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You sat at the piano in the foyer of the apartment shared with Sam, hitting the same key over and over until the sound no longer registered in your mind. In some poetic bullshit, you could say that this represented your own life. Repeating the same thing again and again but the sound; the outcome was never any different. Wasn’t that the definition of insanity?
Was this relationship insanity? At one point, you would have argued it was anything but that. When you were young and crazy in love with the man who soared in the sky like it was nothing at all. God, he could make you laugh like no one else.
You had met when your pet dog, Nancy, had all but trampled him during a run at the park. Lucky for you, he laughed it off, scratching the ear of the border collie. “No worries, ma’am. She’s got good taste in people. Don’t you, girl?” He mused, grinning down at the pile of fur panting below him.
He had asked you out that same day. Smooth as ever while he got your number and your heart in a matter of one single night walking along the pier and laughing at childhood memories of his sister beating him up. “I’m serious!” He had cried, grinning at you doubled over in a fit of laughter. “The woman can throw a punch. Pretty sure she could take out a super soldier if she tried.”
It took one more date for him to kiss you, mumbling about his damn friends and their 40’s values rubbing off on him before he did.
You swore you fell in love after that first kiss.
Back then, you swore he loved you too.
Now, you sat alone at the piano as he didn’t come home for the sixth night that week. He had blamed a mission; the work always came first. Even when he was here, he wasn’t really here. Not in any way that mattered.
Most nights, you sat with him in silence as he read over the books Bucky had spoken about reading before Hydra. He sat with his head hung low – eyes just out of your line of vision. You got into the habit of this over the last few months.
Just watching Sam and seeing everything that he did and did not do. You knew how he breathed when he slept, so you knew when he was faking it. You took note of every little thing that made him tick. Perhaps hoping that knowing all this would make him love you again, make him come home, make him fucking see you.
You used to sit at the door and wait for him to come home. Like a little kid waiting for their parent to arrive home, to be told you had done well, validated in your efforts of love. Sam would always be kind to you. He never yelled, never told you off in any way that made you flinch. He had just stopped loving you.
Somewhere down the line, Sam Wilson started tolerating your love.
When that happened, exactly, it was fuzzy at best.
On the piano, a wrong note was played as the front door creaked open, Sam walking in quietly like he was scared of being caught in his own home. “Sam?” You called softly, looking up from the piano keys. “I didn’t expect you home tonight.” As you spoke, you stood up and walked over to him with a smile like you shared a secret. Maybe you did. Did it matter?
“Welcome home, soldier,” you teased, taking the jacket from his arms and humming as he set down his bag on the hardwood floor. “Hey, y/n,” he greeted in a rough voice that almost made him not sound like himself.
Hanging the jacket on the velvet hanger, you paused as the smell of floral perfume wafted your nose. You never wore floral perfume; hated the scent of roses on the best of days. In that short realization, you felt your stomach drop to your knees, and a shuttered breath escaped you.
You should have known. Didn’t you already know?
“I have dinner in the fridge if you want any?” You offered, seeing the way his eyes lingered on you before he nodded. “It’s not the couscous again, is it? Remember how bad it turned out last time? It was like mush.” He joked, and you forced a laugh at the subtle dig at your cooking.
“No,” you whispered, angry brewing like a magic spell in the pit of your stomach. “It’s just chicken and pasta.”
Silence returned after that; you were washing the dishes and him eating in the dim kitchen light with the silverware gifted from your parents. Did he assume that you were fine? That you would just go on with this life until the day death came knocking and took pity on you for a life sadly lived?
“How long?” You finally asked, pads of your fingers digging into the sides of the sink. “How fucking long has it been happening?”
A clash, his fork hitting the table, the chair scraping against the floor. The anger you could feel radiating off of him miles away. “What the hell are you talking about?” Sam demanded, walking up to you by the sink just as you spun around to face him.
“I don’t wear rose perfume.” You gritted, not even caring if it was a conclusion you jumped right into. Sam looked blankly at you, trying to catch up with you in the fight. “Rose? Christ, y/n, I work with other women, you know that, right? Do you know how crazy you sound right now?”
“Then tell me it’s all in my head right now! Tell me I have it wrong somehow!” You snapped, shoving past him roughly before he reached down to grip your wrist and halt you. Before he could continue talking, you shook your head at his open mouth. “You go out every day and have these adventures, and I’m still here. You save the world, build new timelines, and you can’t even bother to come home to me.”
“Is this about my job? You know how vital The Avengers is. You know what this means to me, to everyone. You’re mad that I’m good at my job?” Sam asked, tone sharp with frustration and confusion. You almost faltered, almost wanted to say you did have it wrong, but you didn’t. Not anymore.
Ripping your hand out of his, you shook your head. “I love you, Sam. I moved in with you; I embraced the superhero life; I made my entire life comfortable for you. What have you done? You’ve given me a footnote in the story of your life! Where do I even come in? I do everything right, and you don’t even look at me anymore.” Tears streamed down your face as months of hurt came out in a single night. “Where’s that man who flew me up to the roof so that I could watch the stars?”
You wished it didn’t have to happen like this.
Sam shook his head, hurt evident in his eyes, yet he didn’t reach out for you. “Baby, you never told me anything was wrong. I just assumed you were fine.” The words were broken by emotion. “What happened?” He asked, both to you and himself, and yet the words felt like they barely existed at all. “I can’t put my life on hold for this. For you.”
And there it was, the entire point of it all. He never knew you at all because you would never ask that of him. All you would ever ask for was to know when he was coming home, to have him look at you like he did before.
“I leave,” you offered weakly. You have to take the pain and learn to live with it; how to remove it like a dagger in your stomach. “And you watch.”
He was supposed to stop you. This was the moment to pin you against the wall and kiss you like he used to do. Love was supposed to be made so clear that it came back into your eyes and lungs, and it’s all you would ever be.
But he didn’t.
He just sat and watched you.