Chapter Text
It was your cat that woke you up.
“Okay, okay. Hello, I love you, too,” you told the small, furry, black and white creature who was standing inches from your face, tapping it gently until you reached out a hand to pet her head. She gave a satisfied chirp before spinning around once and curling herself against your chest, enjoying the attention you gave her. Sleepily you obeyed her command and nearly drifted back off to sleep before she decided she'd had enough and got up to leap off the bed. The motion pulled you out of your half-sleep and, with a groan, you rolled over to grab your phone and check what time it was, wondering how much time you had left before your alarm went off.
Bleary-eyed you saw you had several icons lined up on your lock-screen: a few message notifications, a couple of missed calls, the voicemail icon, and a little +4 at the very end to indicate there were more that simply did not fit along the line. What made you bolt upright were the two pop-up notifications under the row of tiny icons that read:
“Missed Alarm: 6:30am”
“Missed Alarm: 7:15am”
You took a look at the time. 11:48am. Your heart was racing. “Fuck!” you cursed out loud, the sudden sound making your cat's ears twitch in your direction - not that you were paying attention to her to notice. Without another glance at the rectangular screen you tossed it on to the bed as you rushed to get dressed.
‘Okay, think, what do we have to do?’ you thought to yourself. ‘Think, think, think,’ you groaned in frustration again - thinking was so much harder when you were still groggy with sleep even with the rush of panicked adrenaline coursing through you. ‘Fuck. Okay. Think. Bathroom, teeth, hair, dressed. I need phone, wallet, keys, and music box.’ The “music box” in question was your decade and a half old iPod Touch that you would rather die than give up to instead rely on your phone for all your music. ‘Uh, headphones, charger, suitcase,’ you thanked God you had been packed and ready to go for days and that you had gone through your “To-Pack” list and double checked that you had everything the night before. You only had to grab the few essentials you listed that couldn't be packed prior - not that you didn't miss your flight, potentially rendering all your efforts wasted.
You were supposed to go with the team to some sort of social function. It was one of those snooty dinners where everyone in attendance made more money than you could even fathom - politicians, investors, the odd ones out who didn't really have any business being there but paid their way in just so they could boast about having been in attendance. It was a public relations event that Valentina had set up for the team in order to help boost the public's opinion and interest. You didn't really feel like you needed to be there to which Valentina had made clear that she wholeheartedly agreed:
“Next Saturday. 7pm sharp. You all need to be there. Most of you will be flown down beforehand, I have some business for you to take care of first,” Valentina had explained.
“Wait, flown down? Where is it?” John interrupted with a look of slight confusion on his face, clearly wondering why they had to do this in the first place.
“Orlando,” Valentina answered.
“We're all going?” Bob asked for clarification. He had been paying attention but now his eyes looked wider, like he was nervous of what she might say next.
“Yes, the whole team is going this time,” she told him.
“But -,” he was cut off by her follow-up statement.
“They’re going first, your plane is later - you're not going on the mission, Robert, there's no fighting, no digging for intel - it's just a dinner with some people who help fund this place. Unless you don't want me to continue to foot the bill for your residency here then you're going,” her tone was slipping from faked motherly authority to annoyance, most notable when she had stressed his name.
God, you hated this woman. Every time you had the misfortune of thinking about her, hearing her name, or being around her you remembered all the awful things she has done. She's double crossed everyone on the team - all of which makes her deserving of your ire - but you hated her especially for everything she'd done to Bob. From the OXE medical trial - or what was in actuality Project Sentry - to her lies, her manipulation of him, and her worst transgression of all: detonating the kill-switch in his head with her assistant, Mel's help. Hell could freeze over, pigs could fly, and whatever other similar idiom could come true and you would still never forgive her.
Bob’s jaw tensed. He looked like a deer in the headlights; it was written all over his face how badly he did not want to go.
“The flight will leave at 11am from JFK on Friday for you, Robert, I'll have a car come to take you there. They'll be here at 8:30 that morning and they're not going to wait forever so please be on time. I don't want to have to chase after you. The rest of you are going down Wednesday night,” Valentina informed, “I have other things for you to handle before the dinner.”
You gave a hum of dissatisfaction. You hated how bossy she was. Really the entire group of you could turn on her - and she knew it - but she still acted as if she was the one actually in charge. She may have been financially and in some other capacities, but in the end the team had a decent amount of leverage over her.
“Thank you for your input,” she turned in your direction and punctuated the end of her statement with your name. Much like how she had drawn out Bob's there was no mistaking the deep irritation when she said your name.
She hated that you were here. You were signed on as medical support when Bob was brought in from the vault in Utah. You now served no real purpose beyond basic first aid when the team returned to the Watchtower from missions but you knew and had seen too much to be let go as if it was any old job. Plus the rest of the group liked you, so aboard you stayed.
“I'm sure you'll like a little alone time for the weekend,” she added sweetly, as if that was a selling point - you all had your own apartments in the building, you could have time alone whenever you wanted.
You shrugged, “enjoy your hurricane.”
“What?” she questioned.
“The hurricane. Hurricane Orion. You know, the one that's supposed to slam into Florida at the end of next week?” you smiled with faked sweetness.
On the one hand you were happy that bad weather may spoil her plans but on the other you were worried about the others being there when they were calling for such a strong storm. It was expected to hit Florida Thursday and start moving up the east coast in the following days. The last update you read stated that they had predicted it would be a category 2 - it could easily delay their flights or cause days-long power outages and/or flooding affecting whatever venue was booked and the surrounding areas.
Yelena jumped on the opening your information provided, “sounds like we might need a nurse with us. You know, in case something happens during the mission or the storm. Debris could hit us -,”
Ava interjected, “broken windows could send glass into Walker’s eye -,”
“Hey! Why's it have to be my eye?” John complained.
Ava shrugged, “anything could happen.”
“Exactly,” Yelena agreed. “We need her.”
“Oh, I don't think that's going to be necessary -,” Valentina started.
“I think she's right,” Bucky backed up Yelena and Ava, his way of agreeing it wasn't fair that you would be excluded.
“This isn't up for a vote,” Valentina declared.
“Then we don't go,” Yelena countered.
“You have to,” Valentina argued.
“Whole team should go,” Alexei interjected, “we are all Thunderbolts. We go together.”
Your heart warmed with his declaration that you were one of the team.
Valentina sighed and gave up the fight, “fine! Fine. I'll get you a ticket and you will fly down with Robert. Unless you have an issue with that, too?”
“Fine with me,” you accepted, feeling a surge of love for the team you were a part of for insisting you were one of them, even if you didn't always feel like you really mattered enough to be there.
----
You got dressed, brushed your hair, and completed the things you needed to do in the bathroom all in record time: 15 minutes flat. The wind had been blown from your sails, however, and you started slowing your pace when you re-entered your bedroom. Plopping down on the edge of the bed you looked over at your cat who was watching you with wide eyes.
“What's the point in rushing?” you asked her, as if she would answer. “The flight left. There's no way Valentina is going to book me a new one. She's probably glad I missed it.”
You looked down at the floor, cursing yourself for missing the flight, especially after the others had dug into Valentina to let you go in the first place. You felt angry with yourself, believing you had let them down.
Sighing you picked up your phone to go through your laundry list of missed notifications:
New E-mail
Missed call: Valentina
Missed call: Valentina
Missed call: Valentina
Missed call: Valentina
Missed call: Mel
Missed call: Mel
New Voicemail (4 messages)
You started with the missed text messages.
Mel: Hey, just checking in. The car arrives in half an hour.
Mel: Hello?
Mel: Where are you?
Valentina: Answer my calls. Or Mel's.
Valentina: The two of you better get your asses to that airport.
Valentina: Where the hell are you?
You opened your voicemail.
First message: Hey, it's Mel. Just wondering if you guys were ready to go. The car will be there soon and I haven't heard back from you. Call me when you get this.
Second message: Mel again. The driver said you guys never showed. I'm letting Val know. Please call me back ASAP.
Third message: Why am I getting a call from Mel that you guys missed the car? You wanted to go so badly and yet you don't even put in the effort to get here? This better not be to spite me, I have been nothing but generous to you. Call me immediately.
Fourth message: Missed the flight, too, huh? If it wasn't just you I really would not bother, you know, but I need you to find Robert and get him here. There are new plane tickets in your email. Do not miss it. You will be responsible for your own ride there. We will have a discussion later. Get your ass here. If you don't you will be ‘off the team’.
The tone her voice took on for those last three words were dripping with contempt and mockery. She was throwing the other's words back at you - she didn't actually consider you part of the team. You were nothing but a thorn in her side on the best of days.
It took a moment for you to process the messages but when you did you started laughing, the sudden sound making your cat's ears perk up again. It clicked that you weren't the only one who missed the flight - so did Bob. You knew he didn't want to go and you found it so hilariously gratifying that he wasn't on a plane to Florida at the behest of Valentina. You wondered if he was actively defying her or not - you hoped so, but you had a feeling he didn't miss it on purpose.
You contemplated staying at the watchtower with him, the two of you spiting Valentina together, as you opened your email. Two digital plane tickets had been delivered to your inbox; one for you and one for Bob. You read over the information. JFK to MCO. Departure: 3:13pm.
You triple read the departure time and checked the time at the top corner of your phone. It was 12:20pm.
“Fuck!” you cursed. As much as you wanted to spite Valentina you had no doubt she would follow through on the threat of her last voicemail. What she would do exactly you didn't know, but you didn't want to find out, either.
You jumped up, shoved the phone in your pocket, and grabbed the few things you still needed: wallet, keys, music box, headphones, charger - you stuffed everything in your purse. You kissed your cat on the head, told her where you were going, when you would be back, that she's a good girl, and that you love her. Quickly you made sure she had plenty of food and water to last the length of your trip before you grabbed your suitcase that you had left by the front door and left your apartment.
You practically jogged down the hall to the elevator. Once it had arrived you stepped inside, not waiting for the door to slide open all the way, pushed the button for the floor below yours, and repeatedly pressed the Door Close button as if it would make it close faster, which it didn't. The entire descent you repeated, “come on, come on, come on.” Your stress and anxiety was building as you rushed. When the elevator came to a stop and the door finally opened, you left the suitcase right outside the door so it wouldn't weigh you down, and ran to Bob's apartment.
“Bob?” you called out as you knocked. There was no response. “Bob!” You repeated louder, hitting the door with more force. “Bob!” You shouted for a third time.
The door swung open.
Bob stood there before you looking like he had just been fighting for his life. His eyes were wide and panicked, his chest heaved with heavy breaths, his uncombed hair was wild and hung in his face. You felt bad, realizing that you had caused him to wake up in a panic.
He brushed his hair out of his face with his hand as he asked, “what’s happening? You okay?” He had to force out the words with how short of breath he was.
For a moment you were caught off guard at how he had asked you if you were okay - even in a panicked state he was still thinking about others before himself.
“Sorry, I -. What? Yeah, no I'm fine. Bob we have to go,” you rushed out the words.
He looked puzzled, “go?”
“We missed the flight. Val got us another but we can't miss the second. We have to leave, like, immediately,” you explained.
Your words sunk in. “Shit!” he cursed. “Uh, okay. Um… shit. One sec,” he turned around and hurried back towards his bedroom.
“Can I help with anything?” you called.
“Uh, no. I just - I just need to change and grab… okay. Yeah, um, actually, come here. Please,” he responded.
Bob, like yourself, didn't ask for help so easily. For him to accept your offer felt like an honor - like you had accomplished something precious.
You entered his apartment, for the first time, and found your way to his bedroom. In addition to the turning of your gut from anxiety over missing the flight your stomach now was also home to butterflies. As you entered the room you watched him pace back and forth a few times while he wrung his hands. You could practically feel the racing of his thoughts from his body language before he made his way into the attached bathroom and shut the door.
You weren't able to get a look at the rest of his place due to being in a rush but now that you were standing in his bedroom, waiting for him to tell you what could do for him, you had a moment to take in your surroundings.
The bedroom was the same size as yours, you figured they all likely had the same floor plan, but it was so different. His walls were bare unlike how yours were covered in photos and art, with small, mounted shelves adorned with knick-knacks and books, a pin board full of pins you've collected over the years, letters, and photos, including one photo of you and Bob that was snapped by Yelena while neither of you had been looking:
You and Bob had been sitting on the floor in the common room talking about one thing or another.
“Look at this,” Yelena said as she approached.
The pair of you had turned in her direction as she held out her phone. Just a moment before you had said something to make him laugh, one that was genuine and from the soul. His smile was wide, eyes almost closed, his face was red, and he was tearing up with laughter. It was a good thing he was already sitting as he was practically doubled over. The intensity of his laughter was contagious and it made you laugh along with him. The look of love on your face as you had watched him was clear as day in that very moment that Yelena had captured.
She had sent that photo to the both of you. You wondered if she saw what you were able to see written all over your face and if that's why she took the photo in the first place. You wondered if Bob could see it, too. It was well over a month ago and he'd never said anything to indicate he did, so you assumed he didn't.
----
Another difference between his room and yours was how he had his clothes scattered on the floor - it was now no wonder why his shirts always appeared wrinkled. His closet was half open and shirts were dispersed among the empty hangers but it honestly looked like the majority of his clothes had been rehomed on the floor.
There was a book on his nightstand laying by the lamp; grey with a black circle on the cover. You recognized it - a self-help book - he had started reading it not too long ago, but there was a new mark across the front that hadn't been there when it had been brand new. Now another, smaller, circle had stained the cover, slightly overlapping with the one printed in black ink. You wondered what had created it. Two pill bottles were lined up on top and an uncapped bottle of water was on the table beside the hardcover.
His phone rested on a pillow on his bed. The whole bed was unmade and you almost couldn't tell which side he preferred with how both sides looked like they had been tossed and turned on. The only thing that gave it away was how his stuff was piled on the nightstand to the right side of the bed while the left side table was barren except for the twin of the lamp on the left.
A wide dresser was along one wall beneath a mounted TV. A few more books were scattered across the top along with a few DVDs - a couple of comedy movies you, in all honesty, did not particularly care for, and a Star Trek complete box set collection for one of the series. His wallet, headphones, and a green and white circular can of nicotine pouches were piled in one of the corners. His keys, also nestled in the corner pile, grabbed your attention. On the keyring was the keychain you had given him: a 2D image of a vial of pink liquid labeled with a silhouette of a llama.
“It reminded me of you,” you had told him when you brought it home.
He smiled as he looked it over, “why? I mean, I love it and I love the movie, but why does it make you think about me?”
“I saw the footage from the vault. The idea you came up with for getting up the elevator shaft reminded me of this. So now the movie reminds me of you,” you explained. “I know that probably sounds dumb -.” He cut you off with a hug, his larger frame enveloped you and the warmth and gentle pressure of him made you feel as though nothing else in the universe mattered but this.
“I mean it, I love it. It's one of my favorites,” he pulled away from you after the words left him - a sudden motion as if he had only just realized what he had done. He shuffled and looked down as he turned the gift over in his hands. Looking back up at you he said, “no one has ever really given me something this thoughtful. I don't think I've ever made anyone think of me when they see certain things. Like how you said this did.” The smile on his face now was different from the one earlier - this one was more sad. You wanted to pull him in for another hug and tell him just how much you thought about him but you knew you couldn’t.
Knowing he kept the keychain, and even carried it around with him on his keys, made your heart flutter with joy.
“Can you grab my backpack and toss a few things in for me?” he called out through the closed bathroom door.
His voice pulled you out of your trip down memory lane. “Uh yeah,” you called back, “where is it?”
You heard him turn on the sink, the running water muffled his response.
“Sorry, what did you say?” You asked him to repeat himself as you walked closer to the door but you still couldn't make out what he said as he repeated himself again. For a third time you tried to ask your question. “I'm sorry, I still can't -.”
The door opened a crack. You respected his privacy and stopped your approach.
“Under the bed,” he called out.
“Gotcha. Sorry,” you answered, hoping he wasn't annoyed with you.
“You're fine,” his voice was muffled again but in a different way than when it was just being drowned out by the running water - you could tell he was brushing his teeth.
You walked over to the bed and got down on the floor. Under his bed was an unmarked cardboard box next to the backpack he had asked you to get. As you pulled the backpack out you thought you saw something peeking out from behind the box - it looked like a glass bottle and your stomach dropped at what your gut told you it was, but you couldn't focus on it. Not now.
You stood, backpack now in hand. “Got it,” you told him. “What do you need?”
You heard him spit before he answered you, “uh, like 3 shirts, a pair of pants - just grab whatever. The piles closest to the closet are cleaner. Can you grab the stuff by my bed? Oh, and the charger for my phone?”
“Okay,” you replied.
You started at the nightstand since it was closer. You unplugged his charger, rolled the wire and placed it in the front section of his backpack. You moved the pill bottles to the side and put the book with the round stain - up close you could see it was a water ring - into the smaller front compartment with the charging cord before turning back to the two small bottles.
Putting the bag down on the bed you picked up the bottles and read the names on the labels of the medications: Quetiapine. Lamotrigine.
At this point he'd been seeing a psychiatrist for a little bit, and you assumed a therapist as well, but he didn't talk much about how it was going - fair, considering that's his private business - and you didn’t pry. You were glad to see that he had been open to trying medications to help him manage his symptoms and simultaneously hoped two things: a) that they were helping him and b) that the bottle under his bed wasn't what you thought it was.
“Hey, did you… do you need to take these before I pack them?” you asked, holding the bottles in your hand as you waited for a response.
“Bring me one of each and then you can pack them,” he instructed.
You did as he said, opening the bottles and retrieving one pill from each before recapping them and dropping them into the compartment with his charger and book. You stopped outside the bathroom door, making it a point to not look in.
“Uh, I have them here,” you let him know you were outside the door.
“You can come in,” he said.
You hated how hard your heart was pounding.
You took a breath and pushed the door open and walked in to see him run a comb under the flowing faucet and then through his hair to detangle and tame it. Once he was satisfied with how it looked he looked at your reflection in the mirror, held out a hand, and made a “gimmie” motion. You looked down and placed the two pills into his palm, then watched his visage in the mirror pop the pills into his mouth, cup his hands to catch water in them and use it to swallow down the medications.
“I'll be out in a minute,” he said, turning off the water once the pills had been taken, “just the shirts and pants and I'll grab some other stuff once I'm out.” He started making a pile on the counter: a stick of deodorant, his toothbrush, comb, his toothpaste. He continued to gather his toiletries as you started turning to leave. “Wait! Throw this in, too,” he grabbed his robe off the towel hook on the back of the door behind you and handed it to you.
You took it with a nod and exited the bathroom; he closed the door behind you when you left. As you walked over to where you had left his backpack you folded the long fabric as tightly as you could so it would take up less space in his bag and placed it on the bed.
Starting your search for clothes to pack you walked over to the closet and grabbed three shirts. You didn't want to rummage through the piles of clothes on the floor so instead you chose to grab them from the selection hanging up in their proper place. Having no luck with finding pants in the closet, and not wanting to go digging through his dresser, you resorted to picking a pair out of one of the piles littering the floor: one of the ones that was supposed to be the cleaner of them all according to his original guidance. After giving them the same treatment as the robe you added all the clothes to his backpack.
The bathroom door opened just enough for him to reach his hand though. He was holding out a pair of black lounge pants and a black t-shirt - the clothes he had just been wearing. Your mind was flying as you realized what that meant.
“Put this in there, too,” he said. His voice sounded a bit shaky, as if he was nervous.
Your hand brushed his as you took the clothes, still warm from his body heat, from him. He withdrew as if he had been burned by a flame and shut the door again.
“Thanks,” he said through the door, “sorry.” You didn't know why he was apologizing. “Um, I'll - I'll be out in a minute, just wait for me in the living room?” There wasn't a shred of confidence in his voice, you noticed.
You wondered if his nervousness was the result of realizing how exposed he was with just a few inches of sheetrock and plywood between the two of you. After adding the clothes he had worn to bed to the rest of his packed belongings you left the backpack on his bed, walked out of his room, and waited for him in the living room as instructed. Remembering Valentina had said you were responsible for your own transportation to the airport this time you pulled out your phone and set up a ride.
Bob emerged just a few moments later with his backpack slung over one shoulder. It looked stuffed to the brink of busting, which was definitely not as you had left it - he obviously grabbed more things like he said he would. You figured it was likely the items he didn't feel comfortable with you grabbing for him or that would have required you to go diving into his dresser drawers for.
“I think I’ve got everything,” he said.
“Phone, wallet, keys, headphones?” You offered help by running down a quick list.
He put his hands in his pockets as he felt for each item. “Yeah, headphones are on the top of the bag, I checked three times.”
“I put your nightstand stuff in. Meds are in there.” You noticed he looked away, almost embarrassed by the mention of them. You continued down the verbal list to draw his mind off the topic: “I grabbed three shirts and one pair of pants like you asked. And the robe and the clothes you'd been wearing. Uh, do you have like… socks and, you know, that stuff?” You skirted around asking him directly if he'd packed underwear as if you were a child embarrassed by the word.
“Mhm,” he confirmed.
He reached in his back pocket and pulled out the small can of nicotine pouches you'd last seen on his dresser. He opened it and tucked a small pouch into his upper lip before placing it back into his pocket as you finished running down the list of things you could think he would need.
“Toiletries? Toothbrush and everything?” You asked. He nodded in response. “I have the new plane tickets, our ride should be here in a few minutes -,” you checked the app to confirm: ETA was 13 minutes out, “- uh, I don't think I can think of anything else you'd need for just the couple of days.”
“Okay,” he said, “then I think we're ready.”
You nodded.
“You have your stuff?” He asked.
“Yeah, my carry-on and bag are by the elevator, and I checked everything practically 100 times,” you told him.
Your suitcase was also just as full to the brim as Bob's backpack. You were glad that Valentina had lined up your dinner attire at the hotel where you'd be staying - there was no way it would have fit in your bag - and besides that you didn't have anything near nice enough for such a hoity-toity event. You knew Bob didn't either.
“Alright, let's head down,” you instructed. Bob nodded and followed you out of his apartment, locking the door behind him.