Work Text:
"I'm sorry, don't leave me, I want you here with me
I know that your love is gone
I can't breathe, I'm so weak, I know this isn't easy
Don't tell me that your love is gone
That your love is gone…”
The familiar tingle of dry blisters forming on Rita's upper hip was enough to stir her from sleep in discomfort.
Sam Wilson was a fortunate ally in their resistance against pursuers, his home a modest but gratefully used sanctuary. The main bathroom of the condo currently acting as hers while she needed privacy. Thankfully her body had decided to declare its troubles in the early hours of the morning. The rest of the residence remained shrouded in darkness and her three co hoards, deeply asleep.
The pull light of the bathroom cast a harsh glare and gave a yellowish tint to the tiles, but Rita knew the weak discoloration of the whites in her eyes was wholly her. That, combined with the churning of her innards, how she slumped over the sink gripping at the porcelain basin tightly for balance. Taking in her appearance, turning her head side to side with small movements that dislodged stray strands of dark hair from her chiselled face. Her usual olive complexion waning to ivory shades that would soon become noticeable to the others.
If she dressed in a concealing fashion rather than her current baby pink vest top and dark leggings, practised how to ignore the sickness through will she wouldn't break character yet. Rita knew how to play through this unfortunate development after acting human for too long. In her two years of it she hadn't been met with such peril. Now the world was once again out for her blood because she had stood with Steve. Such dedication to the man, and yet she couldn't bring herself to ask him for help with her deterioration.
The woman was used to dealing with her human blamed ailments herself. However the fact she had company at this time and the entire situation meant this wouldn't be a fix - only a delay to keep herself on her feet and competent. The team didn't need dead weight with the stakes, and if she didn't tend to the problem eventually she would be a literally dying burden. She was far too strong and had lived too long to go out so embarrassingly.
Sam's kitchen was difficult to navigate in the pitch she had to maintain to avoid drawing attention. With three house guests and potential berths low due to the owner being a single man, someone was bunking in the living room adjoining the kitchen. Who specifically Rita couldn't make out, but squinting at the well built frame resting silently on the couch she guessed either Wilson himself or Steve.
Steve. A unique person in the eyes of the entire world. To her, the most unique human that stood far above the rest. All others to her were cruel, darkly conniving, untrustable and ready to inflict horrendous pain in the race for power.
But not Steve Rogers. Admittedly she'd initially pursued the man in the hope of gaining insider intel of SHIELD. She'd intended to hate him for his affiliations. Almost immediately she'd found herself incapable of thinking negatively about him at all. Steve was just too pure hearted. So easily to become loyal too and to trust. In a world where he was walking alone, she'd tried to use that against him. Instead she'd found herself at his side because she was just as lost as he was.
Finding herself kneeled over the side of the bath, the door locked securely and staring down various items stolen from the cupboards, that bond of kindred spirits wouldn't help her now.
She hesitantly hiked up the vest to find her stomach blooming in offence. The mix of what was marked "antiseptic gel", dualited with a few sparse herbs and the primary ingredient of salt clawed at the blisters sharply, flaring up like a naked flame on the damaged skin. Hisses barged against her gritted teeth in need to be released while her fingers forced herself to work the sloppy solution into the sickly area. Free hand shuddering in its grip of the basin edge in attempts to keep herself contained to muffled whines and grunts of discomfort. Under her breath, the lowest of steam like hisses sizzled from beneath her hand in effect. It was comparable to the crackling a frying pain would create on contact with meat, like when Steve would tryingly cook bacon for them on mornings they'd share company. It felt as intense, sweaty, searing as she imagined the roasting meats would endure. Except her body wouldn't start to smell like that. If anything, with further deterioration, the aroma would be of rotting flesh as she'd slowly succumb.
For a being who held more strength than her small form would suggest, she dropped to the floor hunching over her knees faster than she'd ever believed she could. Her abdomen was on fire with the solution's acidic properties. Her legs shook enough to give way under her and as she went, a single shaking cry escaped her in refusal to be snubbed. It shamed her, letting it out. She believed herself to be strong, able to ignore pain. She felt it often enough. Now she was the picture of human weakness, slumped by the toilet, knees drawn to her chest, arms atop, and her forehead slowly easing down to rest on them. Begging for the expected relief to take hold and get her back to fighting strength.
It took minutes that dragged like the tip of a sword, her body stayed on the tipping point. Eyes squeezed closed to block out the increasingly harsh glare of the light until she stabilised herself. The quiet raps against the door felt distant to her and were gone as fast as they came. She didn't care, not until they returned accompanied by the softest concern.
"Rita?" Steve's voice queried with gentle worry with another series of knocks from the opposite side of the door. "You okay?"
Black locks splayed with the drowsy lift of her head, the sigh that followed preceded her attempt at standing. Grip firm on the side of the sink, hauling herself up. The sharp eruption of stinging from her side sent her right back down with a low pained huff.
"I'm fine Steve." Forcefully stable lies were offered in the hope he'd leave her be.
The lack of receding footsteps assured her dismally that it wouldn't be the case.
"Can you open up?" He queried testingly, Rita unsure if he'd have caught that deep groan. Damn this man's persistence. She supposed he hadn't gotten to become Captain America without stubbornness.
Across the floor a discarded jumper lay crumpled, assumingly by Sam pre shower at some point. All the better for her, despite the shoots of pain she fought to stifle while she strained her body across the floor until she clutched it. Now, getting it on was rigid agony, especially how the wool fibres scratched against the still tender areas of skin.
"Ritz', I'm getting worried. Say you're okay?" Steve piped up as the minutes dragged out for Rita to compose herself appropriately. Using his own shortened variation of her name, pronounced "Reets" with the utmost urgency to hear from her. She couldn't exactly rush.
Yet she did, and still she wore a smile as she dragged herself to her feet, brushing the sweat-dampened hair from her face. And unbolted the barricade to behold Steve Rogers staring down at her in the doorway with downcast, puppy like eyes, sporting a white vest top and grey joggers as sleepwear.
"I'm perfectly fine." Her practised lie she delivered as plainly and without a wobble as usual. Pear green irises flecking over Steve's form to scan for any signs of doubt. Hoping to see his features soften in satisfaction. So when they dipped in further despair her stomach churned.
"You're still lying to me." He stated quietly, pointedly.
Rita's false smile fell with the appropriate guilt flooding her aside the pain. He didn't even look angry, he just seemed disappointed.
She couldn't and would never blame him. Not when he'd rudely discovered that she, his close friend of the last two years, the one person that understood how it felt to be a fish out of water. An outsider who had little understanding of the world. He'd seen her run blades through the bodies of multiple SHEILD soldiers without remorse.
That was how he'd found out the last two years had been a lie. How she'd pursued his friendship from the flat above in the hopes he'd divulge insider information she needed to return home.
The walks and art museums. Rides on Steve's motorcycle across the Brooklyn Bridge to explore retro diners. Rita dragging him to the ice rink in the Christmas season. Visiting and cleaning the graves of forgotten war heroes. Sneaky portraits he’d sketch when he thought she wasn’t looking, but she always noticed warmly.
The company, the companionship and sympathy… Steve all saw it as a ruse.
Steve had told her in the past months how he struggled to trust Natasha Romanoff. Her secrecy and dedication to Fury made it near impossible when she hardly opened up. Rita prided herself with how open he was with her in such knowledge.
Now the tables had turned. Steve had grown to trust Natasha. Now with he and herself, he knew more about her past and intentions, he'd lost that trust. And it killed her inside when despite her hatred and distrust of that world, her would be enemy was the one person that she truly could say she trusted. Who gave her faith unconditionally, who’s mere presence was usually a comfort.
She needed him to trust her. She needed him. With the ruse up and no results, he was all she had. In any other circumstances her further actions may have been further thought out, but Rita wasn’t made of stone. She was in considerable pain and she was bearing it alone.
The hope that he’d provide some consolation fuelled her as her hand hesitantly dragged up the hem of the jumper, her stomach twitching as the cold air hit the flaking skin of the gel coated wounds like tiny blades. The horror of them may have been the centrepiece but her face was a picture of her state. Eyes sunken in, irises glistening in dread of possible consequence.
Steve’s expression softened in despair, hands immediately taking her upper arms as he proceeded into the bathroom. Rita felt some mild relief at how he moved her back inside, sitting her down atop the closed toilet lid with care before kneeling down before her. Fingers hovering at the burn site with clear hesitation.
“What is this?” He breathed, tone low and troubled. Eyes fixated with no idea of how to help.
“Time running out.” She replied stiffly, body tensing with fear of him touching the exposed sores.
The way Steve’s face shot up to stare at her, eyebrows creased, the years of loss like wire wrinkles at the prospect she’d soon be among the rest he’d failed. It made her heart hurt like the rest of her torso.
“I’ll be okay. I can fix this.” A hand reached out and clasped his with a relatively sound squeeze. “When we’ve stopped HYDRA.” She promised him, failing to see any of the dread wash off his usually reassured expression. The problem had been that the truth of her would never be one he liked. Now here was her proof. Why she wouldn’t divulge the whole insane truth.
“Either way, I’m hurting you aren’t I?” She huffed downheartedly. Gaze falling briefly to inspect how the wounds were improving, as they would moderately for the day or so the solution would buy her.
When she suddenly found Steve’s broad frame wrapped around her in swift motion, it caught her completely off guard. Her face was pressed lightly against his neck, she could feel one large hand on her lower back, the other clasping her shoulder. His face - his laboured breaths beat gently against her forehead, cheek pressed against the top of he head needingly.
For a good few moments, it was a silent embrace. Rita didn’t know how to react, she was shell shocked. His body was like a heater and it didn't take long for it to melt her reluctance.
Without much thought or denying herself, the dark haired beauty pressed up against him, careful not to do so around the waist, and returned the embrace. Hands resting testingly on his middle back, cheek laying innocently against his collarbone.
For a blissful moment, the sensation of being held after countless time purged the reasoning for it. She forgot the impending fight. The agony twisting her lower body was dulled. Steve eventually had to ask though.
“Will this kill you?” Steve asked gingerly, hold on her shoulder tensing protectively at the possibly fatal answer. “Tell me the truth.”
Rita inhaled, once again at the precipice. To lie and spare Steve, or be honest and allow his comfort and support, but expose him to her decline and take him down with her.
His warmth, the strong thrum of his heart washing over her in waves. It implored her to open up and bare her soul completely. He’d listen, no matter how it broke him.
Which was why she once again chose the path of deception.
“It’ll heal up in a couple of days.” Was the simple yet effectively delivered lie. “I’m still fighting fit.”
The truth was unless she could get away and access a great deal of saltwater privately, in two days she would die. The ugly truth she wasn’t going to place on Steve’s shoulders. Not with the revelation of his old friend Barnes bewitched by the enemy.
She needed a fighter at his side, watching his back until the battle was done. That is what she would be. Until the moment she fell, or she saved herself.
Steve seemed to take comfort in that. The way he gently nodded his head ruffled her hair in a sweet way with the way his chin brushed against her head. The smile that briefly tugged at her lips was inescapable. The way she smiled back was wholly natural and completely genuine.
It hadn’t always been lies. Fairly quickly Rita’s admiration for Steve Rogers had turned genuine.
For a time their friendship was as tender as how Steve lead her from the uncomfortable bathroom, back through to the living area to where the couch now lay vacant. Her guess had been half correct. It had been Rogers asleep there as she’d snuck past.
Steve lowered her down onto his makeshift bed instead, leaning her forward momentarily to adjust the pillows before letting her settle back. Green eyes stared meekly as the blanket draped over the back support was removed, shaken out, and pulled over her with extra care taken as he set it over her stomach.
“Rest up, tomorrow we carry on.” He ordered without room for argument, setting down in the armchair beside the couch that was far too small and narrow for his massive body. Yet he didn’t complain, his face didn’t even twitch unhappily. She knew his mindset, that knowing others were safe and comfortable appeased the man more than he himself being looked after.
“And, Ritz’-”
She lethargically perked up at her sweet toned nickname, how it was spoken now laced with higher emotion.
“If you need help, please ask me.” He breathed, how his eyes cast down in a flicker to her mid section enough of a silent gesture.
Rita’s breath stalled in her throat in an unfamiliarly faulty way. Feeling remorse like this was something she was still acclimatising too. Anyone else being upset by her bluntness and secrecy? Why would she care?
Steve? Maybe she’d spent so much time with him his emotions had rubbed off on her.
“I do trust you, Steve.” She offered, fingers running along the woollen blanket as she pulled it further up her chest while she watched him solemnly. Lay there like that, the conversation topic, she felt oddly vulnerable. Usually something that would make her recoil and turn defensive. Not this time. “You’re the only person I do trust, even if you don’t trust me back anymore.”
“I didn’t say that.” Steve replied once again, matter of factly. Crossing his arms over his chest with a hurt frown.
Rita sat herself up as much as she could in order to become more attentive until a sharp stabbing pain froze her with a grunt. One that had Steve rise a little in his seat should he need to help her.
“I just…” He seemed to observe her momentarily, waiting to see if she was alright or if she needed his intervention.
She purposefully settled herself in a minimally painful sitting position against the arm of the couch to let him relax. Watching him as intently as he did her.
Pools of lagoon blue met the green of the depths of the sea in a longing for connection.
“I don’t want to lose you like everyone else.” Steve finally admitted on a whisper, form no longer strong. Slumped back, as vulnerable as her. It made sense, he was the man out of time. He’d lost everyone once upon a time. Despite her deception he didn’t want her to disappear.
Rita’s slender hand extended, brushing the top of his knee to catch his attention again. Steve’s gaze trailed the way it clasped his leg warmly, prompting him to look up with considerable hope. That always made it harder for her to lie to him.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She whispered back, lips framing the statement in a promising smile. And again, she waited for an indication that Steve believed it.
The way he returned the smile, his larger hand covering hers also protectively as it remained in place when he leaned back to get some sleep, he’d believed it.
Steve still couldn’t spot when she lied to him.
Because no matter how this panned out, whether she succumbed to the rot, if she was killed taking on HYDRA, or she succeeded in gaining the intel she’d needed for years to finally return home, either way, Steve was about to lose her.
“ I can't breathe, I'm so weak, I know this isn't easy
Don't tell me that your love is gone
That your love is gone.”