October 31st, 2012
New York, New York—Avengers Tower, lobby
"You're not allowed to work tonight, Scottie."
Quinn Scott narrowed her eyes at Tony Stark, standing in the lobby of the newly-minted Avengers Tower, resplendent in a black tux and bow-tie. There was already a martini in one hand and his hair had been slicked back. He didn't really look like he was in costume—he just looked like he always had at fancy events, maybe with a little less colour in his clothing—but he seemed to be enjoying himself despite the party having not yet started.
She'd arrived five minutes ago, when Jarvis had promptly told her to wait for Mr. Stark to come down and greet her. Being early, Quinn had expected something of the sort, but she'd been feeling off-centre all day and having to wait just made her grumpy; she wanted to get upstairs, get a drink, and sit down.
"You're the one who invited the press. You think they're going to let me not work?" She ran her tongue over the fang caps sitting over her eye teeth with a grimace. Even with Steve's assurance that they would find a way to enjoy the party while the press in attendance, Quinn was dreading it. She was feeling inexplicably nervous about the whole thing. Which just made her surlier. "They all know who I am and they all seem to think I've got the inside track on the Avengers or something. Which, I guess, isn't that far from the truth, but still. They're relentless. Also," she added, remembering a particularly aggravating conversation she had that week, "I don't have Thor's phone number and I really wish they'd stop asking. I don't even think he has a phone."
Tony snorted. "I didn't invite any of the reporters you told me not to, so the worst should be absent, and Jarvis has the whole approved guest list in his facial recognition database, don't you, Jarvis?"
"Yes, Mr. Stark. No uninvited reporters will be able to enter the building."
"And, if they somehow manage to circumvent Jarvis—which is highly unlikely—there are security guards all over the property. There will be no unwanted guests tonight, reporters or otherwise. And the reporters who are here are under strict instructions to only ask a few questions of any one person unless that person wants to talk more, and to focus on the money we're raising and the foundations it's going to. Everyone is here to help—not get a scoop." He gave her a look that she was sure was supposed to be reassuring.
"I'll believe that when I see it."
A small frown darted across Tony's features, but it was gone in a second; it was good to know he was slightly worried about the outcome of the night as well. Then he gave his head a small shake, and it was gone. "We'll have fun. Drink some drinks. Pose for some photos. Raise some money." He flashed her a charming Tony-Stark grin and took a sip from his drink. "Just try and enjoy yourself."
"Will do," she said, a little begrudgingly. Despite her mood, she thought maybe she could enjoy the party. Provided the security measures held and the press behaved and… Quinn sighed.
"If you want, I could give you a mask to cover your eyes. You could go totally incognito."
Quinn seriously thought about it for about thirty seconds, as she followed Tony across the lobby to the elevator, but there was one problem. "I hate wearing masks," she said eventually. "Besides, I can hide under my hood and be almost as anonymous. Your costume, however, doesn't even look like a costume."
Tony winked at her as he pressed the button for the elevator and held the doors open for Quinn. "Did you think I would cover up this face?"
"Of course not, Mr. Stark," Quinn replied, voice overly saccharine. She batted her eyelashes for good measure, which made Tony chuckle.
For a couple seconds, they were silent as the elevator shot upwards to the recently completed ninetieth floor. Then, Tony asked, "Quinn, why did you come here so early? Not that I mind your company."
She shrugged with one shoulder. She wasn't that early—only about forty-five minutes before the time listed on the invitation—but she could understand why Stark was asking. The fashionable crowd was never early, and most of the guests invited tonight would probably show up twenty minutes late. Hell, Quinn was rarely earlier than maybe five minutes for anything. "Didn't seem worth it to go home and then come all the way back down here when the office is closer. Also it gives me a chance to scope out the remodelled tower before people start to show up."
Tony grinned proudly, his attention sufficiently distracted—for now. "I think you'll like it."
Quinn hadn't been in the tower in over a year—it had still been Stark Tower when she'd stayed there, and she'd mostly kept to the guest quarters and the workshop while Tony had built her leg brace—and she actually was looking forward to seeing what Stark had done with the place. What she remembered most about the building itself was the stellar view from the top floor.
The view that greeted them as they stepped off the elevator was even more spectacular than before, since the entire wall seemed to be made of glass now and presented an uninterrupted skyline. Quinn stood still just outside the elevator, stunned as she took it all in. As she reeled her focus back into the building itself, she realized the room—beneath the copious Halloween decorations, platters of food, drinks, candy, costumed waitstaff, and a sign advertising that the floor above had been turned into a haunted house—was multi-levelled, and made of glass and wood and metal. It was open-concept, many staircases leading to the other levels and to smaller rooms surrounding the central space, and a generous bar took up about half of one wall. There were chairs and couches positioned in various locations around the room, and even a pool table tucked off to one side; there were probably other surprises hidden around the room too. Everything was modern, sleek, and sharp. It was beautiful.
"Holy fuck," was all Quinn managed to say.
She could feel Tony beaming beside her. "Exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Come over here and I'll give you a virtual tour of the rest while we wait." It didn't matter what else was going on—Tony Stark loved talking about his creations and his projects, and he always got a kick of showing them off to someone else.
Quinn followed Tony into one of the smaller rooms, where he pulled up a holographic representation of Avengers Tower over the table and started talking her through the various floors: a dozen or so floors for research and development; a fully tricked-out two-storey lab on floors eighty-eight and eighty-nine; specialized floors for each of the Avengers to live, train, and relax on, including some left empty for future team members; offices for a Stark Enterprises satellite location; guest quarters; and…
"You made me a room?" Quinn was, once again, stunned, her surliness momentarily replaced by a swell of emotion.
Tony shrugged, like it was nothing, and zoomed in on the corner suite of rooms on the seventy-fifth floor. "Well, you're always hanging around anyway…" She elbowed him and he grinned, spinning the hologram so she could get a full view of the layout. "Figured it only made sense, Scottie, since your job is all about the Avengers, and I've got all this space."
Lips bunched against the wave of emotion, Quinn looked up at Tony. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he said, but he was still grinning.
"Mr. Stark. I am sorry to interrupt, but the first guests have started to arrive," Jarvis said. "And Ms. Potts is in the elevator."
Tony's smile changed at the mention of Pepper Potts, and he clapped Quinn on the shoulder, before he reclaimed his martini and headed into the main room. "Party time, Scottie."
Quinn sighed, did her best to hold on to her slightly improved mood, and headed out into the main room, making a beeline for the bar.
October 31st, 2012
New York, New York—Avengers Tower, 90th floor
"Did he tell you he's been working on developing the technology from your brace into prosthetics and other assist devices?"
Quinn took a sip from her rum and Coke—her second since the party had begun—as Pepper spoke and shook her head. "We talked about the tower, and that was pretty much it before the party started. But that's awesome. It would be great if something like that could come out of my accident," she said, rapping her knuckles against the top of her brace. She didn't know where she'd be in her recovery if Tony hadn't insisted on making her the device.
Pepper smiled, her eyes shining as she looked across the room to where Tony was chatting with a woman who Quinn thought was an heiress of some kind and her wife. "Even if it doesn't turn out the way he's thinking right now, he'll find a way to turn it into something more."
"I believe it."
"It was nice to see you again, Agent Scott."
"Quinn, please, and it was nice to see you as well." Pepper was on the list of people connected to the Avengers Quinn had to keep an eye on, but she was probably the best protected on that list, so Quinn didn't have to do much besides the occasional check-in. The last time they'd actually had a conversation was when Tony had built the brace.
"Enjoy the party."
Quinn watched Pepper weave her way through the crowd to where Tony and the women were still chatting. She slid into the group smoothly, one hand on Tony's shoulder, her entire countenance at ease. Quinn was a little envious of her social skills, which were somehow entirely different than the skillset Quinn had learned in her job and from the spies she spent most of her time with.
"You're creepily watching people again."
"Shit! Nat—don't sneak up on me like that." Quinn put one hand to her chest as her heart rate slowed back to normal. She turned around to face her friend, whose eyes were full of mischief. "I see you're already in the party mood." Calmed, Quinn was able to take in the full sight of Natasha's costume: bright white robe turned purple and orange by the lights, and a wig with buns on either side. "Nice costume, Leia. Wasn't sure you'd go so far with dressing up. Or if you'd wear one at all."
Natasha shrugged with one shoulder. "I figured it wouldn't hurt to play along for one night. It's actually kind of fun. Also makes people have to take a second look. Or a third or fourth…"
Quinn snorted. The idea behind the party was a great one—not only would the money be welcomed to help the families of those injured or killed during the attack, and help the reconstruction efforts, especially for small business affected, but it was great PR for the Avengers, especially in the eyes of those who had been screaming for them to be held accountable for the destruction—but clearly she wasn't the only one less than excited about talking to reporters or schmoozing the rich of New York. She only wished she had Natasha's skills for blending in. Quinn had no doubt that Natasha could have spent the entire night unbothered by the reporters.
"I understand that impulse," Quinn said, pulling her hood lower over her eyes.
Natasha laughed. "Let's make the rounds. I want to explore this place a bit better."
Quinn fell in beside Natasha, looping her arm around her friend's so they didn't get separated in the growing crowd. For the first time since Strike Team Delta had been taken away from her, Quinn felt okay about the decision. It meant she wasn't technically Natasha and Clint's boss anymore, and they could go back to the way things had been before, when the three of them had been working under Coulson. It felt good and, Quinn thought, meant things might not be as tough as she'd been expecting.
As the duo made their way to the bar to refresh their drinks, Quinn stole quick glances towards the elevator and scanned the crowd, her mind wandering.
"He's not here yet."
Quinn started again as Natasha's voice broke through. She didn't pretend to not know who Natasha was referring to, but the impulse was there. Denying she was looking for him would be just as pointless. "He's not usually this late."
"I'm sure he'll be here soon, Scottie. Just have another drink. Let's go talk to Dr. Banner. He looks like he could need some rescuing."
Quinn followed Natasha's gaze across the room to where Bruce Banner was standing near the window, speaking to a reporter Quinn recognized, and looking rather panicked. He was dressed as Einstein—or maybe a mad scientist—and had his back nearly pressed to the window. "Oh yay. The press." The women accepted their drinks from a bartender dressed as a rabbit. "Let's go save the big guy."
Despite what he'd told Quinn, Steve Rogers was really not looking forward to the Halloween party. The time he'd spent on stage selling bonds was not something he wanted to revisit, and chatting with the rich and various politicians was a little bit too close to just that for Steve's comfort level. But he'd said he would attend, and the money being raised was for a good cause, so...
Steve sighed as he stepped into the elevator. Thankfully, no one got on with him, so he was able to fret in silence all the way up to the ninetieth floor. At least his cowboy costume didn't look too bad; he could always take off the hat and vest and then he wouldn't look like he was in a costume at all. When the doors opened, Steve was assaulted by noise, colours, and a few camera flashes. A few reporters asked him questions, but he just smiled and pushed through, hoping to find a pocket of space where he could adjust to the chaos before talking to anyone.
I can see why Quinn was so apprehensive, Steve thought as he made his way towards the bar and the small pockets of space open around it.
As Quinn crossed his mind, Steve immediately began scanning the crowd for either her dark hair or the ears on her sweater. He didn't see either, but then, at five-foot-four, it was easy for Quinn to get lost in a crowd, especially if she was trying to.
"She's over by the window, talking to Nat and Dr. Banner."
Steve turned and found Clint Barton leaning against the bar, a beer in one hand. The archer was dressed as Robin Hood and looked pretty bored, but he gestured to the other side of the room with a small smile. Steve followed his line of sight and spotted the small group standing almost in the corner, chatting amongst themselves; as he watched, Quinn laughed at something Dr. Banner said, her head tilting back and her hood falling to pool around her neck. Natasha was grinning, and even Dr. Banner looked more relaxed than Steve would have expected.
"Let's go join them," Clint said, handing Steve a beer and patting his shoulder as he passed him. "They've got the right idea, I think."
Steve followed. "I take it no one is enjoying the mingling aspect of the party?"
"Naw, this is Stark's crowd. Very few people have actually been able to carry on a conversation that didn't centre around asking what it was like to be on the ground, to fight aliens, to be an Avengers… They think they want to know what fighting is like. Also, we've been the Avengers for like, five seconds. I'm not sure what they're after."
Steve recognized the tone in Clint's voice; he also recognized the impulse of civilians to try and understand and empathize with soldiers, with who they saw as heroes. "That hasn't changed in seventy years, anyway."
Clint snorted. "Not much about fighting has."
"Still complaining, old man?" Quinn teased as Steve and Clint approached. She tossed Steve a grin, but her attention was all for Clint's reaction.
Clint frowned, forcing wrinkles into his forehead, and squinted. "This damn music is too loud. There are too many young whippersnappers here. My back hurts."
"Okay, Grandpa." Natasha bumped her shoulder against Clint's, and the group dissolved into quiet laughter.
The four Avengers and Quinn chatted for a bit longer, before Tony came by to introduce a couple reporters who wanted to speak to everyone in turn. Quinn faded to the background as the conversations progressed, turning to look out the window as she sipped her drink. After Steve had answered several questions about his thoughts on aliens being real and if he thought he and the Avengers should be held responsible for damages, and after making sure the reporters were focused on someone else so he didn't draw attention to Quinn, he extricated himself and went to stand next to her, careful to put a bit of distance between them, as Quinn had been doing for the last few weeks.
For a moment or two, they were silent as they stared at the city lit by a nearly full moon. It was Quinn who broke the silence. "It's a beautiful night and it's not too cold. I bet all the trick-or-treaters are having a blast. The last time I went trick-or-treating, it was snowing."
"I think it snowed the last time I went too."
Quinn looked up at him, the corner of one fake fang poking out over her bottom lip. Her face was serious, her eyes searching his for… something. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and then forced herself to smile. Steve wanted to ask her what she was thinking about, and what had happened between them; a larger part of him than he'd expected missed the ease of things with Quinn. But he didn't know how to ask the questions pinging around his head, so he kept silent on the topic, and just gave Quinn a small smile.
"Do you want to go upstairs and check out the haunted house?" she asked.
"Sure."
October 31st, 2012
New York, New York—Avengers Tower, 91st floor
Quinn led the way upstairs, her nerves fluttering as they had been since the moment she'd spotted Steve across the room. While she thought she was making the right call by putting some distance between them, she hated that things had become so awkward, especially since they'd been so easy, so natural before. She and Steve had fallen into a routine almost immediately after he'd woken up, and they'd done it smoothly. Talking to him was easy, it felt right to sit on the couch with him and watch movies, to curl up against his side. Now… Now, she wouldn't even let herself get too close usually, and she was way more careful about what she said.
She sighed, focused back on the present. Corralled her thoughts into some semblance of order.
The floor above the main party was decorated just as lavishly in purple, orange, and black. It was divided into two big rooms—Quinn wondered if it wasn't actually finished yet and Tony had just taken advantage of the space—and one had been converted into the haunted house. The other room, which they exited the stairwell into, was empty except for a smattering of adults sitting on couches and chairs, chatting and avoiding the noise downstairs, and a handful of kids crowded in front of a big TV at the opposite end, watching Halloween movies. They were surrounded by bowls of chips and candy and popcorn and bottles of pop and juice. A few adults—staff and parents—were keeping an eye on them.
"I'm surprised to see children here," Steve said. "From what I've gathered, most of these events don't allow kids."
"They don't usually. It's probably just because it's Halloween, and some parents don't want their kids trick-or-treating without them. There are also parents who can't get sitters or who don't want to leave their kids alone for whatever reason, and I imagine it was easy to get the kids here with the promise of candy and junk food and possibly meeting the Avengers." Quinn smiled at Steve over her shoulder and continued towards the door of the haunted house.
As they got closer, the faint soundtrack and a few muffled screams got louder. Quinn stopped just in front of the entrance and her stomach clenched—she'd never been good with jump scares, but she was curious about what had been set up. And why, according to the sign, they had to wait until they were told to go in. A timed experience? She looked up at Steve where he stood beside her. He looked a little apprehensive too.
"I don't have good memories of haunted houses," he said, answering her unasked question. He spoke quietly so the attendant wouldn't be able to overhear. "The last time was at this fair outside the city. They'd converted an old barn or warehouse or something into a haunted house that everyone was saying was the scariest one they'd ever been through. Bucky made me go through it with him at night." A small, nostalgic smile crossed Steve's face. "His date and her friend were too afraid to go through it."
Quinn noticed he hadn't said our dates; she wanted to ask why, but now wasn't the time. "What happened?"
"I had an asthma attack, and passed out because my heart rate got too high."
"Oh my god," Quinn gasped around a surprised laugh. "I mean, obviously you were okay, but—holy shit."
One corner of Steve's mouth pulled up and then he was laughing too. He held out his hand to her and gestured with a flick of his head towards the haunted house before them when the attendant indicated they could enter. "Let's give this one a shot. There should be no danger of any asthma attacks or passing out this time."
"Not on your part, anyway." Quinn hesitated for only a fraction of a second before she took Steve's hand—it was just so she didn't get too scared, she told herself—and let him lead the way into the dark halls as the smiling attendant pulled back a heavy velvet curtain to admit them. "Well that dude has the creepiest grin I've ever seen," she whispered once they were inside.
Steve laughed again, but Quinn could barely see him. The hall they were in was lit only by the glow from replica Victorian street lamps further ahead. They illuminated chalky-smelling smoke pooling around the floor, and a backdrop painted to look like row houses at night. The speakers hidden around them played the sound of wind rolling gently through leaves, and something else… the faintest sounds of breathing. Something in the design made it sound like the breathing was coming directly from behind them, and following them down the hall.
"Oh god," Quinn whispered, squeezing Steve's hand.
He pulled her closer to him, until their arms were brushing with every step and she could feel the heat radiating off him. Quinn felt safer, more steady, with him close, but the haunted house was still putting her on edge. She really hated jump scares.
The outdoor scene led to a set of ornate double doors that Steve opened slowly before heading through. Quinn started to feel like she was being watched as they headed down a hall lined with creepy portraits where the eyes seemed to—actually?—followed their progress; the soundtrack switched to creaking floorboards and pipes and the breathing got louder. And was that faint singing?
The doors slammed shut as soon as they were through.
Quinn started, bumping into Steve. "Ah, this was a bad idea."
"Don't worry. I'll protect you." Even in the dim light, Quinn could see the teasing shine in Steve's eyes, the smirk on his lips.
She couldn't quite keep the smile off her face. "Fuck you, Rogers."
He laughed again and they continued forward, the hall leading to replicas of rooms in he house where it quickly became clear a grisly multiple murder had taken place. Blood and body parts started showing up in strategic places, the breathing got louder as the soundtrack got creepier, screams could be heard—if they were from others in the haunted house or part of the experience, Quinn couldn't tell—and things that shouldn't move, did. Lamps and books fell off desks and shelves, lights went out and got brighter or flickered sporadically, windows and doors slammed open and shut, and shadows that might or might not be people lurked in corners. And there was definitely someone singing somewhere. Quinn thought she saw a ghostly woman drifting along the halls ahead of them, but couldn't be sure.
Whoever had designed the haunted house had done an excellent job ramping up the tension as, by the time Quinn and Steve reached what had to be close to the end, Quinn was so on-edge that anything would have made her freak out.
So when a door banged open behind them and a large figure brandishing a bloody cleaver and a severed head bellowed and started towards them, Quinn shrieked and bolted for the door in front of them, dropping Steve's hand as she went. She opened the door, crashed through another curtain, and found herself in a little hall created by the wall of the haunted house setup and the wall of the room. It was well-lit and currently empty except for another attendant, who pretended not to notice Quinn slumped against the wall, breathing hard.
Steve followed a second later, and Quinn could see the laughter he was trying to hold back. She scowled at him and he lost the battle, laughing as he leaned against the wall beside her. Quinn soon dissolved into laughter as well, the adrenaline leaving her system, and she leaned into Steve's arm.
"I'm not sure why I thought that was a good idea."
"At least you didn't pass out."
"True. I do, however, need another drink. Or five." Quinn started towards the door in the hallway, which would be the staircase opposite the one they'd come up. "Let's head back downstairs. At least the press won't jump out and startle me."
"You hope they won't."
October 31st, 2012
New York, New York—Avengers Tower, 90th floor
Quinn downed two rum and Cokes while standing at the bar, then pulled up her hood and took a third and headed to a corner of the room she'd spotted that was somehow blissfully empty and a little quieter than the rest of the room. Steve grabbed himself a whiskey and followed, his eyes still shining with mirth at Quinn's reaction to the haunted house. Thankfully, most of the adrenaline had faded and, pleasantly drunk from the booze and on a bit of a sugar rush from the pop, Quinn was feeling calmer. Better.
She ducked under a staircase to reach the corner and stepped up onto the bottom windowsill—could she still call it that when it was a wall of windows?—to peer down at the city below. "It's so pretty from up here," she said when Steve came to a stop behind her. He was close. "Tony's really outdone himself with this place. Did you see the designs for the rest of the building?" She looked up into Steve's reflection.
He smiled. "I haven't, but he's told me some what he planned."
For a few seconds, Quinn just sort of stared at Steve's reflection, her mind pinging through several thoughts and scenarios as she drank her rum and Coke, lingering on how close they'd been as they'd walked through the haunted house, how his hand had felt in hers. "You should get him to show you. Either a real tour or on his holographic table thingy," she said, voice serious. Her mind was still somewhere in what-if land, focused nowhere near what they were talking about. Or what she was talking about. "He's done some cool stuff. Even gave me a room."
Steve made a noise of acknowledgement. Took a sip of his own drink.
Quinn looked away, realizing she'd been staring for too long. She felt her cheeks heat, spurred by the alcohol in her system, and she was starting to feel warm all over.
Her mind was racing. A voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her that this was the perfect opportunity to tell Steve how she felt before he left for Washington, DC in a few months. Another voice was telling her no, that was stupid. For all the reasons she knew, for all the reasons she'd been telling herself for months. And because there was no way he felt the same. She finished her rum and Coke, hoping more alcohol would soothe the turmoil to a dull roar, but she had no such luck. Quinn tipped an ice cube into her mouth and let it melt on her tongue, forcing herself to stare out into the city and study the patterns of lit windows rather than look at Steve or his reflection.
"Quinn."
"Yeah?"
"What's wrong?"
Still red-faced, still internally flustered, she turned around, setting her empty glass on the stair riser next to her; the little space her and Steve were standing in was almost completely blocked by the stairs, some furniture, and the crowd. She wasn't sure anyone who hadn't noticed them enter the space would even know they were there. Quinn was glad of the seclusion.
"Nothing. Too much to drink." Which wasn't a total lie. But it took some doing for Quinn to look up into Steve's eyes; she didn't have to look up as far as usual. Her blush flared, spreading up to her ears and down her neck; she was sure he could read her thoughts on her face.
They fell into silence again, staring at each other's eyes.
Quinn's thoughts focused pretty firmly on Steve's features—the shades of blue in his eyes, the little bump in the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips—and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Quinn knew the alcohol was catching up to her and she should probably drink some water and sit down, but that voice was quickly blocked by the more powerful fantasties. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, fake fangs still firmly in place and pressing a little painfully against it.
Steve's brow furrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling up like he wanted to smile. "What are you thinking?" he asked, voice quieter than it had been. Quinn might not have heard him if they hadn't been standing so close.
"That I'd like to kiss you."
For Quinn, everything stopped. Just for a second.
Had she really said that? Out loud?
Her already intense blush turned scarlet, her eyes went wide with the shock of her feelings laid bare. All the time she'd spent ignoring her thoughts and feelings, pushing them away—or trying and failing to—and she'd just blurted out what was on her mind. As time slammed back into motion, she clenched her teeth and started to move past Steve, planning on getting out of that corner, pushing through the crowd, and finding somewhere nice and hidden to hole up and die of embarrassment.
She didn't even get off the windowsill.
Steve's hands appeared on her shoulders and caught her mid-step, pushing her gently back into place before he bent down and kissed her.
For a heartbeat, Quinn couldn't move, but then one of Steve's hands slid down her arm and around her waist, and one of her hands lifted to cup his cheek, and she was sinking into the kiss, into him. Every thought vanished and for a blissful few seconds, it was just them—just the touch of their lips, the brush of noses against cheeks, the weight of his arms around her.
But then someone nearby dropped a glass and the spell shattered along with it.
Quinn pulled back, her eyes wide, lips a little redder than they had been. Her heart was hammering in her ears, her head was buzzing with booze and desire, and all she could think about was all the reasons they shouldn't continue down that path.
"Quinn, I—"
She couldn't stand it if Steve was about to apologize for the kiss. She didn't want to hear it. She couldn't look at him right now. All the thoughts she'd been holding back rushed in, bringing panic and more questions and—
Quinn pushed passed Steve and ducked under the stairs, disappearing in the crowd, not caring who she bumped into or whose feet she stepped on. She just had to get out of there so she could think.
Steve stood behind the stairs for a moment after Quinn had left, stunned silent and still.
He hadn't planned on kissing Quinn. He hadn't really planned on doing anything, mostly because he hadn't been sure how to respond to Quinn's statement, or how he felt about it, but then she'd started to leave and he— It had been almost instinctive. She'd been thinking about kissing him, and he had been thinking about how she'd clung to him in the haunted house, about the sound of her laughing in the dark hall, about how her tawny eyes glowed in the purple lights. And then kissing Quinn had seemed like the most important thing to do in that moment.
Steve may have been less experienced than most when it came to crushed and romance and relationships, but he wasn't stupid. He knew there was something between him and Quinn—there had been almost from the beginning. It had just seemed so nebulous before, an undefined collection of feelings and thoughts and maybes that neither of them had ever done much about. Because Quinn was his handler. And he'd only been in 2012 for half a year. And he wasn't even sure how he felt about everything that had happened since he'd woken up, let alone how he felt about Quinn—beyond being his friend and someone he could trust, someone he liked spending time with.
Well, you might have to figure something out soon, Rogers.
With a small sigh, Steve ducked under the stairs and started scanning the crowd for signs of Quinn. He had to find her and apologize—not for the kiss, but for how he'd done it. It shouldn't have been abrupt like that, and it shouldn't have happened when Quinn was drunk. And he was leaving New York soon.
Steve didn't see Quinn anywhere, but he did spot Natasha across the room, watching him closely, her eyes slightly narrowed. There was a strange look on her face, one Steve hadn't seen from her before, but he made for her nonetheless. "Did you see where Quinn went?" he asked once he reached her.
"She was headed towards the elevators. She looked pretty shocked. What happened?"
Something in Natasha's voice made Steve frown. Had she seen the kiss? "Nothing," Steve said carefully. "I think I know where she went."
Steve stepped away from Natasha before her scrutinizing look got more information out of him. He wasn't a great liar, and she was an expert at reading people. He needed to find Tony and ask what floor the room he'd prepared for Quinn wasp on; something told Steve she'd gone there rather than leave the tower altogether. Thankfully, Tony was easy to find, as he was still surrounded by a group of people eager for any hints about what was next for the Avengers. Pepper Potts was next to Tony, fielding questions about Stark Enterprises. However, it wasn't hard to get Tony's attention and pull him away. It was slightly harder to get through the sudden flock of reporters, looking for another quote from Captain America.
"What floor is Quinn's room on?" Steve asked without preamble.
One of Tony's eyebrows rose. "The seventy-fifth. Why?"
But Steve didn't answer. He thanked Tony and then headed for the elevators, keeping an eye out for Quinn in case she hadn't actually left the room, or hadn't made it to the elevator.
October 31st, 2012
New York, New York—Avengers Tower, 75th floor, Quinn's room
Quinn had made it to the elevators, down the hall to her room, and inside the front door before her equilibrium failed her and she had to sit down; moving fast with a decent quantity of booze in her system had never been a good idea. She hadn't thrown up, but she felt like she might if the world wouldn't stop moving erratically. She was sitting on the hardwood floor of the apartment's—there was really no other word for the suite of rooms Tony had set aside for her—entrance hall, her back against the wall, head tilted back, eyes closed. Things were still spinning, but the apartment was nice and cool. She was seriously considering just lying on the cold floor to sleep.
"Jarvis, can you make it colder in here, please?"
"Of course, Agent Scott." She heard the fans kick on and could have sworn she felt the temperature drop immediately. "Is there anything else?"
"Don't let anyone but Steve down here? Or in here? I don't know what else is on this floor."
"I will only let Captain Rogers into your rooms. Should I set an alarm for tomorrow morning?"
Quinn made a face. "Ugh, no. I'll just work from home tomorrow. Or from here."
"Very good, Agent Scott."
A few moments—or was it longer?—later, she heard the elevators down the hall ding and knew Steve would join her in a minute. She was a little surprised he hadn't followed her immediately, but maybe he'd wanted to give her space, or needed space himself, or wasn't sure where she'd gone, or… She was glad he was on his way now. She didn't bother moving or opening her eyes or anything though. Not yet. She just sat there and willed the world to steady so she could hold a decent conversation with the man she'd just kissed and then run away from.
Unlikely, she told herself with a scoff. And I imagined our first kiss going so much better than that.
Steve entered the apartment, but he didn't say anything or sit down or try to get her to stand up. He shut the door and then, for a moment, he was still, and Quinn knew, even with her eyes closed, that he was looking down at her and probably wondering what to say. A couple seconds passed, then he walked away, heading deeper into the apartment. Quinn heard a cupboard close, followed by the tap being turned on, and then Steve was back. He lowered himself to the floor beside Quinn, sitting close enough for their arms to touch. Only then did she open her eyes.
Steve gave her a small smile and handed her a large glass of water. Quinn sipped at it slowly, afraid she'd throw up the minute anything hit her stomach, either from the booze or her nerves. She's never had to have this sort of talk before.
Did they even have to talk about it?
Of course we do. Don't be a fucking idiot.
"Sorry I ran off," she said after a few more awkward seconds of staring into the glass. "I was just… surprised." And scared and happy and full of disbelief and shock and about a million other things.
"Me too." Quinn didn't have to look at Steve to know his cheeks had probably flushed as red as hers. "I didn't— I'm sorry it was so abrupt—"
"Don't apologize, Steve. You have nothing to apologize for." She smiled up at him best she could in her current state, then took another drink of water. "I mean, I practically told you to kiss me—I wanted you to kiss me—so please don't apologize. Besides, I, uh… It was a good kiss." Quinn's eyes dropped back to her glass in a futile attempt to hide her embarrassment. Were these words actually coming out of her mouth? "And you don't have to worry about me being drunk. I'm not that drunk," she said after a second, realizing Steve might also be concerned about her inebriated state. "Just drunk enough to speak my mind without too much thought, apparently."
"I don't know. You did down three cocktails pretty quickly after that haunted house," Steve said with a smirk.
Quinn nudged his arm with her elbow and then leaned her head on his shoulder, settling in with a small sigh. Her hood was around her neck and provided a nice little pillow. "Where's your hat?" Quinn asked, belatedly realizing the cowboy hat from Steve's costume was missing.
He picked it up from the floor. "Right here."
"Good." Her eyelids started to feel heavy. "Looks good on you."
"Thanks." Steve shifted Quinn back into an upright position. "Finish your water and then you can sleep."
Quinn did as instructed, emptying the glass in a few big gulps before setting it on the floor beside her and putting her head on Steve's shoulder again. She wanted to say something else about their kiss, but she wasn't sure what, so she didn't say anything. It seemed like saying the wrong thing could lead to disaster. Maybe she'd find the words in the morning. "Thanks for coming to check on me, Steve."
"Well, I wasn't just going to let you disappear."
She turned her face into his shoulder, smiling. "You could have. Running off was a dick move on my part."
"That wouldn't have been very Captain America of me."
Quinn snort-laughed, turning her head to muffle the sound in Steve's shoulder. "I guess it wouldn't have been." With another small nudge from Steve, she leaned back so he could get to his feet, and then took his hands when he held them out for her. "Remind me not to drink that much ever again," she said once she was on her feet.
"Would you listen?"
"Probably not."
Steve walked with Quinn to the bedroom, which was decorated in shades of blue with black furniture and accents. It was very her, but she wasn't that surprised. Tony wouldn't go to the trouble of designating a set of rooms for her and then decorate them in generic beige or white or in colours she wouldn't like. She kicked off her shoes and socks and took off her hoodie before she dropped onto the bed.
"You should head back upstairs. I think Tony said something about wanting to do some shots for the press or something," Quinn said, finishing on a yawn. "I'm just gonna go to sleep."
"Okay. I'll refill your water for you and then head back up."
Quinn watched Steve disappear. She bit her lip, the nerves fluttering around her gut drifting closer to dread—she should say something, do something… There was so much she should say, right? She should tell him the whole truth, shouldn't she?
Steve returned and placed the full glass on the bedside table. "I can come back down after, if you want."
Quinn wanted to say yes; she wanted to say a lot of things. But she just looked up at Steve, her gaze landing once more on his lips, her mind reminding her what they'd felt like, pressed against her own. She shook her head. "Uhm, if you want."
Steve took a step towards her, hesitated, and then bent down to place a quick on her cheek. "Good night, Quinn. Drink your water, and I'll check on you again in a bit."
She laughed in spite of herself. "Promise. G'night, Steve."
Quinn watched Steve as he left her room, and then listened until she head the door to the apartment open and close. Only then did climb under the covers and stare up at the ceiling, her mind replaying all that had happened and wondering what came next.
Barely suppressing a giggle, she whispered, "Happy Halloween," into the dark room before she shut her eyes and fell into a shallow sleep.