log: punisher & spectre WHO: Steven & Pella WHAT: Post-scrub, Steven wakes up and realizes he's missing three years of time. It's terrible.
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Steven woke up to bright lights and a quiet room. Groggy and in pain, his head throbbing and his body aching, he was given some water and asked if he knew his name. What followed was a series of questions about basic facts. Did he know his parents? Did he know his brother? What did he do for a living? What was the last thing he remembered? How old was he? What date was it?
It was 2010. He was twenty-nine years old. He’d just come back from a job in Australia to be in Los Angeles with his wife.
It was only after he’d been questioned for an hour that he was told how wrong he was. The year was 2013. He’d lost some memory after being brainwashed and used as a sleeper agent. The memory loss was most likely temporary, but they had no way of knowing what would come back and what would remain missing. He had some physical injuries, and the invasive “scrubbing” process had affected some of his movement and motor skills. It would likely be hell for a while, he was told, but they were optimistic.
They then left him alone. The room was almost overly pleasant, and Steven knew that outside the door the rest of the building was probably cold and stark. This had white walls and flowers on the nightstand, and a window that looked out at an ocean view that was nothing but a projection to give the illusion of not being underground.
Steven sat in a wheelchair and stared out the window, anyway.
The first visitor might have been his mother. Luka. Maybe his wife. But the first person to walk through that door after Steven’s doctor was Pella Castle. He’d barely seen her in two years, other than for family gatherings that Steven could actually make it to. She was definitely older now. Not rougher (it was difficult for Pella to be rougher), but less... vulnerable-looking than Steven was used to. In soft pants and a long-sleeved tunic, she wouldn’t have seemed out of place if she had a hijab wrapped around her hair. She didn’t; instead, her thick hair was braided to the side so it didn’t get caught underneath the strap of the sling that held her left arm.
“Hey.”
Steven turned, his expression of hope turning to stunned surprise. “Pella?” He would have pushed up out of his chair, but he’d tried it an hour ago and almost collapsed back to the floor. He was prone to bouts of dizziness and exhaustion, and he was recovering from a knife wound to the thigh, among other things.
Pella’s mouth twitched. The response didn’t seem to make her happy. “How are you doing?”
“You don’t want the honest answer to that question,” Steven said. “What are you doing here, I haven’t seen you since Christmas.”
Pella was quiet for a second, watching Steven intently before she relaxed (just a little, just barely) and answered, “I work here. You’re hurt, so I’m checking on you.” Despite being awkward, maybe covering up for something that might have been something he’d forgotten, she was still more together than he remembered. Slightly less socially off, slightly more comfortable having a conversation.
Steven was quiet. He looked her over, something flickering behind his eyes. Mm. “I’ve lost three years,” he said. “More or less. I’m looking out a fake window at a fake ocean. I’m confused and lost. So … you can tell whoever that that’s how I’m doing. You look different. Good. You look good.”
“Thank you.” Pella cradled her bad arm with her good hand. She wasn’t one for idle gestures, as a rule. It seemed out of place. “I wasn’t asking for someone else. I was asking for me.”
“Well, that’s... how I’m doing,” Steven said. He glanced briefly at her sling. “Dislocated?”
“But not broken. The other guy came out worse.”
Steven grinned. “Good. Hey----come over here, have a seat, catch me up. I miss you.” They’d had a difficult breakup and Steven thought he’d never recover from it, but they talked occasionally and he felt like they could be friends again. Couldn’t they?
“You sure? Wouldn’t you rather talk to your wife?” It wasn’t bitter---or if it was, her tone was very carefully neutral.
“Is Sam here?” Steven perked up slightly.
“No. She’s... working. I can get her,” Pella offered. “They might let her in.”
Steven’s expression fell. “Did she know? About this?” He’d figured that if Sam knew that he’d just gone through an invasive neuro procedure and lost three years of memories, she’d be around for when he woke up.
There was a brief, almost non-existent hesitation before Pella answered. “No. I don’t think anyone’s told her yet. If they had, she would be here.”
“No one told her? Shit.” Steven groaned, leaning his head back. A wave of dizziness hit him and he had to close his eyes. “No one’s bothered to catch me up on the last three years, they just told me that I lost them and that I’d probably have feelings about that.” He snorted. “Captain Morgan, man.”
“Major.” Pella decided to sit down while she texted someone (probably Sam), awkwardly balancing the phone with the hand hanging out of her sling. “Major Morgan.”
Steven made a face. “Lame.”
“What do you want to know? I’ll answer your questions until Sam gets here. She may be a while.” Pella must have been explaining everything over text. She hadn’t looked up from the screen.
“What kind of question is that, Pel? I want to know everything. I need to know everything. What I’m missing. That’s three years. I was used as a sleeper agent, had my mind hijacked, now I’m playing catchup … I’ve been referred to about five counselors within SHIELD and told that I’ll have the best psych help available as I recover.” Steven shook his head and looked down at his feet. “If I recover. And if I don’t, then I’ll get more psych help.”
“I don’t know everything. It’s a legitimate question. Everything is too broad. Be specific.” That was still the same. Pella hadn’t gotten any better with vague or general questions.
Steven’s mouth twitched. “How’s Sam?”
Pella took a second to pick her words. It was easy to chalk that up to the fact that Sam and Pella weren’t... friends. “She has a new movie coming out. She’s excited about it.”
“Good----good, that’s good.” Steven tried to smile, but he was too exhausted, too lost. He would have asked more, but suddenly the color drained from his face. “Luka,” he said. “Luka. What about Luka. Is he okay? Is he----” Three years. He’d lost three years. Luka didn’t have that kind of time. “Please tell me he’s alive.”
Pella’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile. “He’s very alive. Irritating as ever. Works for SHIELD now, actually. He died last December and you decided to use Extremis to save him. He’s been obnoxious and invasive ever since.”
Steven covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh, my … God.” He tried to digest all of this. Luka had died, he now had Extremis like Tony, and now he was fine. And he’d been there for all of it but couldn’t remember a damn thing.
“You’ll get used to it,” she said blandly. “He has a boyfriend. Very young. He’s a good kid and has Luka’s balls in a jar somewhere. It’s not what you would have chosen for him, but you approve.”
“And my parents? Are they alive?” It was evidence of the kind of life they all led that are they alive was the first question he had to ask.
“Around. They’re probably asleep. Bucky’s been yelling at people and Natasha’s been taking care of other things for you. I just texted her to tell her that you’re up and talking.” It sounded a little more familiar than maybe it should have. Natasha and Bucky were close with Steve and Carol, but they’d been more like the aunt and uncle that the Rogers kids rarely saw than people Pella referred to in a friendly, casual way.
Steven nodded, reaching down to pat his pockets for his own phone. Nothing. His phone must have been confiscated. “What about you?”
Pella went quiet, idly touching the top of her phone to her mouth. “I work here,” she repeated. “I still teach at Xavier’s. I had a baby last month. Premature. She’s still in the NICU.”
“You... what?” Steven looked up, genuinely surprised. “Oh.” He blinked. “Oh, my God, congratulations. Is she pulling through? Doing okay?”
“She is. She’s getting a lot of help. Elixir came before she was a week old to make sure she doesn’t have a heart condition or respiratory problems. If she stays healthy, she may be able to come home with me about a month earlier than they thought.” Pella clicked through her phone before handing it to Steven. It was a photo of a tiny infant in an equally tiny preemie cap with a Captain America shield sewn into it.
Steven took the phone, smiling faintly when he saw the photo. “Pella, she’s... beautiful. God, she’s so small.” She looked frail and fragile, delicate, but if Pella said she was going strong then Steven would believe her. “I, uh.” He looked up, passing the phone back to her. “Did you get married, or... are you seeing someone...?”
Pella lingered over the photo before clicking back to the home screen. “He’s not around,” she said dismissively. “He left. He doesn’t even know she exists.”
“Are you serious?” Steven made a face, disgusted. “I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Not like it’s your fault.”
“Still.” Steven shook his head. “Either way. Congratulations on your daughter, I’m just... I’m surprised.” Happy for her, but surprised. Maybe a little jealous. They’d broken up, but he’d never stopped loving her. He was married to someone else, but he still felt like Pella was his. “What’s her name?”
“Rachel. She’s tough. She’s already earned it.” After a moment of thought, Pella actually went back to the photos. To someone who didn’t know her, she seemed almost dispassionate, but the repetition, the lingering, all meant that Pella was clearly having an emotional response. As she should have.
Steven smiled faintly, but it faded when he was struck with a thought. “Sam and I haven’t had any kids, have we...?”
Pella took in a breath. Her nostrils flared. “No.”
Steven leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Probably for the best,” he muttered. “With our jobs how they are.” And after Sam’s miscarriage, they hadn’t really been jumping to try again. Still, he felt disappointed more than he felt relief. He wondered if Sam had miscarried again, wondered if they struggled with having kids, wondered if they’d just given up.
Pella probably should have reached over and taken his hand, or offered some kind of comfort. Instead she went cold and tucked her phone away. “I should go.”
“You----what?” Steven sat up again. “Okay?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t really want to talk about you and Sam having babies.” She was either bored or bitter. It was difficult to tell.
“Oh.” The silence that followed was awkward, and Steven watched her carefully. “Can I ask why?”
“Because---” Pella was a terrible liar, especially if she had to keep it up or was trying to spare someone’s feelings. “We have history. I just don’t want to talk about it.”
Steven was smart. He was a spy, an infiltrator, and part of his job was gleaning information from people when they didn’t necessarily want to give it. Pella was extremely difficult to read, but Steven had worked with her for years. Dated her for years. He knew her better than most people did.
“You’re not telling me the whole truth,” he said.
Pella’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t handle the whole truth.”
“Yes, I can, Pella.”
“You’re happy with Sam?”
Steven frowned. “I’m... I don’t know, yes? Pella, you don’t get to decide what information I can have and what I can’t. If you won’t tell me, then I’ll get it from my parents, or Luka, or Sam. These are my memories. I deserve to have them.”
Pella didn’t normally hesitate with the truth. You either dealt with it, or you didn’t. Something had to be big, or painful, for her to dig her heels in like she was doing now. The phone came back out (again, how inconvenient), and Pella eventually just said, “She’s yours.” And there was a photo on the screen of Steven cradling a less-tiny-than-the-last-photo baby Rachel against his chest, his shirt open so she was against his bare skin. It was better that Pella was telling him, anyway. Catching her in a lie wouldn’t have helped anyone. “Rachel Natalia Barnes.”
Steven fell silent, staring at the photo in quiet awe. This wasn’t like the movies; memories didn’t suddenly come flooding back when they were convenient. He struggled to keep his expression passive; emotion flickered in his eyes, followed by the slight glisten of tears. He’d spent the last several years learning how to keep his emotions in check, but this had him completely shellshocked.
Three years. What the hell had happened over the last three years?