Chapter 2
When he was a kid, he loved space. Loved espionage stories and war heroes, like his uncle who came back with a Purple Heart.
He toys with this thing Strange gave him a while back, an oracle locked inside an unsolvable cube. Strange told him an image would display of the thing a person wanted the most if they could solve it. He was more invested in it a few months ago to be honest but right now, he just needs a distraction. Like chewing on pencils during a test. Gripping your hands to forget the pain.
It's a cruel joke then, all the things he liked as a kid came true in the most fucked up way it could.
Joined the army and became a "war hero" (he doesn't believe it.) Became a spy (for both sides). Went on the moon. Multiple times.
And her voice faintly speaking in the echoes of his head is a sign he needs another pour of scotch, already on his second bottle.
The phone buzzes with a message from Daisy. "You shouldn't be alone on New Year's. Come to Luke's place.", he leaves it unanswered, like all the other texts on his personal phone lately. Only responded to one from Steve. "Happy New Year, Buck. Don't do anything stupid on the first day of the year."
Replies "Fine. Will do on the second."
This is how it is now. Bury himself in work, come home, drink and do it again until this pain leaves.
And he knows it never will.
He stops thinking for a moment as the thing clicks.
He stares at it, the cube closing into itself, whirring and folding until somehow the entire thing folds onto the bottom of it. There's a small, round glowing sphere inside that hovers quietly above it, before seemingly displaying something he can't quite make out. As if hearing his thoughts, the picture inside suddenly projects throughout the space, filling the small of the living room.
It's New Years. 2012.
There's a bottle of champagne and glasses lazily filled from the vodka they had while pouring it. The memory cuts in right as she laughs; not a chuckle or a small giggle, but an actual laugh.
He smiles as she looks at him. "What're you smiling about?"
"Nothing."
Alcohol buzzing on their lips but their minds still there, she pushes him onto the sofa, small pieces of her hair falling from the sides of her face. "No one smiles at nothing."
He reaches to kiss her, and it feels warm, tastes like bubbles and heaven. They pull away, green opals for eyes staring back at him. "Never at nothing." He pauses, before he says "I love you.". Not because he has to think about it, but that he can say it. They both can, after 4 lifetimes of being told love is just another parlor trick in a spy's toolbag; after not even uttering the phrase aloud in case the walls heard and it reached Karpov.
They can say it now, shout it as loud as they want and yet, it only ever manages to tumble from their lips out of habit, when things might happen. At least, from his; feeling almost like a jinx if he were to ever admit it aloud. As if God himself might wake him up the moment he spoke it.
But for the first damn time, there's no mission, no risk, nothing to interrupt. No one to listen besides them. So he says it, mind clear, eyes open and looking up at the most beautiful thing he will ever get to hold, see, touch or taste.
"I know." She says, and he again tastes sweetness and love.
The blue glow becomes dim as it folds into itself, a new button appearing on the side for he guesses, his reward of solving it.
His face is wet and his hand is shaking as he pinches the bridge of his nose, having buried the memory deep, where neither Leo nor him would ever reach it. The clock flashes 2:05am, and he's reminded in the most painful, ironic of ways, that it's the first year he'll never see her again.
He throws the half full glass of scotch against the wall as he yells, burying his face in his hands.