You pull the clip from your hair, shaking it out as you walk down the hallway. Tony had let you know that he’d kept your room as it was before, saying something soppy about always knowing you would come back. That you had taken with a pinch of salt, especially judging by the melodramatic tone to his voice as he fake sobbed. And although Pietro’s bed was verycomfortable, as you had already found out, you had decided that staying the night in his room would raise a little too much suspicion. As Barton had taught you all those years ago, back when you had trained together, any relationship was one to be exploited by your enemies.
“Y/L/N.” A voice has you spinning round, lips curled into a painted smirk. Good thing you had reapplied your lipstick; the smudged red hadn’t quite carried across the polished appearance you wanted.
Rogers hesitated; mouth ajar as you tilted your head. Did you still render him speechless? Or was this just some newly-developed inability to properly articulate.
“Rogers?” You had been tempted to call him Steve, just to see his reaction. But you were no longer those people and sticking with surnames made everything a little less messy. No one could accuse you of leading him on if you were this impersonal.
“I wanted to check that, since we are now working together again, that our relationship will be strictly professional.”
You tilted your head, wiping an imaginary smear of lipstick from the edge of your lips. “I hadn’t expected anything to the contrary, Captain.”
Okay, you hadn’t been able to resist that one. The title was bound to raise some internal questioning; his affinity for it in the bedroom was hard to forget, and you were desperate to crack that hard exterior a little more. It was what he deserved, in all fairness. Despite your own little pretense, it had hurt to come back to see some SHIELD agent on his arm, with whatever the two of you had had brushed under the carpet. No, you hadn’t been official, but you were close enough to expect some sort of exclusivity.
“How’s Sharon?”
Rogers fidgeted, uncomfortable under your gaze, as he fought to keep his body language neutral. You hated that you could still read him so well. At least he seemed to harbour some feelings of guilt. He coughed. “We, uh, ended things a few months ago. Our work schedules didn’t coincide enough for it to work out.”
You pursed your lips. Interesting. “Oh, that’s so sad. You seemed like such a great couple, very… well suited.”
“Yes…” His voice trailed off, the conversation coming to an awkward end. He fidgeted with something in his pocket, clearly searching for either a way out or a means of continuing the conversation. You decided to put him out of his misery, smiling softly.
“Well, don’t worry about any unprofessionalism on my part, I’ve already made a start on contacting Manfredi.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket, and waved it at him as though it was some sort of irreproachable proof. “Although he seems to have disappeared into retirement. I was thinking of heading over to Howard’s old villa in LA; Tony hates the place but never found it in himself to sell it.”
Rogers frowned; suspicion etched into every line on that perfect skin. “I’m afraid that we cannot permit you to go alone.”
Permit. You had forgotten how formal he was, every inch a 40s gentleman. (Although he had really taken on board 21stcentury dating values with a fervour no one had expected.) It had been sweet, now it was just amusingly ironic.
To go alone though? That’s where the issue must lie. Your painted lips twitched into a barely suppressed smirk, Rogers’ jaw clenching in reaction. “Oh, I would never even dream of it. Tony has already cleared it with Director Fury and booked tickets. Of course, you are welcome to come along as long as there will be no tiffs between you and Tony.”
The mere suggestion of Tony usurping his prized position of team captain has the vein popping on his forehead. It pulsed as he inhaled deeply, a dark looking flashing in his eyes. Rogers scowling brought back unpleasant memories of screaming in the hallways and furious fights in the days after finding out about his one-sided decision to break up. Somehow the letter he must have sent never arrived; that was the only way you could excuse his not-quite-cheating-but-still-morally-dubious new relationship.
“I’ll contact Romanoff about heading the team while we’re away. Draw up the plan and have it on my desk by this evening.”
His posture was stiff, back unnaturally straight. Was that a side effect of the super soldier serum, or just the 40s thing about mannerisms and the ‘way one should hold themselves’? That finishing school you had attended for a term had tried to drill that into you by forcing you to wear a strange iron contraption; maybe that had been typical in the 40s. It wouldn’t have surprised you to learn that Rogers, as a sickly weedy boy, had needed it to sort out some scoliosis or another back issue, and had never unlearnt the posture.
You nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Satisfied by his shaky inhale, you gave him a little wave goodbye before turning on your heel and heading back in the direction of your room. Hopefully there would be no more unwelcome conversations with bitter ex-teammates (or well ex-but-now-teammates-again) in your two minute walk to your door.
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal exactly what you had hoped to avoid. Some kind of fucking intervention.
“Barton, Romanoff, Banner.” You straightened, smiling politely as you stepped in. They took a literalstepback, leaning out of the way as you pressed your floor number, and you struggled to keep you grin under control. God, it was as if you had some sort of plague.
The elevator remained silent.
Was it too much to make some inane comment about hoping to work well together and looking forward to fighting by each other’s sides again?
Probably. And you really didn’t fancy pissing off two sometimes very scary assassins and a man that turned into an angry green thing. Although you and the Hulk had ended up quite close the last time you were around. Maybe he still liked you; another ally in this ‘sea of mistrust’. Mm, that was really quite poetic – Tony would love it. Something to chuck into one of those speeches he regularly made to the public to assure them of the necessity of superheroes.
You slipped your lipstick out of your clutch, reapplying it to your pout as you admired your reflection sliding out of sight. Thor stepped in, grimacing as he caught sight of you. Ouch. You reaffixed your polite smile, feeling it begin to wilt under the pressure of four glares.
Ooh, good. Your floor was next.
“Lovely seeing you all.” You dropped the smile as soon as you had turned away from them, wrinkling your nose. Ugh. They weren’t even trying, and it was hardly as if you were completely in the wrong.
Your door finally drew within sight. You could just imagine the warm shower with that insane pressure which managed to somehow soothe every muscle, and your wardrobe of clothes that you really had missed.
A cough behind you drew your attention, and you sped up. Yes it was childish to walk away from whoever was seeking you out, but you just wanted that nice long shower, maybe a nap, before you had to face everyone again at Tony’s mandated team-bonding dinner. Apparently it was something that they did with every new teammate, and repeated weekly. You had tried to argue that you were hardly new, and that you weren’t a big fan of fostering animosity, but there had been no convincing Tony.
“Y/N.”
You pursed your lips, twisting them upwards into your best impression of a smile. This was so unfair. You had been mere seconds away from opening it and kissing the ground in thanks for avoiding another interaction with one of the many people in this Tower who hated you. “Wanda.”
“I had thought you were dead.” The witch drew closer, fingers crackling scarlet as she stalked towards.
“Don’t you mean hoped?”
She laughed, a horrible cackle that really just cemented your image of her as that wicked witch in the stories your mother used to scare you with. “I’m glad we’re not pretending to be friends.”
Right. Because she had been trying in the first place.
A dull pressure mounted against your temples, and you grimaced. “Still trying to get in my head?”
“I will break down those walls at some point. And I will reallyenjoy finding what’s behind them.”
Good to know she was still struggling with whatever natural barrier you had to your power. It was what had allowed you to get so close to the Maximoff twins while undercover, a genetic aid that you hadn’t counted on but quickly rose you to the top ranks of the facility.
“I’m worried it’ll be a little too raunchy for that pure mind of yours. I mean, a robot is bound to be a little bland in bed, ĉ?
She clenched her jaw at the slight at her relationship and the sound of her own language, red haze growing larger. Hm, she had grown more powerful since the last time you had seen her. It was now impressive, rather than merely a parlour trick using nightmares.
“Hey, hey, hey, mali myš.” Pietro placed a hand on Wanda’s shoulder, appearing between the two of you in a flash of blue.
He furrowed his brows, eyes disappointed as he turned to face you. You shrugged in response. In all honesty, you had just wanted to get to your room. Yes, you had antagonised her. But she had started the conversation.
He turned back to his sister. “Come on, Tasha wanted to speak to you.”
You frowned at the nickname for Romanoff. No, jealousy was irrational, it wasn’t as if he was yours. You let out a bitter sigh as he disappeared with his sister, the disappointed look etched into your brain. He had always wanted the two of you to get along, but you always just ended up riling each other up.
Pietro blamed you, knowing his sister inside and out helped to show that your “arrogance” was exactly what had destroyed any blossoming seeds of a positive relationship. You preferred to call it a façade to disguise any weaknesses to potential enemies. He had sighed at the poor attempt at humour, and the conversation had ended there.
You had a funny feeling he would be wanting to rehash it.
