Chapter Text
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Part Four: The Clash
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Previously:
He knows how to get you back. And this time, you'll actually listen to him. He'll make sure of that.
Even if he has a plan, Steve feels like absolute shit. Steve doesn't want a new assistant, the hurt from having you be so close and then gone is still a fresh sting in his chest. Whenever he looks out the glass walls surrounding his office and sees that empty chair, he can't help the bitter disappointment he feels.
He doesn't get anything done. When he gets home, Steve slides straight under his bed covers, letting his back hit the comfortable mattress, holding his phone over his face.
With his business settled, Steve will try one last time to fix things… in a non-problematic manner. He goes to text you, and finds that surprisingly enough, his message goes through and isn't instantly blocked.
Ah, that's right. He has a new number now, given with the latest phone model. You can't block a number you don't know yet.
Maybe that's a good sign?
Steve: Look Y/N, I'm sorry. (Read: 12:38 am)
Steve: Are we really going to do this again? You ignoring me and then disappearing from my life? (Read: 12:40 am)
Y/N: After that shit you pulled, it's what you deserve. Don't message me anymore. (Read: 1:00am)
Steve: If you would just let me explain. Don't you think I know I fucked up? Please, Y/N. Let me talk to you. Pick up the phone. (Read: 1:10)
Y/N: Yeah I'm not doing this with you rn . (Sent: 1:15am)
Steve looks down at his phone. Looks like you blocked him. Shit. He really, really wants to talk to you. To know how you're doing. To check in and see if you're doing okay.
“You don't know it, Y/N. But I am showing so much fucking restraint right now,” Steve whispers underneath his breath, before slamming his phone face down onto his bedside desk.
Yes, what he did was fucked up! But what you did to him was worse, right? You left him, and ended a friendship for years! And then when he tries to make amends, you don't even hear him out?
“Fuck!” Steve gets angry all over again, putting his hands over his face and rubbing it vigorously.
Steve doesn't even have the benefit of going to any mutual friends you may have to help defend his case to you.
“I tried the nice way, Y/N. I really did.” Steve says to himself, shaking his head, before taking in a deep breath, holding it, and then letting it out. He repeats this a few times, until his stomach feels less like it's in knots and his heart isn't racing hard enough for him to hear it in the back of his ears.
He texts Sam and Bucky, hoping for some advice but all they do is tell him to move on, which. It's kinda too late for so that, so he decides to go with plan C. It's titled C because even he admits it's a little crazy.
Steve calmly pulls the covers up over his body, readjusts his position in bed, sinking his head into his comfortable pillow and goes to sleep.
Big things await him tomorrow, and the coming days after.
…
"Oh, he's a fucking piece of shit, Y/N! I'm glad you walked out on his ass!" Monica raises her glass of wine to toast you after you've recounted your crazy experience with Steve, and you toast her, but pause before drinking.
"There wasn't anything else I could do," you tell her, and Monica shrugs.
"I don't know… Sometimes, you like to have these little kumbaya moments and take back someone who's treated you poorly. I was a little scared you were about to tell me you were going to show up to work there next week or something," Monica side-eyes you as she drinks and you sigh, because homegirl knows you too well. You don't exactly have the best track record of leaving when someone's in the wrong and have been known to take them back. But that's in the past!
"I can't even get mad at you because there was a small, tiny moment where I considered trying to smooth shit over, but then I was like, 'Hold on. Steve wanted to fuck around with me and couldn't even own up to it?' and the anger just took a hold of me from there, before I knew it, I was yelling at him and quitting." You answer, before taking a sip and wincing. Wine wasn't really your thing but it was fun to drink out of large glasses and could definitely get you drunk a lot quicker than some over the counter spirits. Personally, you preferred the fruit versions of Smirnoff but since that's more available, wine will do.
"Right," Monica agrees sagely, "because you have to put yourself first." She still looks a bit worried though, and you think you know why.
"But yeah, at least I don't have to worry about rent. My check just arrived with severance pay and that coupled with my savings should have me pretty good for a while," you tell her, smiling when you see her shoulders drop in obvious relief.
"Ooh, that's good. I'm glad he didn't try no fuckshit with your money, or we would've had a problem," Monica says and you laugh, grabbing your glass.
"I can toast to that!" You agree, although you had worried about the very same thing a few days earlier. But you don't have to worry about that now, because you got paid, and that's all that matters!
You and Monica laugh and drink throughout the night at her apartment, completely unaware of the shitstorm of events that would occur afterwards.
…
Steve picks up the phone and types in the extension for the payroll department.
"Hi," Steve says brightly into the phone, "my assistant just recently declared they're going on vacation and couldn't hand in his timesheet. I would hate for his payment to be delayed.”
…
You should've known that Steve's stubborn ass would try something else to get your attention.
Two weeks after hanging out with Monica and browsing the job scene, you're surprised to find that there's another check in your mailbox when you go downstairs to check, and you can do nothing but stare at it dumbly. This catches the notice of building tenants who pass by you and mutter a quiet, civil ,”Hello,” before going about their business.
"Ah, Y/N! How are you?" Mr. Vasquez greets you, on his way out, but when he sees the face you're making, he stops and asks, "Estas bien?"
"Um, yeah, it's just that I have this check here, but it's from a place that I don't work at anymore," you reveal awkwardly, and Mr. Vasquez hums before shaking his head.
"Ooh, don't touch that money, then, or you'll get in trouble. I'm pretty sure there must've been a mistake somewhere," Mr. Vasquez shrugs, and you nod, before you're bidding him goodbye and returning to your apartment.
'There must've been a mistake,' Mr. Vasquez had said, but there's a growing knot of tension in your stomach as you look at the bottom portion of the check that has Steve's signature on it.
Not a chance.
From what you learned at your time at Cap Inc, Steve does stamp his signature onto the checks of his employees so this means that this WAS no accident.
This must be one of his little mind games to get back at you, and you are not trying to play shit. You are most definitely not keeping it, so you go hop on your little laptop and Google "How to Return A Workplace Check Received In Error."
You then mail the check to the IRS with the reason being "No longer at this place of employment."
Surprisingly, you receive a call a few days later.
"Hello, am I speaking with a Mr. Y/N?" A smooth voice asks, and you nod, and then realize they won't be able to see that.
"You are," you answer worriedly as you sit down, this sounds like a call made in an official capacity.
"I'm here to inform you that the checks you recently submitted to the IRS for review were not received in error. After checking the database, it appears that you are still listed as employed at cap incorporated. Therefore, the check you sent will be returned to you, in three to five business days," the operator reports and you're so confused.
"Wait, what? But I don't work there anymore," you inform the operator, and they pause, obviously considering what to advise.
"Well then, unfortunately, this is not an issue you can solve with the IRS. I'm afraid you're going to have to solve this issue with your boss so that can correct your employed, or rather unemployed status," the operator tells you in an apologetic voice and you sigh and raise a hand over your eyes.
"Shit!"
"I'm sorry?" The operator sounds startled and you do quick damage control.
"No, it's just that I hate that guy," you reveal and the operator chuckles.
"I've definitely been there," they say and then after a pause, presumably the operator returning to their list of pre-chosen phrases, "Well, sir, is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No," you huff, "but thank you for informing me. Have a nice day."
"You as well, " the operator responds cordially before hanging up.
Fuck. You’re going to have to deal with Steve after all.
Whatever, you'll handle it tomorrow.
Except... you don't handle it, steadfastly putting it off until another four weeks pass and with it, two more checks are in your mailbox. You can practically feel Steve's smirk from here.
"Fuck, Steve, you don't make shit easy," you huff, and then get off your ass.
…
“Oh, look who it is? Casper!” Salma says when you come in.
“Casper?” You repeat, confused, and you realize what she means just before Salma clarifies.
“Yeah, like the friendly ghost. Because guess who was so friendly to me during their stay here and then they just upped and ghosted me?”
“... Are you mad that I missed your messages where you offered to go for brunch yesterday? I'm sorry sis but the commute was just too long, the trains too unreliable, and I slept in anyway! Plus, it was a Sunday!” You pout at her but Salma raises her nose up at you.
“I know abandonment when I see it! And if I can't trust you to show up for bottomless mimosas and brioche French toast, what can I trust you to show up for?” Salma sniffs dramatically, crossing her arms, and you're smiling despite rolling your eyes.
“Alright, alright, I'll make it up to you. I know a spot we could hit up that hasn't been hit by gentrification,” you offer and she smiles.
“This Sunday?”
“This Sunday,” you confirm.
“Alright,” she says brightly and just like that, things have been smoothed over.
“Now, if you quit, what are you doing here? Do you have an appointment?” Salma asks and you sigh.
“Salma, I don't have an appointment today, but I need to talk with Steve, please. I'll fill you in on Sunday,” you answer, rubbing at your eyes frustratedly.
“Alrighttttt,” she drags out and prints you out a guest pass, “You better be ready to let me move in if you do something that makes me jobless,” Salma says in a sing-song voice, and you laugh.
“I'll hold back, just for you,” you say, accepting the pass before heading upstairs.
There's no assistant you can see at the front of the office. Good. That makes this even easier for you as you head straight for the troll's office.
“Y/N?” Steve asks, looking up from his desk in surprise before you slap a large manila envelope down on it.
“Why are you here?” Steve asks coolly from his seat and you stare him down, clenching your jaw. He's so fucking trifling.
“Look. You know why I'm here,” you sigh out, rubbing your forehead agitatedly. Please, Lord, give you some patience to deal with the foolishness today! Steve furrows his brows at you, all innocent-like.
Then, to make sure he doesn't miss them, you open the envelope and throw out every check he's sent you back in front of him.
“I'm returning these,” You slap the checks on his desk, and Steve leans forward and eyes them, but makes no motion to actually take them.
“I see,” is all he says, like he's so fucking mature when he's NOT.
“Stop sending them Steve. You know damn well I don't work here anymore,” you say in a tight voice, trying to keep your composure. To get through this conversation, you're going to need self restraint and to not give into Steve and whatever the fuck he's planning.
“Okay,” Steve says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Figuring that that’s settled, you turn around and get ready to leave because you don't want to spend any more time on him than you have to.
“BUT I figured it's the least I can do after the way things ended. Besides, you're not employed anywhere else,” Steve responds, and you whip your head at him.
“Well- how would you know that for sure? Are you checking up on me?” You ask in disbelief, your heart starting to pick up in your chest.
“I was worried,” Steve responds in what he thinks is a calming voice and it's only making you more mad.
“Well, stop! You have no right to look into my personal affairs,” you force out.
“Sure, but how are you going to make ends meet?” Steve says, full of snark and that’s it, bitch!
You speed walk back to where Steve's seated and you get close, looking down at him, “I'mma need you to mind your own fucking business, before I do something I won't regret.”
“Like what?” Steve smirks, eyes flickering and- is he checking you out?
Thrown off, you back up, shaking your head. You must've imagined that look full of heat aimed your way.
“Like smashing your head in with that glass vase. Thank God I know I'm not built for jail, because dealing with your ass… whew, let me go!” You turn around but this time, Steve's getting up and coming from around his desk.
“Listen, won't you just reconsider?’ Steve asks in a soft voice.
“Steve, I already told you-”
“Yes, and I deserved it, but I'm willing to atone for my actions. I'll treat you right this time,” Steve inches closer to you.
“No. I'd rather work anywhere else than here, and it's your fault, Steve. Now leave me the fuck alone!” You say, leaving his office but Steve follows you, the persistent fucker.
“Well it's not easy to get a job these days…” he says in a way that instantly makes alarm bells ring off in your head.
“What the fuck does that mean? Is that a threat, Steve?” You ask, walking to the elevator, and pressing the button.
“No, no! Just know that you'll always have a position at Cap Incorporated,” Steve offers with a small smile as the elevator dings, indicating its arrival and you walk on.
A small part of you hopes he gets on the elevator so you can do him like Solange did Jay Z, but he smartly does not.
“Eat shit, Steve!” You stick up the middle finger before the elevator doors closed, feeling even more pissed off and a sick feeling in your stomach.
That smug ass expression he was wearing lets you know this shit ain't over but it's okay. You'll handle whatever he throws your way.
…
“And if I do this, he won't be able to go anywhere else, right?” Steve asks the hacker he’s hired for a one time payment of fifty thousand dollars.
“Yes, Mr. Rogers. With what I put on his record, even the military wouldn't want to recruit him,” the hacker chuckles dryly.
“And it can be undone, right?” Steve asks nervously, loosening the knot of his tie.
“Yes, with the hard disk I mailed you. All you have to do is insert into a software database connected to the cloud, open the program and overwrite the coding with the key,” the hacker assures him.
“Which is?”
“It's written on a note inside the package, but it's underscore ‘hire me’ underscore. Get it? Because-”
“Yes, I do,” Steve cuts him off because he's in no mood to fuck around with this loser. “I am transferring your payment into your account.’
“Sweet,” the other guy says and Steve looks down at his phone and frowns at it. He hopes this guy is older than 18 because he talks like an adolescent.
“Thank you for your busi-” Steve hangs up on him, and sighs, scrolling on his phone to look at years old photos of you two.
He misses you, the way you two used to be. Your laugh, your smile, your jokes. Your personality. He's going to do his best to get you back even if it means he'll be at his worst.
...
Two Months Later
You've really tried to put the whole Steve fiasco behind you.
Right now, you're interviewing for a new job.
"Let's take a look-see at your resumé in our system, Mr. Y/N," Ms. Smith gives you a smile as she clacks around on her computer but she sees something that makes her expression quite obviously drop. Something's wrong.
"What is it?" You find yourself asking anxiously.
"I-its nothing, I'm sorry, sir, it appears you're just not qualified for the position," Ms. Smith tells you awkwardly, but she looks nervous. You just know she's lying.
"What? As a matter of fact, I'm overqualified for the position!" You counter, genuinely confused, and Ms. Smith sighs and averts her eyes from your gaze once more. What's that about? You're suspicious. Something's going on here.
"It’s exactly that, Mr. Y/N. There's no spot for you here. At this rate, you'd be working a job you're not fit for," she says with a cool tone but you can see her eyes and know that her heart isn't in what she's saying.
"Please; I don't care if it's beneath my pay grade, I need this job," you beg, closing your eyes so the shame doesn't overwhelm you while embarrassment does. Money is tight, and everywhere you've applied has either not gotten back to you or straight up rejected you.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Y/N, but there's really nothing I can do for you," Ms. Smith insists, but her eyes are shifty and for some reason, you just have a feeling that she's not being 100% with you.
"Ms. Smith."
"Yes?" Her eyes meet yours before flitting back down to your resumé in front of her.
"I have this feeling that there's something you want to tell me, but can't," you reveal candidly, and Ms. Smith's eyes open wide before she lets out a string of uncomfortable laughter.
"Oh, no! There's nothing of the sort!" Ms. Smith eyes the doorway nervously and when you turn you see the supervising manager from before quickly turn his head away, but it's clear he's been listening in on your conversation.
Something is clearly wrong.
"Oh I must've misunderstood," you tell Ms. Smith in a loud voice and with a quick peek to check that the manager isn't looking, you snatch a post-it and a pen off her desk and you scribble a message onto it.
What's wrong?
"Here's my number," you announce loudly under false pretenses.
You pass the note to her and Ms. Smith looks at it, surprised, and then looks at you, and you try your hardest to come across as trust-worthy. She sighs and after a moment, scribbles something down underneath your message before lifting the post up so you can see.
You've been blacklisted.
"Wait, WHAT?" You say out loud before you can help it, and Ms. Smith shoots you a warning look.
"I said, there's nothing to worry about," Ms. Smith says in a loud voice before she's taking the note and ripping it up while you're in your state of shock.
"And as a matter of fact, that looks like all the time we have for today!" She announced in a loud voice, standing up and you have only a second to gather your bearings and stand up as well.
"Well, thank you for your time, but I'm afraid I am unhappy that I couldn't find a place here," you mumble in autopilot as your mind goes crazy.
"Well, maybe there'll be an opening in the future. Let me walk you out, Mr. Y/N," Ms. Smith says and as she's walking you past her eagle-eyed manager, she darts her head close to your ear and whispers.
"It looks like you were written up by Cap Incorporated."
Steve. That… motherfucker! What type of fucked up power trip is this?
"Thank you so much," you tell her earnestly while your mind is racing to catch up with the news you’ve just learned. How did it get there? How in the world are you going to get it removed? Why the fuck are you even blacklisted?
All of a sudden, clarity hits- why practically no one's responded to your job applications and why you can't seem to make it past round one interviews.
Career Sabotage. This stunk of Steve's doing.
"You'll always have a position at Cap Incorporated," Steve had told you that day, the fucker.
Jesus Christ, the man gets lower and lower every day.
"What the actual fuck?!" You yell as soon as you get outside, ignoring the looks from passersby walking down the street. It's the city, they've seen worse, so they know better to keep watching you for long.
You're pissed off, and you know that you're not thinking straight right now but you don't let that stop you. You're heading straight to Cap Incorporated's headquarters.
This fucked up game of back and forth has gone on for long enough and it's time for you to start threatening him with legal action.
"Hey, Y/N!"
You try to put on a fake smile for her, but the frown turns the corners of your mouth down so it's not very convincing.
"Hey, girl. Can you let me up? I have to speak with him," you spit out, and Salma gives you a wide-eyed stare, sensing that something is wrong.
"Yeah, okay," Salma says with a dubious voice, passing over a visitor's pass that you take and forcefully scan on the turnstile before heading to the elevators, fuming the entire way up.
"Hi, do you have an appointment-" A well dressed guy greets you, probably Steve's new assistant, but you don't care.
"Yes, I do," you respond firmly before walking straight past him and swinging the door to Steve's office wide open, who looks at you, shocked.
"End the call," you tell him in a low voice and Steve looks at you, confused. You don't wait for his brain to catch up.
"Y/N!" He gasps as you roughly snatch the phone from him and slam it down on the receiver.
"That was an important business call! You can't just- I mean I'm happy you're here, but- ” Steve says, obviously flustered and disgust rolls in your stomach.
"I don't care, Steve," you tell him candidly, and that shuts Steve up, cheeks going red from indignation.
"Now look, you've been toying around with me for the past two months, and it ends today. Why?”
“Why what?” Steve asks with such a perfectly confused expression you ALMOST believe his lying ass.
“Don’t fucking ‘what?’ me like I'm dumb. Why am I blacklisted in the system? Do you actually hate me? What game are you playing?” You slam your hands on his desk, leaning in close to him and Steve's leaning all the way back in his chair, but his eyes are wide and he's breathing erratically.
He just… looks at you like a deer in the headlights.
“Answer me!” You yell, and Steve flinches like a little bitch, and, oh my God, is he actually tearing up?
“It's uh, it's not a game for me,” Steve stumbles over his words, “I don't hate you, I-” Steve looks at you with a surprisingly vulnerable expression on his face.
“I need you,” he finishes and. What.
“BITCH!” you yell, making him jump, “I'm not playing with you anymore. Do not tell me some dumb shit like that!”
“I'm not fucking around, Y/N,” Steve insists, standing up from his seat, “I care too much to fuck around.”
“You don't consider sabotaging my career fucking around, Steve!?” You push his ass back down into his seat.
“No. Not if it means I get to have you again,” Steve says, and it's not clicking.
“What.”
“I need you here with me. I haven't been able to focus on a single thing since you've walked out of here.”
“And I haven't been able to get a single job either,” you snap back, because so what? Steve expects you to care about his ass after what he's pulled?
“Why are you making this all about you? How hard is it to leave me alone? Shit... at this point I might as well get a restraining -” You run your mouth, and Steve picks up mug and throws it at the wall, the crash of it making you jump.
“What the fuck!?” You say in response, looking at the pieces of the mug, and then Steve's face, which is no longer set in that pathetic, whining expression. Instead, he looks furious.
“You do that, and Salma’s fired,” Steve says in a low voice and your stomach drops to your ass in a second.
“What!?” You ask, not believing what he just said.
“I’m so tired of trying to do this the nice way,” Steve says, rolling his neck, and then his shoulders.
And what the fuck is he talking about? Nothing about his actions have been nice.
“You can't do that,” you insist, fear building up in your gut.
“I can. She let you up here, didn't she? You don't have an appointment, and as per company policy, no one can be allowed a guest pass unless there's an appointment made prior. She violated the policy, she's gone.” Steve says, casually rolling up his sleeves, toned biceps revealed.
“No, I forced her to, you can't fire her, that would be fucked up!” You insist but all Steve does is look at you calmly.
“As a matter of fact, aren't you best friends with a Monica Rambeau, with the FBI?” Steve asks, and your breathing picks up.
“Don't know her," you say breathlessly, but even you know you sound very unconvincing. You're not a good liar!
“Huh, that's funny,” Steve says, retrieving his phone from his pocket, before pressing buttons on it. “Isn't this her and you two weeks ago?” He shows you a photo that you and Monica had taken, posted on your private Insta story two weeks ago.
You had vetted each and every one of your followers, how the fuck did he get that picture?
“Well, a little birdy told me that you and Monica love to discuss her open, active cases over drinks. I wonder if her supervisors would love to know that information, as well,” Steve chuckles, and you freeze.
“No,” is all you say, and Steve smirks up at you.
“Finally,” he sighs, “It seems like you actually realize the severity of the situation. There is no way that I’m letting you walk away from me, Y/N. You do, and I'll ruin everyone who's had the misfortune of knowing you.” Steve says with an eerie calm.
“I’ll move,” you threaten.
“And if you do, I'll just find you. But if you're tempted to, how will your mother be able to make payments on her mortgage if her retirement pension suddenly comes into… complications?” Steve threatens and anger courses through you.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” You yell, picking up the paperweight on his desk, and moving to hit Steve with it, but he reaches for it and fuck, he's strong as shit. You grunt as he wrestles you for it.
“Stop,” Steve says in a tight voice, and to your frustration, manages to get the paperweight and throws it right to the corner.
“Fuck!” You yell, scrambling, looking for another weapon, going to pick up a pen but Steve smacks it off the table. You continue to search because you need something to put this motherfucker down.
“Y/N, I made that blacklist happen with a single phone call. I own one of the top earning companies in the city, if not the world. Back. Down.” Steve orders , and you hate yourself for it but… you listen, your hands freezing on the table.
“What do you want?” you force out through clenched teeth.
“You, Y/N,” Steve says softly. “Like I've been saying all this time. I need you here with me, by my side. I want for us,” Steve waves a hand between the two of you, “ to try just being ourselves again, and maybe even mor -”
“And you'll leave them all alone?” You cut him off, flexing your jaw.
“Yes.” Steve says with complete certainty, and you glare at him. Steve holds your gaze and just waits. It's clear he knows you're going to give in.
“You're the fucking worst, Steve,” you groan and Steve slams his hand down on his desk.
“Don't. You don't get to talk to me like that,” Steve says, in that dangerous tone, making you swallow hard.
“Alright. I won't, boss,” you hiss instead and Steve’s look hardens.
“Call me by my name.”
“But that's not professional-”
“I said. Call me by my name,” Steve forces out and you nod.
“Okay, Steve,” you obey, dread curling in your gut.
“Good. Now I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow bright and early. Your ID will be ready for you, as I've already fulfilled the reinstatement paperwork.” Steve delivers casually and you look at him in shock.
“What!?”
“You can leave now, Y/N.” Steve gestures to the door, and you feel so overwhelmed, so unprepared for all of today's developments, that you just listen, passing the well dressed guy who looks at you awkwardly. You know he's probably confused as fuck.
As you're boarding the elevator, you're hearing an unfamiliar voice exclaim, “What do you mean I'm FIRED!?”
…
Steve is so, so happy.
His hard fucking work FINALLY paid off. He has you right where he wants you. Finally, the two of you are going to be able to work things out, and just be, which is so much better than you two being apart.
You had been so angry, so passionate… so full of life. Honestly, if Steve hadn't had to put a stop to your threats, he would've let you continue. Put your hands on him.
Just the memory of your hands pushing him back down into his chair is enough to make him shiver. The look in your eyes, only focused on him.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, your name feeling like a treat on his tongue, and he finds himself lost in his thoughts, rubbing a thumb over his bottom lip.
In his mind, events go differently.
You storm into his office, furious over the black list, and Steve's a lot cooler than he was in reality. He'll look at you and say, “Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” and you'll angrily pull him out of his seat, and drag him into a kiss. You'll roughly turn him around and bend him over his desk, and pull down his pants-
Steve's so glad his office doesn't have any surveillance, as his hand inches towards his belt.