, Sienna Trinh

Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine

Warnings:- PTSD

Arielle’s PoV:-

Edenbrook Hospital. Finally! My very first day of my internal medicine residency at Edenbrook. One more step, a rather huge one, towards my goal.

General PoV:-

Arielle adores the hospital from standing outside, with a proud smile on her face. She's halfway there, to be her own person, and also halfway to mend the relationship that shouldn't have been strained in the first place, but yet, she had to destroy it. She takes a deep breath. Now, she can only hope for her godfather to forgive her.

With one more look, she enters the huge hospital to find the reception desk straight ahead of her. ID cards- she needs to collect her ID before doing anything else.

A bright, chirpy doctor, smiling at everyone who's passing her, is the first thing or to be more accurate the first person to grab Arielle's attention nearing the nurses' desk. “Hey!” New intern, right?" The doctor gives her a bright smile which Arielle returns. "I'm Dr. Delarosa but you can call me Ines," she continues, her cheerful voice flowing with excitement.

"Let me help you with your badge. What's your name?" She asks smiling.

"Arielle Valentine, " I reply.

"Valentine...Valentine..." She mutters while rummaging through the bundle of ID's and then the badges. And then smiles brightly when she finds both," Ah! Here you go Dr. Valentine."

Before taking her badge, for a moment, Arielle wonders how much Ines’s cheeks must hurt at the end of the day for smiling this much. But then Aria herself smiles.

"Thank you," she smiles at Ines before her gaze flickers back to the badge.

Dr. Valentine, it says. She remembers how her father said she wouldn’t be able to make it. He never believed in her, that she could be successful in the field she wants. But now she is going to be a doctor. She did it. And her heart fills with pride. She's never been this proud of herself before. "Thank you."

As she's about to pass the waiting room, out of nowhere, an elderly woman collapses on the floor.

Arielle makes her way towards woman but before she could another doctor reaches her. He leans down to check her pulse and then looks around before his gaze stops at her. "You rookie, come here."

For a millisecond Arielle thinks of correcting him and tell her name but then decides against it, because the patient's life matters more.

She rushes to the patient's side to take a note of her vitals and tells the doctor. "Pulse is weak. She is unresponsive," Arielle says. She can feel her panic rising. But the older doctor's calm. "What was she coming for? Did she fill out a form yet?" He asks the nurse standing nearby. "No, she just walked in," the nurse replies, his features screaming tension.

"If we don't figure out what's wrong with her quickly, she'll die on this table." He says, though a bit frustrated this time. "Rookie, check her B.P." Arielle wraps a blood pressure cuff around the unconscious woman's arm, and pumps the bulb, peering at the numbers. "It's plummeting. She's hypotensive," Arielle feels panic rising more than ever. "We need to get fluid in her."

The nurses runs and gets a IV stand. As he sets the stand, Arielle checks the woman for more symptoms as does the older doctor. That's when she notices a bruise rapidly forming in her elbows. "Doctor look at the bruise. It wasn't there a moment ago," she points it out. "Are you sure?"

"Yes.", you reply. "A bruising that fast suggests the patient is hemophiliac. Good catch." He nods." Take a closer listen to her lungs."

Arielle slips the stethoscope into her ears and runs the resonator over the woman's ribs. "I can't listen anything on her left side. And her right lung is struggling," She says tensed. "Doctor she's going to suffocate." Arielle's a mess right now, tensed. But the older doctor remains collected. "Nurse we have got a code blue."

Taking a bag mask from the nurse and begins to gently pump air into the woman's lungs. He is cool and calm on the other hand Arielle's on the verge of having an panic attack. "What do we do doctor?" She asks. "Consider all the clues. It's all there. You know this, Rookie."

It hits you. “It’s a hemothorax!” "Precisely, a blood vessel ruptured and is filling her pleural cavity- ,"

"-blocking her lungs from expanding. That's why she can't breathe!" I say. " But...but we can't repair the blood vessel here."

"We'll have to do an emergency thoracotomy here to drain the cavity instead." " Nurse!" He calls and the nurse runs to them with a lung tube and a scalpel, forwarding them to Arielle. She accepts it hesitantly. The doctor pulls the woman's shirt to expose the side of her rib cage, Arielle shivers of fear.

With her hand shaking she tries to remember what she was taught. The scalpel quivers in her nervous grip. But the doctor from behind her steadies her hand. "Hey, you've got this," he whispers softly and Arielle nods trying steady her hands. "There you go, nice and easy." He says as Arielle makes a perfect incision in between the woman's ribs.

"Now the tube," He instructs.

Together, the two of them insert the chest tube and with a spurt, blood comes out draining out of her chest. She starts to breathe again.

"We...we did it!" Arielle says shocked and surprised but also happy. She's happy that she could save a live. She knew her godfather would tell her stories about saving lives but, having done it for herself, she felt exhilarated and happy.

She sees the doctor gesturing to the nurse and then instructing him what to do.

"Doctor... That was...amazing! " Arielle says happy and excited.

"Yeah, it's actually pretty amazing that you didn't get her killed." He snorts.

"Your examination was slow and not to mention superficial. You scalpel techniques-" he nods in denial," amateur at best."

"I'm sorry doctor, it's my first day."

“Well, it wouldn't have mattered to the patient’s family if she died, Dr.-" he takes her ID, "Valentine."

He gazes at it thoughtfully before piching the bridge of her nose and mumbling something. Tossing the ID back at Arielle he leaves.

"What an ass!" She exclaims angrily.

"Yeah, what an ass!" A female nurse stares at her admiringly, her eyes filled with lust, making Arielle roll her eyes.

"Don't worry. Dr. Ramsey is like this to everyone," the same male nurse from before says.

"Dr. Ramsey?! As in Dr. Ethan Ramsey?!"

"Yes. I take in you are a fan?"

"Are you kidding me? He's basically one of the reasons I wanted to be a doctor. And now you are telling me I just performed a thoracotomy with him!" Arielle says the last part a bit dramatically making the nurse laugh and walks away leaving Arielle with her thoughts alone.

She remembers meeting him a few years back, but never did she think he would act like that. She remembers him sharing his passion of medicine with everyone, and encouraging her to follow her path. Was he really the same person? Can being a doctor for 10 years really change your outlook in life that much? She's shocked!

She looks down at her clothes now having patches of blood here and there. "I need to change my outfit," she says to herself and looks around for a clock. "Shit! I'm going to be late!”, she thinks noticing the time and runs off to find the locker room. After thirty minutes of a lecture, they gets assigned to their very first case, with an intern pairing with another from the stream.

And Arielle's partner is Aurora Emery, who just happens to be ‘her boss's niece and who is not at all surprisingly, not friendly at all.

On their way to the first patient, Arielle's the one to open her mouth first, “Okay, so our first patient is in Room 532. Should we talk about how we are going to approach this case first?" “No need," she says rudely testing Arielle's patience. That Aurora Emery doesn't have the right to talk to people like this just because her aunt is the hospital chief. "Look Aurora, all I care about is the patient.” Arielle takes a breath to calm herself. " If you don't want to be nice, that's okay by me. But we're gonna put everything else aside for the people in our care."

"Suits me just fine." Her voice still cold as ice. She moves forward, keeping a few steps ahead Arielle. So much for not being egoistic.

Arielle skims through the chart for the patient’s personal details. They enter Room 532 to see the patient in there of the same age as them, not much older.

Arielle’s PoV:-

“Hi Annie! I’m Dr. Valentine and this is Dr. Emery. We’ll be your doctors today.” I nod in her direction. And Aurora smiles kindly and sweetly at the girl. Something that I didn't think she can.

" Annie, I'm going to take your vitals while Dr. Valentine asks you some questions," she says, her face still smiling.

"Before we start, is there anyone we can call for you? Being in the hospital can be a little less scary with someone by your side."

" I just moved here for grad school. My family's on the other side of the country, and I don't really know anyone yet," Annie says, her voice low.

"I just moved here too. Maybe we can look after each other." I smile brightly at her hoping to make her mood better. It works, and she returns the smile.

As Aurora checks her B.P. I ask her a few questions noticing the patches of rashes on her skin.

"Do you often suffer from itchy skin?"

"Not really. Just for the past few days."

I nod and grab her chart. " You came in here for headaches, nausea and vertigo."

"And also my plans keep cramping up."

“My palms also keep cramping up though.”

"Have you ever had these symptoms before?"

"Never. The timing sucks. I even had to cut my vacation to Indonesia short for it."

"You did the right thing. Vertigo on a unknown place can be very dangerous." Aurora says.

"Not to mention how scary it have been.

"It still is." Annie pauses for a second. "How long will I have to stay here?"

"We'll try our best to make it quick," I say confidently, and the girl relaxes a bit.

"Sorry, I panic easily when I'm stressed out."

I notice a bruise on her ankle while checking her for any other symptoms or anything else that could give me a clue.

"How did you get this cut on your ankle, Annie?"

"Oh that! I cut it on some coral while I was scuba driving."

"You are a scuba driver?"

"I'm still learning. I went to get my driver's license while I was on my trip. But I never got it though."

"Okay, last question. Are you allergic to any medication?"

"No, none that I know of."

Arielle notes everything down. "Thank you Annie, you did a nice job here." Both Arielle and Aurora smiles at her.

"Thanks. You guys are really nice. Honestly, I was hoping a old grumpy guy."

"So was I.", I laugh.

"We'll let you get some rest," Aurora says before getting out of the room following Arielle.

"Dr. Valentine. I don't think I'm ever going to get tired of hearing it."

" I on the other hand, am already bored of it," Aurora says, her friendly behavior gone again.

Sighing, I focus on the job.

" We should do a screen for any viruses or bacteria. She could have picked up something on her trip."

"Not the worst idea. We’ll run a full workup on her vitals."

And before I can say anything else, Aurora's pager goes off. It's her aunt. She's paging her to her office.

"I need to go." Her cold voice announces.

"Seriously?! " This time I can feelher anger rising. Was she really ditching her? It's our case. We should solve it together. Not me alone!

"I'll tell you what. When the chief wants to see you, I'll run the labs. Until then...”, she never finishes the sentence but leaves.

General PoV:-

Half an hour later, Sarah, a nurse at the hospital, the same one who was admiring Dr. Ramsey shamelessly, hands Arielle a lab report. Annie's lab report.

Going through the report once Arielle ask to give Annie an antibiotic, twice a day, 1200 mg in total. She tells it to Maria, another nurse, a bit elderly but nonetheless friendly and sweet.

Before lunch she decides to check on the other patient she had. A five year old child who has a hole in heart. Poor boy. Life is being unfair to him. He should have been playing and having fun but here he was stuck with his medications.

The last time she checked on him, he was all sad and gloomy, sitting on his bed alone. So this time Arielle decides to surprise him with a treat that'll make him happy.

That's what Arielle is doing now, standing in front of the vending machine. Buying four different candies, which are now resting in the pocket of her lab coat, she is standing there confused of which chocolate bar to pick as the fifth treat.

Twix... Kitkat... And an unknown chocolate bar. She guesses it to be some American snack. Her eyes runs over all the chocolate options before she sighs.

"Having trouble choosing yourself a treat, Rookie?" A cold, nonchalant voice says from behind her.

She turns around to find the same doctor with whom she performed the thoracotomy, Dr. Ramsey.

"Dr. Ramsey... It's not for me, it's for one of a patient of mine." She says. When she doesn't get any reply from him she herself continues. "He is here to treat a hole in his heart. His surgery is due tomorrow and he is really scared right now. Poor little guy, he should be enjoying playing with toys but instead stuck here. So I thought of buying him a little something that will cheer him up."

For a second, she thinks that she saw him smile but it was gone to soon to revaluate.

She turns to the vending machine again. "I was always a Geysers girl myself.” “He however”, pausing to turn back and point at the boy, “doesn't seem like a kid who'll like Geysers."

She says looking at him. She notices him staring at that chocolate bar and suddenly an idea strikes her mind. "Why don't you help me choose one, doctor? Please," she requests, way too cutely for anyone to refuse.

He sighs but yet takes a step forward towards the machine. He stands there for a minute going through the option. His eyes flickering at the chocolate bar which makes Arielle think he's going to choose it but rather he settles for a Kitkat.

When it pops out, he hands it to Arielle and walks away. With the remaining coins, Arielle quickly buys that chocolate bar.

"Dr. Ramsey...wait!" She quickens her pace to catch him and bumps into him when he suddenly stops resulting in the free fall of her charts.

She leans down to pick it up but rather the chocolates and candies falls down from her pocket.

Sighing Ethan kneels down to help her. "Jeez, Rookie, are you here to treat the kid or give him diabetes?"

Arielle gives him a incredulous look while picking her things. "It's just a few candies!"

Ethan hands her the candies he picked up and then stands. Arielle too stands up after picking her charts and then hands out the chocolate bar to Ethan, who raises his brows.

"I saw you staring at it," she starts to explain, " Seemed like you like it."

She tosses him the bar with a sweet smile, " You know it's okay to treat yourself time to time."

"And you know, you are never too old to have a chocolate," she smirks at him but Ethan is too surprised at her gesture that he barely notices it.

"Uh, thank you Dr. Valentine...I guess," he says awkwardly.

Arielle's PoV:-

Dr. Ramsey turns around and leaves. As I turn around I bump into another person. “What's with me and bumping today.”, I think. "Sorry, my bad!" I apologize to the intern with whom I bumped. "Ah, no, all mine... I'm sorry," he stammers a bit. “Hey, I saw you at the orientation. Arielle Valentine, right?” I nod.

"I'm Landry Olsen," he forwards his hand which I take. "Was that Dr. Ramsey?" He points towards the elevator. "Yes." "Wait, you’re the intern who performed the thoracotomy with him this morning. Aren't you?" He asks surprised and exited.

“Yeah, and he ripped me a new one in front of everyone," I say sadly. "It was so damn-" "Lucky!" He interrupts me in between. I bet that, well I think, being insulted in front of a whole crowd is anything but lucky. But I don't find it important to tell him.

Before I can say anything else my phone chimes with an alarm I set. "Sorry, I'll have to go. Talk to you later," I say and turn towards the stairs. “Okay, time to check on Annie, she should have taken the medication by now.”, you think to yourself. You enter her room to find Annie scrolling through her phone.

“Hey Annie.” “Hi Dr. Valentine, a nurse just gave me some medication a while back.” “Good. So, tell me more about yourself. We didn’t really have a chance to talk.”“I just moved here last week from California. I got accepted into Harvard for law.....law...sch...”

Suddenly, Annie’s heart monitor goes flat! Annie!..Annie!” You press the call button and yell Code Blue, performing chest compressions. Another intern burst into the room saying, “Room 501 just called a Code Blue before you, keep up the chest compressions. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know, she was talking and speech started slurring. Then her heart stopped.”The tall intern pulls back Annie’s gown, revealing hives. You gasp. “She must have been allergic to the antibiotic I prescribed her!”

“We’ll have to defibrillate her ourselves; we’ll start her at 300 volts.” She takes your place of performing CPR, while you pull the cart close to the bed.

You open her gown and place the paddles after gelling their undersides, as she pauses CPR. “One below the right collarbone and one below the left armpit. Done!” You set the charge to 300 volts. “Do it!” Annie’s body spasms as you defibrillate her. “Clear!” You set them aside as she continues chest compressions. “Come on!.....Come on Annie! Come back to us!” You hear a beep, you turn towards the monitor. Annie’s heartbeat returns, accelerated but constant! “Yes!” “You are sooo lucky, Dr....”

“Arielle Valentine. I’ll maintain compressions while you push an epinephrine injection and intubate, Dr....” “Jackie Varma.”, she says while intubating. You continue with your compressions. “What the HELL is going on here, Rookie?”

You let out a short squeal in surprise. Turning to look at him, you see him leaning on the doorframe glaring at you. “Dr. Ramsey! Don’t worry, everything’s under control. My patient was allergic to the antibiotics I prescribed her.”

“At least you’re owning up to your mistake.” You see Dr. Ramsey turn to Jackie, pushing an epinephrine injection into her thigh. “Now, we intubate.” You see her lubricate the tube before slowly feeding it through her mouth.

“Good work, Dr....” “Varma. I heard Dr. Valentine calling a Code Blue, since Room 501 called one before, I decided to step in and help.”

“The patient is very lucky you were here. I’m not sure Dr. Valentine here could have handled it.” You bit your lip, your face falling. “Thank you Dr. Ramsey, although Dr. Valentine performed as well.”

He scoffs and politely tells her to go back to her patients. “And you... you need to have a long, hard think about if you are prepared to be here. This isn’t med school, this is the real world. It doesn’t matter that the patient didn’t know that she was allergic or it is your first day. Whether your patients live or die are on you.” “Yes, Dr. Ramsey.”, you bit your lip in shame so hard that you start drawing blood. Luckily, he doesn’t notice. “There are no room for mistakes or excuses. You can’t expect the patient’s family to accept the reason of”-

“Dr. Ramsey? A petite intern is standing near the door. “Wow, someone who isn’t tall! I thought everyone were basketball players here!”, you think to yourself. “Yes?”, he asks, the annoyance on his face clearly visible. “A nurse said to me that another nurse said to him that Dr. Hirata said to him that Chief Emery wants to see you.” He groans, “Interns!” He swiftly walks out and turns a corner.

“Thank God for Dr. Hirata!”, you thank the universe for this distraction. “Yeah, but too bad that Chief Emery didn’t actually need Dr. Ramsey.”, she says with a mischievous smirk. “Wait What?”

“I saw Dr. Ramsey chewing you out, just as bad as your lip, and thought that girl needs a little saving.”, she says nonchalantly. “Damn! You’ve got nerve!”, I praised her, impressed by her courage to lie to THE Dr. Ramsey. “Aww! Thanks, it was nothing. I’m Sienna or Dr. Trinh, whatever floats your boat. “I’m Arielle Valentine, and I’m also glad that not every doctor is a basketball player!” She laughs.

“Hey, a bunch of us interns are meeting up at a bar across the street, Donahue’s. You should come too, even Dr. Ramsey hangs out there.” “I’ll be there.”

“Awesome! Come to the locker room once your shift ends. I’ll be waiting. Byeee!”

General PoV:-

Arielle can’t help but think about her arguments with her father as Dr. Ramsey’s words come back to her. “And you... you need to have a long, hard think about if you are prepared to be here. This isn’t med school, this is the real world. It doesn’t matter that the patient didn’t know that she was allergic or it is your first day. Whether your patients live or die are on you.”

Arielle starts to doubt herself, whether cutting off most contact with her family and Naveen was worth it. Especially for something she isn’t good at. Her mind starts to remember her 18th birthday, specifically the huge argument that followed after her announcement of becoming a doctor, “or at least hoping to.”, she thought.

Tears start pooling in her eyes and she ducks into a nearby supply closet. She can hear her father’s words whispered in her head. “How could you do this! We’ve been talking about you and your brother taking over the family law firm someday! Why would you tell us now! Do you know how many prestigious universities and colleges are fighting to provide a full scholarship to the great Alessandro Raines’s daughter!” Tears start running down her blush tinted cheeks, smearing the eyeliner and mascara she had done in the morning. Her pager beeps after some time. She darts into the restroom and fixes her makeup and continues her shift.

Where's is the freaking elevator? She angrily mutters to herself in the quest of finding the elevator.

"Hey, are you lost too?" An intern in a wheelchair asks her. He is coming from the opposite direction of her.

"Yes," Arielle gives a sheepish smile.

"Me too."

"Trust me this place doesn't look this huge from outside." Arielle says and he giggles.

"Any idea how to get to the elevator?" He asks looking around.

"Nope. I'm looking for it too," Arielle sighs. "How does everyone else seem to already know where to go?""And what to do..." He says sadly.

"Say, are you two lost? I can show you the main hall then," and elderly patient says coming from the same direction as Elijah.

"Thanks! As long as it's not much trouble for you ma'am," Elijah smiles at her brightly.

"No trouble Dr. Taylor makes me take twelve laps of the floor every day so I don't go stir-crazy!" She smiles back. "Come with me," She says and starts to walk and the lost two interns follows her.

"Here you go. This elevator can take you on your way," she nods at the elevator which is currently resting on this floor.

"Thank you ma'am! You are a lifesaver," Elijah says.

"Really, thank you," Arielle smiles at her before getting in the elevator with Elijah.

As the elevator starts moving down, something strikes in Arielle's mind.

"Oh my God! I know what's wrong with Annie!" She says and presses the 3rd floor button.

"Wait, what's wrong? And who's Annie? " Elijah asks confused but before Arielle can reply the lifts halts to stop.

"Sorry, gotta go! I'll explain it to you later!" Arielle gets out of the lift while paging Dr. Ramsey.

Ten minutes later, he enters room 532, where Arielle is talking with Annie.

"You paged me," his cold voice rang through the room which grabbed the attention of both the woman.

"I solved the case," Arielle says happily.

"I'll be the judge of that."

"I too want to know what is wrong with me," Annie says in between them and with that Arielle starts to explain what she found out while questioning Annie occasionally, when needed.

"I'm going to write her prescription and get her medications ready," Arielle feels to Ethan once they both where outside the patient's room.

"Don't bother," Dr. Ramsey says nonchalantly, handing her a paper.

She opens it to find a medical prescription, prescribing all the medicines that she was about to order for Annie. "You knew what's wrong with her?" She asks confused and he nods.

"Then why didn't you treat her?" She asks a bit angrily this time.

"I thought to give you time till 11 o'clock to solve it."

"I- Well, thanks for giving me a chance," Arielle says calming her anger.

And he raises his brows at her, "You’re not angry?"

"Honestly, I am. But again, I'm not going to learn anything if someone is holding my hand." She answers.

"My thoughts exactly."

Just then Aurora comes there to see Arielle talking with Ethan, with a prescription in her hands. Her eyes moves to the room where Annie is staying to Annie laying happily in her bed.

"You presented the case without me." Aurora says angrily once she's beside Arielle.

And that's when Arielle remembers that she had a partner. "I'm doomed," she thinks to herself before she hears Ramsey scolding Aurora.

"Where where you and what where you doing when Dr. Valentine was solving the case here alone?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose he continues, "This assignments aren't optional..."

He keeps lashing out at Dr.Emery so Arielle decides to help her out.

"Sorry, Dr. Emery, I should have kept you updated on the case," She interrupts Ethan who angrily mutters something under his breathe.

Aurora at first glares at her angrily but after understanding Arielle is giving her an out she speaks," It's okay. I wasn't there. So it is your win."

Ethan turns to Arielle this time. "Dr. Valentine, this hospital runs on communication. Keep each other apprised."

He says before walking out to the other direction.

Your shift soon grinds to an end. You head to the locker room.

"Get ready!!" Sienna exclaims excited as soon as Arielle enters into their locker room."Woah! Calm down, girl!," Arielle smiles brightly at her. "Did you bring something to wear?" She asks and Arielle turns around from her locker with a cowl neck backless maroon top and a pair of black skinny jeans. " What do you think?" She shows it to Sienna."You'll look beautiful in it. Go and put it on! I want to see you in it!" She literally pusher Arielle into the changing stalls.

Within minutes Arielle gets out of the stall. “How do I look?""You look gorgeous," she compliments her. If anyone else said this Arielle wouldn't have believed it but Sienna's compliment felt genuine to her. "Is anyone else going to join us?" Arielle asks as they exit the hospital building. "Yes, they are already in the bar waiting for us," she says, her excitement never decreasing. It takes them five minutes to walk to the bar from the hospital.

"Hi, guys!" Sienna greets as soon as they reach a table. There are three more interns there. Arielle saw them at the orientation, they are internal medicine residents, same as her. Also, two of them are Landry and Jackie, she already met them."This is Arielle," she introduces Arielle to everyone. "Hi!" Arielle waves at everyone before taking a seat beside Jackie and Sienna sits beside Elijah and next to him is Landry. Soon a waiter brings a tray full of shots to their table and they bond over it.

Hours after, Arielle feels a pair of eyes looking at her. She looks around to find a pair of turquoise blue eyes locked on hers. "I'll buy us the next round," Arielle says and get up before anyone else can say anything. "Anything wrong Dr.Ramsey?" She asks when she's nears him at the bar. "No, I-" he pauses."I was just looking how different you look in the outer world." Just then the bartender interrupts to ask if Arielle needs something. "A round of shots and," she looks at Ethan's glass trying to figure out what he is drinking," two scotches,neat." She smiles at the bartender. The bartender comes back either her orders and she passes one of the glasses bearing the scotch to Ethan. "Why neat instead of on the rocks?" He asks accepting the drink. "Because ice changes the flavor."

"Correct," he says impressed. " You know you can't bribe me into favoring you, right?" He nods at the drink. "It's just a thank you drink," she replies.” “Thank you, for what?" " For giving me another chance."

Ethan’s PoV:-

As she talks about some patient, he can't help but study her face. It feels like I know her, I've seen her somewhere before. Her soft diamond face, blushing cheeks. Her long jet black hair, the end of which is ombréd with violet, the same violet as her eyes- everything about her seems too familiar. I can't help but look at how pretty she is looking right now. Her hair covering half of her face and those bright violet eyes peeking from beneath it those beautiful long lashes. Get a hold on your thoughts, Ramsey! She's your intern for god’s sake!

"Anything for you, Ethan?" Reggie asks after bringing Arielle her tray of shots. "Two specials, Reggie." "Only for you Ethan." "You are on first name basis with the bartender?" She asks me after Reggie is gone. “I come here everyday since my intern year. So I know him for a long time," I answer. "You don't have anyone waiting at home?"

I hesitate for a moment but then decide to change the topic by answering. “I'll come here even when I do. I need some buffer between hospital and the world. An air lock." "Don't take your job home, Valentine." "I'll keep that in mind. But you still didn't answer my question." She says. She's not one to forget. I sigh. “No, no one's waiting for me at home tonight." Thanks to Reggie for saving me from any further questions from her, if she has any.

After Reggie places our drinks I hand one to her.

"Try it."

She looks at it for a moment, probably deciding whether or not to drink.

"It's great! Better than any other drink I've had," she says slightly surprised making me smirk.

“Either you are sucking up to me or you have an excellent taste as an intern." I smirk.

"I'd like to think it's the second one." She grins and then turns around to find her friends.

"I think I should go. My friends are waiting for me. Good night, Dr. Ramsey.” She says and I nod.

Arielle’s PoV:-

After two hours, and three more rounds of shots, the group makes their way out.

"We'll have to be back here after four more hours only," Arielle says checking the time on her phone.

"The apartment I share with my boyfriend is on the other side of the town. I will barely be able to sleep for two hours," Sienna says sadly.

"I'd be damned to sleep for two hours. The apartment I stay in is above a salsa club," Jackie sighs.

"The apartment I rented doesn't have a lift, so I had to settle with the smallest one-bed room apartment on the ground floor. There's hardly any space there," Elijah says.

"Guys!" Sienna grabs their attention. "Maybe I am saying this because I'm drunk. But what if the five of us rents an apartment together?" She suggests.

"Renting an decent apartment alone in Boston may be quite expensive. But if we five split it among us, the price won't be much more than we are already paying for our hellholes." Jackie nods in support.

"That's probably a good idea." Landry supports her too.

As the group starts discussing about it, Arielle looks at them thoughtfully.

She never thought of moving in with people she’ve known for only a day, but fate seems to have different plans for her.

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