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John’s been stationed all over the world. From Garmisch, to Caserma Ederle, to Zama. Even when he wasn’t posted at the nicest overseas base, there were always the kind of once-in-a-lifetime sights nearby that made living on an actual construction site or in a converted prison worth it. His time at Darby comes to mind. Olivia hated the isolation of the Italian countryside, but she didn’t mind being just an hour-long train ride from Florence. On their very first visit, she promptly decided it was her favorite city she’d ever been to. John swore he would take her back.
The view from Avengers Tower, or the Watchtower, or whatever they’re calling it now, is absolutely unmatched. No where on earth is there is anything like watching the sun slowly descend northeast, as a blanket of dimness cascades over Midtown, extending across the island and onward. To his left is the East River, the Queensboro illuminated by cars packed far too closely together, trying to get into or out of Manhattan as night falls. To his right, One World Trade Center, which sticks out like a sore thumb even at a distance.
Below him is the street. John is sitting roughly 800 feet over Park Avenue.
He’s on the very edge of the helipad, legs dangling between the platform and the silver metal bars that outline it. It takes a lot to make John feel small, but as he peers down at the asphalt hundreds of feet below him, he does.
The distance makes him feel small, but the article makes him feel microscopic.
Part of John, the delusional part, truly believed they were on the long, tedious path to being them again. He hoped she would find it in herself to forgive him, even if what he did was unforgivable. To love him, even though he drove her to hate him. To want him, even after he made her feel so unwanted. John isn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly was not this.
As of that evening, Olivia was engaged.
One year, eleven months, a week, and four days. Nearly two years. That’s how long it took Olivia not just to move on from John but to find someone new, too. Someone better than John. Someone good enough to be the stepfather to their son, whom he hardly saw enough nowadays.
He feels suspended in the air in every sense of the word, his legs swinging listlessly, and he just can’t stop looking down. It’s hypnotizing, the way everything looks from this high up. He wonders if he appears just as tiny as the people down below. Then again, that’s assuming anyone is looking up at John.
John knows, for most intents and purposes, he is invincible now. He has been shot at point-blank range and survived the weight of more than ten tons at once. Still, he has no way of definitively knowing what a fall like this would do to him. Well, he thinks, there is one way.
“Walker?” The voice hits John like a bucket of ice water over the top of his head. His shoulders tense, startled by the sudden presence. He hadn’t even registered the sound of anyone walking onto the helipad, let alone approaching him.
“Bob,” he breathes, hand on his chest. “God, you’re like a ghost.”
“My bad.” He takes a few tentative steps toward John. He can feel the vibrations of the platform beneath him. “Didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”
John keeps his gaze forward. “Must’ve missed the ‘Bob-Only’ sign,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
Bob frowns a little. John doesn’t see it, but he can almost feel it. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
The super soldier lets out a long sigh, running a hand down his face. God forbid a guy wants five minutes alone in this nuthouse. “Then, what are you saying?”
“I don’t know. Sorry,” Bob apologizes, but John can tell he’s frustrated. He hopes that means the other man will leave sooner rather than later. “What are you doing up here?”
John bites his lip, trying not to snap in the way he wants to. “Can’t a guy enjoy the sunset?” he answers the question with a question, nodding toward the orange-tinted sunset.
“Yeah, no. It is a really nice view.” Bob hums. “Are you okay?”
John hates that question. He hates the way Bob asks it, too. “Everything is fine.”
“Doesn’t look fine,” Bob says, quieter.
“Right,” John spits back. “Because you know what fine looks like for me.”
“Sorry,” Bob apologizes again. It’s starting to grate on John. “You’re just kinda close to the edge.”
John scoffs, the corners of his lips quirking upward sardonically. “I’m not going to jump, Bob,” he retorts, feeling ridiculous that he even has to clarify. Of course, he wasn’t going to jump.
“I’m not implying that you were,” Bob insists. “I just… I saw that article. About Olivia.”
If John wasn’t going to jump before, he’s considering it now. “Everyone’s seen it,” he replies, voice flat, like he doesn’t care.
“It’s true?” Bob asks. It’s such a stupid question.
“Yes, Bob.”
“I’m sorry, Walker,” he apologizes, sounding more torn up about it than John. This is an absurd interaction. He is not doing this. Not with fucking Bob, or anyone for that matter.
“When are you not sorry?” John snorts. “It’s every other word with you.” It’s not like Bob is the one marrying her, he thinks. John doesn’t say anything else, silently thanking God when Bob doesn’t apologize again.
“Y’know,” Bob starts, “It might feel like the end of the world, but I promise, it isn’t.”
John thinks he might combust right then and there. He turns his head, just enough so the other man can catch the irritated look on his face. “Are you trying to give me advice right now?” he asks sharply, eyeing Bob.
Bob shakes his head. “No, I’m just—” John cuts him off, not caring to hear him out.
“Because you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” He hates the way his voice wavers just slightly. It feels far too real for what John is comfortable with, which is nothing. “None.”
Bob swallows, a line forming between his eyebrows as they furrow. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I know more than you think.”
“What?” John’s face contorts, confused. “What does that mean?”
It is as if John can see the cogs turning in Bob’s head. He sighs, looking down. “I know what it feels like to lose someone you care about.”
John scoffs, turning to face the expanse of the city once again. “Not like this, you don’t.” He’s grateful when Bob doesn’t say anything for a while. Maybe if he’s still enough and quiet enough, Bob won’t be able to see him. Or, at least, he might get a clue.
He doesn’t.
“I was married. To the love of my life.” John’s heart falls into his stomach, eyes narrowing. He has no idea what to say, because what the hell is he supposed to say to that? He can’t help but feel like a bit of an ass, but, more than anything, he’s blown.
“You were?” John finally asks, slowly.
“I was, yeah.” He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. It’s almost funny.
“For how long?” John follows up, still trying to make sense of this in his head.
Bob doesn’t even have to think about it. “Two years. A little more than that.”
There is nothing John can do to keep the complete shock out of his voice. “ You were married?” he asks again, as if he missed the answer the first time.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Bob shifts in his spot awkwardly.
John thinks it’s an impossible request. “To a real person?”
“You’re a dick, Walker,” he huffs.
John can’t imagine it for the life of him. “You never mentioned it,” he defends, the faint air of disbelief not leaving his words.
Bob shrugs. “It’s not something I like to talk about.” John can understand that.
He can’t understand how this has never come up, even once. It doesn’t seem like some small, inconsequential detail, especially considering the other things Bob has shared with the team. Two years is a long time. John would know.
He also doesn’t understand why Bob is bringing it up now, of all times, if he hates to talk about it so much. It can’t be for his sake.
John is, unfortunately, curious. “Who is she?” he asks. “Or, I don’t know.”
Bob laughs a little. It’s a small and breathy sound. “She, yeah,” he confirms. “Her name was Lindy. Lindy Lee.”
He hesitates. “Was?”
When Bob doesn’t immediately respond, it’s enough to make the pieces click in John’s head. “Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat. “She passed away. Six years on the dot in August.”
John is at a loss once again. He knows he should say something, but he’s so damn bad at this, at saying the right thing. He’d messed up so many times in that regard with Olivia, closing himself off when he should have been opening up, especially toward the end. It was a scary thing to be vulnerable, even with someone he trusted completely.
This time, John is the one apologizing. “I’m sorry.”
Bob waves his hands dismissively. “I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, or anything,” he insists. “I just—I know what it’s like to feel like the world has been turned inside out. Like you don’t know what, who, you are without someone.” He pauses for a while, and John finds himself waiting for Bob to continue, glancing at him over his shoulder. “If I’m being honest, it only recently started getting better. But it has. It has gotten better.”
“What changed?” he asks, voice quiet, like he’s afraid that Bob might actually answer the question. And wouldn’t that be a terrible thing?
Bob shrugs. “Everything,” his smile grows a little. “This. You. And the others, obviously.”
John isn’t sure he understands. “And, before?”
The question seems to catch Bob off guard, but he answers it anyway. His hands slip into the pockets of his pants. “I was spun out. C’mon, you saw it,” he looks away for a moment. “Everything up here," he gestures vaguely to his head, "got worse. Thought I could fill that void with—I don’t know what I thought.” Bob shrugs, something far-off in his eyes. “I tried meth again, didn’t work. Tried worse, didn't work. I tried people, didn’t work. Ended up in South Asia. Found Oxe, but that didn’t work, either.”
It’s weird how Bob is much better at this than he is. He thinks back to how closed off Bob had been in the beginning. Then to how he’d let himself open up, slowly and carefully. Even if it’s clunky, Bob is so good at being honest when it counts. John envies it.
“Felt like I had no purpose. Now I do,” he adds, pressing his lips into a thin smile. “Our situations aren’t, y’know, exactly the same. And it’s not like I don’t have bad days, you’ve seen them,” Bob rambles. “But it sucks less over time.”
John scoffs a little, but their eyes meet, and he doesn't look away. “Doesn’t feel like this is going to get better any time soon,” he admits, perhaps a bit too honestly.
Bob nods. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel,” he starts, eyes flitting to the ground before coming back up to find John’s. “But if you let them, the people in your life, they can help lighten that. I don’t even know if I’m any good at it, but I am here. If you want.”
John looks the other man over, as if to consider him for a moment. Only then does he realize he’s not thinking about the article, or how high up he is, or Park Avenue. He hates that this, whatever this is, is helping—that Bob is helping. He finds himself feeling lighter, if only a bit.
“Yeah.” John sighs. “Thanks, Bob.”
“If you really want to thank me,” he starts, “you’ll get away from the edge.”
John rolls his eyes, pulling his legs up from over the edge of the helipad and slowly standing up in place. He doesn’t say anything as he turns around to make a start for the door back into the tower.
As they silently walk back inside, John ignores the sight of Bob smiling to himself in the corner of his eye.