thirty-eight

3 Weeks Later

*•.*

AT FIRST, Geneva is unable to sleep. It eludes her in a way that she has not known since she was nineteen and freshly free of Louis Adley. Back then, she refused to fall asleep in the small bedroom of the house her mother had left her, lest she be taken in her sleep once more. So instead, she spent her nights clutching her knives and simply sitting next to her childhood bed.

It was unreasonable and just plain ridiculous, but she'd been alone for the first time in a long time and she didn't know how to do it anymore. Sometimes she had half a mind to break her abductor out of prison if it only meant she could forgo her loneliness for a moment, but then she was reminded that he was the reason for her sleepless nights and empty life.

She'd gone to therapy.

Eventually, anyway.

And two years later, Natasha Romanoff had shown up on her doorstep telling her it would be best if she came to work for SHIELD. She'd had a choice, but choices didn't much matter when her other options had very little appeal.

That, however, was a long time ago.

Recently, sleep was a stranger for the sole reason that she was afraid of never waking again. The possibility had always been real, but she'd teetered too closely on the edge of the precipice known as her end, and—for once—she had enough sense to be fearful.

Her days were spent with one of Wakanda's best physical therapists, Amara. She was a little younger than Geneva with deep brown skin and a pretty face. Her passion for her craft was admirable, and it made Geneva wish she'd had a passion that wouldn't make a grab for a her life the second it was given the slightest of chances.

Her luck had long since run out and pretending otherwise had cost her too much.

Steve Rogers would just have to understand that.

She wasn't going back. Not to Avenging, not to SHIELD, not to the compound, and not to New York. New York was a dream she was not intent on living in anymore. She and Steve had made plans, but that was before they'd been shoved onto the World's Most Wanted list.

She loved him, and if he loved her like he said he did, he would be willing to make new plans.

She thought about the last night they'd spent together often. She clung to it with unrelenting hands and a yearning heart. Their last moments together had been filled with desperation and promises that didn't mean anything now.

The way his lips had run over every inch of her skin, mapping out a path for his own memory and for their shared pleasure, convinced her to make promises that they both knew neither of them could keep. He'd kneeled before her with reverence glinting in his eyes—as if he was a man who'd been saved from a life of devastation and emptiness just because she'd agreed to love him—to be with him. He'd ravaged her like a man starved, and when he whispered that he loved her, she believed him.

His mouth had slid over her with the sole purpose of bringing her to a place just beyond pleasure, and she'd panted his name when he'd succeeded. He'd led her right to that familiar destination with a precision that she'd only ever known from him. She'd needed him so badly, then. Dizzy, she'd pulled him to his feet and kissed the satisfied grin right off of his lips. She'd continued kissing him even when he'd pushed into her with an ease that he himself had elicited. She'd kissed him even as he groaned into her mouth. And she'd kissed him even though it felt oddly like an ending to everything they'd ever known.

She missed kissing him. She wished he would just pick up the damn phone. She wished he wouldn't insist on working when he felt like he was losing control over things.

She wished she didn't have to hold on so tightly to memories when they had a future to look forward to.

He'd marked her that night, and she'd returned the favor. She could still feel the heat of his lips on her breasts—feel her heart lose any semblance of obscurity beneath his skin and attention. He and the organ would never be strangers again, if they ever were before.

Perhaps she should've tried calling sooner, but she hadn't been ready to explain all the ways their dreams had been dashed.

"Geneva," a voice called, tugging her from her reverie. She met the dark eyes of an elated Shuri Udaku. The girl was made of pure energy and wide smiles, but today she was just bursting with it. Quite frankly, Geneva thought it was a bit too early in the morning for excitement, but maybe she was just getting old. "Come, I have something to show you."

Gen knew better than to deny the princess, so she stood and followed the girl with minimal questions. Shuri was leading her out of the palace. The girl's braids bounced with her steps, and Geneva found herself chuckling at the sight.

Geneva felt herself rushing to keep up. As she turned a corner, following the younger girl, she barreled right into someone. A pair of spindly hands latched onto her shoulders, and she let out a small grunt. Her eyes snagged onto the familiar face.

Somewhere far off, Shuri was chastising the man. "I told you to wait for my cue."

The man buried her in a hug and all the air was forced from her lungs at the strength of it. He squeezed her hard. "I thought you were going to die."

Geneva let out a watery chuckle and patted him on the back. "Thanks to you, I didn't have to."

Olten pulled back, his face twisted in some mixture of sorrow and happiness. "How about we not do that again?" They separated fully, and she smiled at him.

"Agreed." She bit the inside of her cheek for a second. "Is Steve—"

She was cut off by a tug of her hand. It was Shuri again, pulling her toward a door. The young girl opened it, gently pushed her inside and closed the door behind her. She heard more chastising from Shuri directed toward Olten through the door.

It didn't matter, though, because standing there in the middle of what looked to be a sitting room was Steve Rogers, who was on his way to being heavily bearded and long haired. He was dressed in a t-shirt and black trousers. Geneva swallowed hard. Was this the man she'd spent hours daydreaming about?

Yes. She supposed he was.

He looked different, but she knew she did too. Her skin may have been that same deep brown hue, her hair piled in braids at the top of her head, but she was aware that there was something different about her gaze. There was something different about his, too.

Fear in his, perhaps.

Death in hers.

"I called," was the first thing she'd told him. She hadn't moved from her spot near the door and he had stood rooted in the center of the room, lit by a rising sun. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears. Did he even recognize it? She couldn't tell.

He was a statue. "There was a mission. It was pointless. I'm sorry." The words were stilted, uncertain.

Geneva pursed her lips, but then she shrugged. "You've got a habit of being late. It's part of the charm."

He let out a breath of laughter and shook his head. "I had no idea you were hurt, Geneva. If I'd known—"

"You would've came back," she finished, taking the steps to bridge the gap between them. They stood a foot apart then. "I know. But we're here now aren't we? Together."

Something shifted in the air then, and the tension in his shoulders dissipated. "And it has to stay that way."

He closed the last sliver of space between them and leaned down, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head in the space where her neck and shoulder met. He held her tightly, and she held him back. He smelled the same, but the familiar smell of his aftershave was gone. She'd miss it, but she'd be damned if he got rid of the beard anytime soon.

"Then no more missions. No more danger," she told him when she remembered to.

He didn't react. He simply placed a kiss at her neck, then pulled back and kissed her cheeks and her lips before saying, "No more." He kissed her deeply for a short moment, quickly leaving her breathless. He pressed his forehead to hers.  "I love you, and I won't lose you. Not like this."

"I love you, too," she replied. And it was enough in that moment because the possibility that reality might drag them to a place where I love you's were just empty words on the lips of suffering lovers, was very real and very frightening, and she wasn't ready to face that yet.

She would be soon. She just needed a moment to be with him in the present first.

•••

thanks for reading!

-syd