Built to Last

April came in drops of rain. The world turned over on its shoulder and pelted the earth with wave after wave of spring showers. Evelyn’s apartment had never looked more dreary and confining. 

“Ev, I think it is within your best interest to take down your curtains,” Amelia said as soon as her foot crossed the front door. The pair of them had closed the shop as they usually did, but this time, Amelia had been hellbent on not letting Evelyn have a second of peace afterward. That’s how they both ended up in Evelyn’s apartment with Thai food and wet shoes. 

“Why?” Evelyn chuckled, setting the food in the kitchen and taking out plates and glasses. Amelia only waved her hand across the apartment as if to showcase how the dark corners of her home appeared even darker. Her curtains were thick and white, complimentary to the white couch and the green blankets, but also an adversary to the sun and its rays. 

“What minimal sunlight is out right now is fighting for its life to get inside. This is why you’re pale,” Amelia said confidently, crossing her arms and shuffling to lean on the counter. 

“Duly noted,” Evelyn passed off. Evelyn plated their food respectfully and handed Amelia’s glass over to her, gesturing to her fridge. 

“Drinks are in there. Take what you want.” 

“That was the plan.” 

It was easy for the two to slip into a comfortable silence as they dragged their dishes over to the couch, using the coffee table to its full advantage. Amelia refused to stay in silence, however, and uncovered the remote from in between the couch cushions. Evelyn chuckled to herself and amusedly rolled her eyes. 

“Please don’t put on some sappy TV show,” Evelyn half-begged. Amelia scoffed, keeping her eyes on the TV as she replied. 

“It’s television. That’s all there is–unless you wanna watch rednecks roll around in the swamps or have any interest in watching giant brutes of men charge into each other in football.” She said football like it was poison on her tongue, and it pulled a chuckle out of Evelyn. Amelia wasn’t one for the picket fence, suburban dream her parents had adopted quickly after she was born. Evelyn couldn’t say that she wasn't the same. All her hopes of American suburbia began and ended with PTA boards. 

“There’s the news,” she said nonchalantly. Amelia turned her head, appalled. 

“You wanna watch the news ?’ Evelyn shrugged. She wasn't joking when she said she didn’t use her TV very often. 

“How do you expect me to pay attention to you and whatever show you want to show me?” She pointed out. Amelia paused–Evelyn watched, humored by the blankness across her friend’s face. They both knew damn well that Amelia was going to start talking, and Amelia liked it when people listened to her. Without acknowledging Evelyn, Amelia flipped to the local channel and sat back. 

“So,” Amelia started talking over the announcer, and Evelyn chuckled. 

“So,” she replied. 

“What’s your raunchiest sex encounter?”  Evelyn threw her head back and let out a boisterous laugh. 

“You didn’t even try to ease into it.” Amelia smiled and giggled. 

“Nah, I’m here for business.” Evelyn chuckled and shook her head, setting down her fork and thinking. 

“Hm, well,” she thought aloud. Evelyn wasn’t any prude, and she enjoyed sex as many people do. Her sexual partners through the years varied in intensity. She kept one man for a while, a sweet southern boy that liked to take things slow. And then, when she abandoned that life like she did with all the others, she found herself a posh businessman who preferred his office over any bedroom. Of course, there was also the pretty brunette barista from California who had an affinity for getting on her knees. Though, if she were being honest, none of them compared to her first. But that was a tabled discussion. 

“I had sex in a church once.”

“In a what?!” Evelyn laughed hard again. Amelia looked both horrified and impressed. Evelyn couldn’t decide which one was worse. Either way, she shrugged and took a swig of her drink. 

“It was a long time ago,” she said. “He was hot and an atheist. I didn’t see the harm.” Amelia narrowed her eyes, a devious grin crawling up her lips. 

“You make it sound like you didn’t know him.” 

Evelyn grinned back, equally devious. “I didn’t .” 

Amelia laughed loudly, throwing her hand over her mouth in surprise. 

“No way. ” 

Evelyn nodded smugly. She would never feel ashamed for having a good time. In her long life, the sex that was good made for a bearable life. 

“I never would have taken you for the kind of woman to have a hot one-night stand. In a church , no less.” Evelyn furrowed her brow, almost offended. But then again, Amelia barely knew a third of her. 

“I keep my secret love affairs secret .”

“What changed then?” Amelia asked. Evelyn quirked a brow. 

“What do you mean?” 

Amelia gestured to the cave of her apartment. 

“You live alone,” she pointed out, bluntly. “You barely leave your apartment, and when you do, it’s for work. I have to beg you to hang out. It’s like you’re cocooning yourself away in here. So, what happened?” 

Evelyn stared at the bottom of her glass. Her mouth ran dry. I’m just tired , she wanted to say. I’m just old. 

“Got bored,” she said. Amelia raised an unimpressed brow and tipped her head. 

“You got bored?” 

“It does happen, ya know.” 

Amelia rolled her eyes but didn’t press any further. 

“Alright, fine. Who’s your best friend? And if you say you don’t have one, I swear to god—” Evelyn chuckled and shook her head.

“I do,” she said. “His name was Howard.” 

Howard Stark appeared behind her eyes, a cloudy image of his three-piece suit and dark hair. The part of her body that used to burn when she thought of him had healed, but the wounds that he left behind scarred over into birthmarks she couldn’t wipe away. 

Howard had been there for her after the world ended. He lent her his words, his time, his careful consideration. For a long time, it had just been the two of them. They knew and shared secrets that no one else could understand. Not even Peggy, whose entire life mission was to know the secrets that nobody else did. They fostered a bond in the depths of the night, bent over workbenches and science labs, drinks in hand, and shoes left abandoned somewhere. A long time ago, before the great immortality crisis,  Evelyn had at once sworn off lovers, sworn off one-night stands and empty bodies. She had made a vow to herself to grow old and die alone, wrapped in the coat of her firsts. But Howard was her exception. They had made a pact, even. That if he was unmarried and alone by the time he was in his fifties, they would get married and settle down, live in an ugly suburban house, and get old and wrinkly together. Of course, when he started getting older and she stayed the same, he poked at her blood and found that she would continue to stay the same. The plans changed. 

Howard was the one to pull her into his chest and let her cry, let her fall apart. He was the one that shook with his own tears, his own pity, and pain. Howard was the only person who truly understood the weight of what she was going to endure. He was the only one to completely understand when she started pulling men and women into her bedroom, allowing careless, loveless hands to pull her apart and shove her back together. Howard had been the one to get her. 

She left him too soon, but she couldn’t live in the memory of her past, in the city that couldn’t promise her the future she wanted. So, she moved away. Howard helped her pack, helped her pick out her new home halfway across the country. He told her to come back, to see him, to find him in between all of her chaos. And she did, of course, until the day that he left her . 

“Was?” Amelia asked softly, the sullen nature of her tone pulling Evelyn back. 

Evelyn pressed her drink to her lips, a melancholic smile pulling at her teeth.

She hadn’t been there when his time had been called. His or Maria’s, his wife. She had said her goodbyes to an empty hospital bed and watched his funeral from afar. Tony, his son, stood in front of two caskets, unmoving. She had never met him, never knew him any deeper than from the phone calls she had with Howard. He said his son was brilliant, said he was destined for something great, and a genius beyond caliber, if not overly sarcastic and prone to self-destruction. But she remembered the shell of a man, of a son, that stood there. He wasn’t overly tall, overly broad. In fact, he looked just like Howard. An awkward half-ghost. She had cried softly as she watched the only remnant of her best friend lean down and touch his mother’s grave. That was the first time she had ever been angry at Howard for something he couldn’t control. 

“Car crash,” she said, the words no longer stinging. Amelia gasped lightly, but Evelyn shrugged. 

“That was also a long time ago,” she said. 

“How are you just okay?” Amelia asked, incredulous. “I mean—sure, you’ve had awesome sex and live in a damn good apartment for New York, but your best friend ? How do you get up in the morning?”

She smiled pitifully. “I don’t sleep, remember?” 

Amelia sighed and nodded, chuckling without humor as she downed the rest of her drink. 

“We’re gonna switch vibes here in a minute. I don’t want you to think I’m all serious or anything,” Amelia started. “But, I want you to know that you can trust me. I know it’s a big ask, especially after what happened…But, I want to be your friend—and not just your work friend who bugs you to get a life and sometimes forces you into social activities.” 

Evelyn stared at her for a moment, bewildered. She couldn’t figure out why anyone would want that. Why would anyone want to be her friend? She’s a recluse at this point. A sad, pathetic woman with more secrets and lies than truths. 

“I’m not friend material, Melia,” she said gently. Amelia shook her head. She set her glass on the table before shuffling next to her on the couch, taking Evelyn’s hands in her own. In the light of the TV and the sound of the rain tapping against the window, Amelia’s vulnerable eyes lay a chance in Evelyn’s hands. 

“Let me find that out for myself.” 

It had been a long time since someone knew her, all of her. The last time she opened her spare bedroom was before the weeds had started to grow in the crevices of her skin. There was mold growing in her mind, dust bunnies behind her ears. No one got close; no one measured up. And really, Amelia didn’t fit the bill for the type of person that she would let in. But maybe that’s where she had gone wrong in the past—maybe she let the wrong people in. She looked into Amelia’s eyes again. She had called her “friend,” but Amelia wanted to be her friend. Amelia wanted. 

“Okay.” 

——

“Okay, wait .” 

Two months later, Amelia and Evelyn were on shift again. Their dynamic had changed exponentially. It had taken Evelyn the first month to get comfortable with the idea, but she had let Amelia into her spare bedroom over one weekend. She had spent hours in that room, picking through the boxes, the history. 

Amelia had been a lot more accepting of Evelyn’s condition than Evelyn would have thought. She had practically said she knew—something about Evelyn having the vibe of Dracula and a grandmother all in one. From there, the questions rolled in quickly. 

“Let me get this straight. You  knew Marylin Monroe?” Evelyn chuckled while she swept. The shop had been quiet for the most part, service-wise that was. Amelia had been on a metaphorical train ride for the last few hours. They had started with the forties the day before, the fifties on the way to work, and were now on the sixties. In some parts of her life, Evelyn kept a secret, like exactly who her firsts were. But for the most part, Evelyn told Amelia everything. It had been a weight off her shoulders, a sigh of relief that cleaned her organs. The second she told Amelia just how old she was, it was like someone had taken out her spine and washed it in clean, cold water. Clean was a good way to describe it. 

“Knew is a strong word. It was more like a passing acquaintance. She started her film career in the forties, and so sometimes she would go to New York instead of Los Angeles. I met her while she was preparing for a role. She was really sweet, determined, and young. We talked for a while, but eventually, she left. I didn’t really see her again until the sixties.” 

“God, that’s so cool.” Evelyn shook her head, amused. Amelia had said that about everything. 

“Okay, we can take a break now,” her friend said abruptly. Evelyn raised a brow.

“We’ve been here for two hours. Our break isn’t until another two.” 

“Oh, no—I meant a break from questions. I’m giving you a break from me .” Evelyn nodded, her grin settling on her lips again. 

“At least you’re self-aware,” she said jokingly. Amelia scoffed out a laugh. 

“You gave me permission to drill you, leave me be.” Amelia turned on her heel and disappeared into the back.

Evelyn smiled to herself amusedly. It had been hard at first—to tell Amelia about herself. Her past strangled her in shades of iridescent blue, and it showed behind her eyes. But what she hadn’t expected out of the two months of her reminiscing and remembering was the nightmares. She didn’t tell Amelia, but they—the ones taken from her—stood at the foot of her bed, mauled and lifeless. Every night. Their skin hung from their faces, their voices swirling in her bedroom, crying out for her in the depth of the night. Cold burned across her body, and the blankets failed time and time again to warm her. She would fall asleep again with orders rattling in her ear, a bygone battlefield she never left.

Evelyn sighed and finished tying a knot around a bouquet. Orchids this time. Only orchids. 

“Excuse me, I’d like to buy some flowers.”  

Evelyn raised her head quickly, a custom smile plastered on her lips. She hadn’t heard the door chime. 

“Yes! Of course, what would you—”

She stops. There’s a man in front of her. She’s met him before, but that was years ago. He looked different then, but it was still the same man. He wasn’t the kind of man you ever forgot. He shuffles for a second. Then, he’s staring down at her with his good eye. He smiles. It’s not real, she thinks. He’s not the kind of man to smile, but maybe he is. She wouldn’t know. She doesn’t know anything about him. She doesn’t like that fact. 

He walks towards her, rests his hand on the counter and leans forward, too casual for her liking. He’s wearing average, regular clothes that would be normal if it wasn’t him wearing them. Evelyn takes a breath. This isn’t good. 

She sighs and leans forward, too, as if she were capturing a secret in a bottle. She asks him one question. 

“What are you doing here, Fury?” 

——

Somewhere far far away, in a bunker and strapped to a chair, Bucky Barnes remembers a name. It’s a short name, hardly anything spectacular from the hundred of names he’s been given. But this name is jagged. It pricks his chest like bees and he wants to reach out and smack it away. He almost speaks it. His lips move around the vowels and the consonants and his voice, the caged thing, pecks at the space in between. But he doesn’t speak. The doctor comes back and he knows that he can’t. He doesn’t know why he can’t, but he knows that if he says the name, it’s over. Whatever “it” could be. 

The doctor moves again, he hovers his finger over the panel. Bucky bites down on the hard rubber in his mouth and tries to breathe. He repeats the name in his mind. 

Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. Don't let them take it.  

The arms of the machine he’s trapped in come down over his face. He thinks he’s crying. He hasn’t done that in a while. And then the name—and whatever it could have meant—is burned away.