Before Ben had been captured and tortured, you two had an arrangement. Benefits, kids today call it, while Ben was in a PR relationship with Countess and living it large as America’s symbols— but there was always a raw connection that extended beyond sheets. That was confirmed when you’d found out you were pregnant in the 80’s.

With Ben’s kid.

What the fuck? Ben’d never heard anything about a kid and now in 2022, when he escaped from cryo freeze and you being tortured by Vought did he find out that Countess dealt a cheap shot and killed your kid in Nicaragua in ‘83. That bitch, he was glad he Kentucky fried her in that damn cabin.

He had an urge to yell, to break everything in sight and then trash Vought for all of its fuckery and how it messed with you— he could’ve had a future with you, you’d actually got him, but no. He couldn’t have that either— fuck, his head was spinning, his mouth felt dry, you could’ve been his girl.

“What the fuck?” He scoffed, the only words he could manage, through the pounding of his head, and— shit, he could’ve had everything. You could’ve been the mother of his baby, but he was pissed now that Vought fucked that up.

“Tell me you’re lyin’. Tell me.” It had to be a lie, right? That everything he’d wanted — picket fence, rugrats, it’d been at his fingertips, he couldn’t believe it. There was hurt, frustration, pure disbelief. It felt as if someone had hit him in the dick with a Louisville slugger, and it hurt. He saw your hurt as well.

He hated it.