The artificial heart hurts. She’d anticipated that much— it’s the price of her immediate survival. The sensation of needles through her bloodstream, the constant itch and tear of the skin around its edges. But it’s not as simple as ‘hurts’.
It sits heavy in her chest, an unnatural, a sharp outcropping where she wants curves. Warps the planes and contours of her skin, her bones, until none of them belong. She spends enough of her life trying to shake that feeling. To smile brightly enough to hide it beneath the glare. But now it’s even more constant. Unshakable.
Every part of her body is wrong.
—-
The only peace she gets is in the armor. Iron Man forms around her like an embrace, support rather than a weight. Impassive, inscrutable. Voice filtered so that others only hear what she wants them to, when she wants them to. No one expects Iron Man to flash her teeth on command. No one can see her frowns or her frustration. Iron Man could cry, and no one would ever know it.
—-
Steve drags her upstairs from battle. She’s grateful for that— none of the others would have paid attention to her choked out, “The helmet stays on.”
Once she’s done, once she’s not gasping for air anymore, Steve doesn’t ask whether it hurts. He asks,
“Did you adjust to it okay?”
She chokes out laughter. Steve had just watched her twitching in agony as the power coursed into her heart through the wall, even as her helmet muffled the screams. “Very. Those were the spasms of the well-adjusted, Winghead.”
“I only meant…” He frowns, the expression looking wrong on Cap’s face, the way it always does. “When they gave me the super soldier serum, my whole body changed. And even though I’ve had years to get used to it, even though it was a choice I got to make, sometimes I still don’t feel right. Like it doesn’t belong to me, or like I’m not the man people think I am. Sometimes I even miss the asthma attacks.” His voice is earnest, warm. “You didn’t get to make a choice. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
It jolts through her almost as hard as the power she’s just had to endure flowing through her body. She almost considers answering, weight of the artificial heart feeling less lonely than it has in months. Because Steve is the first one she’s met who understands. What it’s like to be hungry for a body that’s not yours, even though the one you’re in has so many more advantages than the one you want. What it’s like to have people anticipate the man you are.
Instead, she smiles at him, bright and dazzling, even though Cap can’t see it through the mask, and says,
As requested, trans Iron Man <3
It sits heavy in her chest, an unnatural, a sharp outcropping where she wants curves. Warps the planes and contours of her skin, her bones, until none of them belong. She spends enough of her life trying to shake that feeling. To smile brightly enough to hide it beneath the glare. But now it’s even more constant. Unshakable.
Every part of her body is wrong.
—-
The only peace she gets is in the armor. Iron Man forms around her like an embrace, support rather than a weight. Impassive, inscrutable. Voice filtered so that others only hear what she wants them to, when she wants them to. No one expects Iron Man to flash her teeth on command. No one can see her frowns or her frustration. Iron Man could cry, and no one would ever know it.
—-
Steve drags her upstairs from battle. She’s grateful for that— none of the others would have paid attention to her choked out, “The helmet stays on.”
Once she’s done, once she’s not gasping for air anymore, Steve doesn’t ask whether it hurts. He asks,
“Did you adjust to it okay?”
She chokes out laughter. Steve had just watched her twitching in agony as the power coursed into her heart through the wall, even as her helmet muffled the screams. “Very. Those were the spasms of the well-adjusted, Winghead.”
“I only meant…” He frowns, the expression looking wrong on Cap’s face, the way it always does. “When they gave me the super soldier serum, my whole body changed. And even though I’ve had years to get used to it, even though it was a choice I got to make, sometimes I still don’t feel right. Like it doesn’t belong to me, or like I’m not the man people think I am. Sometimes I even miss the asthma attacks.” His voice is earnest, warm. “You didn’t get to make a choice. I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
It jolts through her almost as hard as the power she’s just had to endure flowing through her body. She almost considers answering, weight of the artificial heart feeling less lonely than it has in months. Because Steve is the first one she’s met who understands. What it’s like to be hungry for a body that’s not yours, even though the one you’re in has so many more advantages than the one you want. What it’s like to have people anticipate the man you are.
Instead, she smiles at him, bright and dazzling, even though Cap can’t see it through the mask, and says,
“I’ll let you know.”