Maybe, in another world, in another life, he could’ve loved Kate Bishop.
He doesn’t. God knows he tried- tried so fucking hard, to hold her and love her and it never quite worked because it just wasn’t meant for them.
But he thinks that he could’ve. Could’ve loved her, held her, had her. That in another reality, a different future, he’d find himself with his arms wrapped around Kathrine Bishop, love of his life. If he’s really sentimental he imagines they’d be married, maybe, or kids-
In another life, he could’ve loved Kate Bishop.
This isn’t that life. And despite having a friend who can punch through the multiverse, a brother who can warp reality to his will- it will never be that life.
It's okay. He’s accepted it.
He isn’t even sure he wants it.
Except now Kate Bishop is in front of him, lit by the tv, blue light outlining the slope of her nose and the sweep of her bangs as onscreen whatever shitty movie she’d convinced him to watch plays along without him sparing it a glance.
She’s beautiful, he thinks. He wants to kiss her, that’s next.
Does he love her?
He looks away, chews on his lip and snatches another handful of microwave popcorn from their shared bowl, his fingertips accidentally brushing against her side before he pulls back, tucking his arms close to his body so he can’t reach back out and chase her gentle warmth.
“Hey,” Kate murmurs, as the scene on the tv changes- it’s Mama Mia, he looked now, not shitty but certainly not retaining his attention any more than it had been -“you okay?”
No, he thinks immediately. “Fine,” is what he says, not meeting her eyes.
She gets that little wrinkle on her nose- god, they’re hardly kids anymore but she’s still got the same wrinkle on her nose when she’s figuring out how to call you out on your bullshit, even after all this time. He thinks he could love her, then, but maybe he’s just remembering how his sixteen year old self had felt kissing Kate in that messy bar, the lights so bright and pretty around them but never half as pretty as her.
See, pretty is easy. Kissing is easy. Sex is so easy- love’s the part he’s stuck on. He wants to kiss Kate Bishop.
Does he want to love her?
“Liar,” she declares, and he wonders if she’d kiss him if he asked. Kate always liked kissing him, even when she didn’t want to love him. He’d never really minded, because he always liked kissing her and he didn’t even know if he wanted her to love him at all.
What a pair they made. No wonder she’s back, perched on his shitty apartment’s couch, the city that never sleeps bustling outside in the dark.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he says suddenly, because it’s true.
He’s glad she’s back.
Kate’s eyes do that little thing, the one where they widen slightly because he moved too quickly and she needs a second to readjust- just a second, never more.
She’s always recovered quickly.
“I’m glad I am too,” she says back, because he thinks that might also be the truth.
He swallows, the words thick in his throat as he looks away, fidgeting. “I missed you.”
There’s a long moment where she’s silent, or maybe that’s just him, slipping and stretching the time around him and the beat it takes for her to speak again just spreads out into his own personal eternity, caught between her lips as they part.
“I know,” she says finally. He thinks that if he were in love with her he’d want her to say that she missed him too, that he doesn’t need to miss her anymore, that-
Something properly cheesy. Billy-and-Teddy level cheesy, maybe.
But this isn’t another world, and he is not in love with Kate Bishop, and she does not love him in return.
So she says “I know” and leaves it at that.
Maybe he doesn’t want to love her, then.
“California was good, though,” she adds after a moment, her eyes murky as she pauses the movie, the colors on the screen blurring across her face and her lips and her braid. “I’m glad I went.”
“Not good enough to stay?” he asks, or maybe just points it out. She bites her lip, and for just a moment they are kids again and he is kissing her because she’s hot and brave and she looks at him like he’s just a person and not a delinquent teenager, not a troubled superhero, not a weapon-to-be-made.
She looked at him like he was just Tommy Shepherd, and that’s all she wanted him to be.
“No,” she says eventually. “Not good enough to stay.”
He wonders if she’d still look at him the same way, but she keeps her head turned away, eyes on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “That it wasn’t.”
Kate sighs, a heavy thing, like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders and no one can take it from her. Sometimes he thinks that she does. “I’m not.”
“No?”
“No.” She leans back, against the couch, tossing her head back to stare at the ceiling and all he can stare at is the pale column of her throat, cast in hazy blue light.
He wants to kiss her, he thinks.
“Why not?” he asks instead, because kissing Kate Bishop probably wouldn’t help him decide if he wants to be in love with her or not.
He can’t be. He isn’t. But he needs to know if he wants to be.
“Don’t make me say it.” She says it as if he already knows, which makes him frown because he most definitely doesn’t.
“Say what?”
“Tommy,” Kate whines, dragging his name out on her lips. If he was in love with her, that might mean something to him.
He doesn’t think it does, though.
He isn’t sure.
“Say what, Kate?” he asks again, and she freezes, then slowly looks at him, face lit by the tv and the city outside the window.
She still looks at him like he’s just Tommy Shepherd.
Being “just” anything normally doesn’t feel so good.
“Did you… not realize?” she mumbles quietly, and he shakes his head. It tosses his bangs into his eyes, and he blows them out and she watches him like-
Like maybe she loves him.
But that’s not right, because this is not the universe where they are happy together. This Kate Bishop and Tommy Shepherd are not in love, and will never be.
Even when she looks at him like that.
“I came back because-“ She stops, cuts herself off. “It’s embarrassing.”
He frowns, chewing on his thumbnail as he leans against the couch, not meeting her eyes. “I told you that the only person I think I might’ve actually loved died and then came back to life only to break up with me in a screaming match that left me crying for weeks and now he’s already dating someone new like I didn’t mean anything to him at all. I think you’re due for a little embarrassing, to even it out.”
Her eyes get sad, when he brings up David, sad-and-mad in a way that deepens the furrow between her brows, her jaw set tight and lips pressed together. “I’m-“
“Don’t say sorry,” he warns, and her mouth snaps shut because that’s exactly what she was going to say.
Sometimes it feels like it’s all anyone ever says to him anymore.
Stupid fucking David.
Maybe, he hopes, in another universe, in another life, somewhere out there- just like there is a Kate Bishop and a Tommy Shepherd -there is a David Alleyne and a Tommy Shepherd who are in love, who are happy.
But if he thinks about it, if he’s honest, he doesn’t think there is.
Somewhere out there, there is a version of him that is happy with Kate Bishop.
He does not think there is any version of him that managed to make David Alleyne stay.
Kate, ignorant of that realization, just drags a hand through her bangs, pulling a few stray strands of midnight dark hair from her time-worn braid. “I came back because…”
“Because?” he prompts, and waits. He is impatient, as a general rule, but he pushes through to see Kate squirm, her face flushing.
Maybe he is in love with her.
He doesn’t think that’s right, though.
“Because I missed you,” she admits finally, the words tumbling out in a rush. He stares at her, with wide eyes, and she quickly adds, “Everyone. I missed everyone. Not- I did miss you, but not you specifically, America is back here too and Cassie-“
“Kate,” he interrupts, and her mouth snaps shut as she stares at him.
The tv shines on, still paused. Frozen in time.
He swallows around the words in his throat, all the things he never told her. “I…”
“Yeah?” she asks, so soft he barely hears it.
It would be so easy if he was in love with her.
Damnit, it would be so easy to be in love with Kate Bishop.
Why can’t he be in love with her?
Kate tilts her head, eyes lit by the blue light and the city outside, and it feels…
It doesn’t feel like anything. Not like it should.
Kate Bishop sits on his couch, in the blanket of night, nostalgia thick between them, and all she is to him is his friend.
She’s a good friend. He wishes he was in love with her, if only because then he might hurt less.
But she’s a good friend.
He doesn’t have many of those. Maybe it’s okay that he doesn’t love her.
“Tommy?” she prompts, and he doesn’t think she loves him either.
In another world, he kisses her. In another world, he loves her.
In this world, he just nudges the popcorn bowl out of the way and leans against her, pressing his face against her hair. “I missed you,” he mumbles, and he doesn’t kiss her, even though he wants to, because she might think he’s in love with her, and he’s not.
He loves her, but not like that. He almost wishes he did, but he doesn’t, really, because he’s okay with loving her like this.
Kate Bishop, his friend. Kate Bishop, his teammate.
Kate Bishop, who looks at him like he’s all she needs him to be.
No expectations. Just Tommy Shepherd.
“I missed you, too,” she breathes out, wrapping an arm around his waist and keeping him close.
“You don’t love me.”
“No.”
“I don’t love you.”
“I don’t mind.”
He kisses her hair, because he might not be in love with her but she’s still Kate Bishop and she still means more to him than-
Most things, he thinks.
“Are you gonna stay in New York?” he asks, barely audible, and she leans her head against his shoulder, reaching for the remote and unpausing the movie.
“Yeah.” She clears her throat, adding, “For now.”
“For now.” He stares at her, the colors of the movie blurring across her face, and looks away. “Okay. I can deal with “for now”.”
“I wouldn’t leave like last time.”
“I know.”
“I’d say goodbye.”
“I know, Kate,” he says gently.
He isn’t in love with Kate Bishop, not in this universe.
But he’s happy with her.