After an onslaught of nightmares, Holly was actually relieved when her alarm clock went off the next morning. There wasn't much that she could remember from the dreams, other than fiery wrecks falling from the sky and her being trapped within them as water rushed in to drown her. The events of the previous day had certainly left their mark, most likely a permanent one. The droning beep-beep-beep elicited a groan of satisfaction from her, since she could finally leave her bed and dreams behind.
Getting up, she rolled her shoulders, loosening them. She stretched her legs as well, feeling the pull and rolling her eyes at herself; she must have curled up too tightly in an effort to comfort herself. Taking the elastic band out of her hair, she shook her short ponytail out and combed through the brown strands with her fingers. It tickled the tops of her shoulders, irritating her.
'Time to get a haircut,' she thought sourly, rubbing the last bits of sleep from her eyes. On the positive side, her hand wasn't hurting as much. Wandering to the bathroom, Holly's eyes flicked over the hamper, her clothes from yesterday dropped haphazardly by it. She had at least managed to put stain remover on the knees of her jeans before leaving them for the night.
She had returned around eight o'clock, but it felt like one or two in the morning. She hadn't physically exhausted herself, but she was mentally tired. Forcing herself to stay up for at least another hour, she changed into her pajamas, grabbed a snack, and then promptly fell asleep as the news broadcast droned on about SHIELD and its involvement with the disaster on the Potomac. At some point in the night she'd shut off the television and ambled to the bedroom, half-conscious and unable to keep up any longer.
After going through her morning ablutions and dressing, she switched the television back on, wanting the background noise as she shuffled through the cupboards from some breakfast. It was some cartoon, she recognized the intro music, but she didn't pay attention to that. Instead, she actively checked her phone as she grabbed a granola bar from the second shelf and then poured herself a glass of orange juice.
No new text messages, no new voice messages, though Facebook would reveal her friends' continued existences and varied opinions of yesterday's events. One email from her boss Carl, asking her to check stock and order more when she came in. The part-timers would have the day off, and it would only be a half day for her and him. The disaster and all that, he explained. Holly sighed, agreeing silently to the proposed plan, but was otherwise disappointed.
She had hoped that Sam would have some good news for her regarding Steve. Instead, she settled for texting him herself, greeting him and telling him to update her if anything happened. Perhaps later in the day she would swing by the hospital, check in there. She gnawed on the granola bar, managing to finish it and her juice before heading out the door. Her phone beeped at her, with Sam's reply being that he would let her know anything new. With that, she set the cell on vibrate and got in the car. The drive to work took longer than usual, as people were clogging up the streets trying to get over to either the crash site or the hospitals to see their injured loved ones. Holly tried to push away the sight of haunted eyes, tried to pretend that it was just another day, if only to get through the shortened shift.
The bookstore was not part of a chain; it was a local shop that had been running for the last twenty years. It occupied the first two floors of what was once an old boarding house, with the third floor being an apartment for Carl and his family. On the first floor, the back corner was dedicated for the use of children, with drawing tables and a story hour hosted every Thursday. Nonfiction books resided on the rest of the first floor shelves, while fiction took up the entire second floor. The stock was a mix of classics and new bestsellers, and sometimes a hidden gem or two. Holly had been there since she first moved out to D.C., attempting to forge a new life for herself amongst the things that made her feel most at home: books. Stories comforted her in a way that nothing else had, and helped her picture worlds of fantastic beings and unimaginable things.
She had never thought real life would get to be as outlandish as the books she read and sold. But that was before yesterday.
Carl, choosing to work the register for the few customers that did come in, had the radio switched to the news. It was busily reporting the status of the carriers and SHIELD, revealing a plot potentially laid down by a secret organization within the organization, and what kind of impact a full-scale investigation would have upon the members of said organization. Not terribly new ground, as the anchors on the local station speculated about many of the same things the night before. Holly was in the back, filtering through identifications numbers and locating copies to refill the shelves, when something different caught her attention.
"...And sources have indicated that Captain America was, if not the direct cause of the multiple crashes, at least involved."
A recording came onto the airwaves, supplied by insiders at SHIELD. It was the captain's voice, Steve's voice, as he denounced the enemy organization, HYDRA, and its leader, and his intention to set things right. The baritone was solid, commanding, as he went on, professing his faith in people making the right choice to stand against them, and their willingness to meet the danger head-on.
Holly shivered; having never heard Steve talk before, she found hearing his speech to be unnerving. His voice itself wasn't unpleasant, but the tenor of what he spoke of was. Especially at the implication that many innocent people would have died on the commands of those machines. That was a terrifying thought. She had been a witness to everything over the Potomac, and she understood that Steve had risked his life, but the magnitude of the deception and the truth beneath it all was stunning.
A surge of anxiety raced in her veins, then. Just what else had the reporters picked up on? She had noticed a few helicopters the day before, but when the explosions started and the carriers began to crash, they hightailed it out of there. And afterward, she couldn't recall, as she was too busy trying not to freak out. Hiding out in the hospital had apparently been a good idea, then. It still made her nervous, as she did not want to be found by the media. For a minute, her mind filled with images of cameras and microphones being thrust into her face, demanding who she was, where she was from, how on Earth did she manage to find the Captain America, and what was her take on the entire debacle within one of the government's most screwed-up enterprises?
So far, Holly Martin was an anonymous entity, and she wanted to remain so. Pivoting on her heel, she dove back into storage, breathing slowly to calm herself as she scanned her list once more. The hours ticked by, and at around two in the afternoon, Carl dismissed her.
"Jenna's coming home tonight?" Holly asked, gathering her purse and jacket. Carl nodded, half smiling; his eldest daughter was a medical student at the college across town, living separately from the rest of the family now.
"Yeah. The hospital doesn't have her scheduled for training rounds, so she'll be able to spend the night."
Holly grimaced, feeling bad for not being more concerned with her boss's family earlier. Jenna had to have spent her evening with any overflow patients from the crash site. She had to be dead on her feet.
"Well, that's good, at least," she responded, for a lack of anything better to say. She felt her purse vibrate, her cell phone receiving a message, but she waited until she was out the door and wished Carl a good rest of the day before pouncing on it. The new text notification caught her eye, and she eagerly opened it.
He just woke up.
Her heart pounded, and her free hand found its way to her mouth, covering her great groan of relief. But before she could send a message back, Sam had sent another.
He's asking questions about what happened.
A feeling of dread compounded her relief. She blindly found her way to her car, locking herself in but continuing to stare at the phone. Her fingers flew over the digital keyboard to respond before Sam said more.
I'm glad he's awake. What have you told him?
A little of everything, mostly about what happened with Nat and me.
She frowned, wondering at what lengths they went to. Far enough for physical injury, she knew that much, but Sam hadn't exactly shared with her yesterday. Perhaps she could try and inquire again?
Which you probably can't talk about via text, right?
Exactly right.
It was worth a shot, but she knew he would as likely give her a straight answer as he would've last night.
I told him about you.
That message caused the butterflies to come alive in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, Holly wasn't so sure about the whole "sticking by Steve" plan. What if he was disgusted to have been at the mercy of some random woman? What if he was embarrassed? Still, she couldn't escape the situation now.
How much?
Just what you told me. He knows I'm texting you right now.
Summoning her courage, she made herself type one more question.
Does he want to meet me, ask me any questions directly?
A long pause followed, one that was long enough to make her shrug her shoulders against the perceived rejection. Steve was embarrassed, or at least had no interest in meeting a stranger. Perhaps Natasha would just give him the information he wanted about what happened to him, without including her. A part of her was sullen at the knowledge, but maybe this was the most that could be offered to her. She could go on with her life, knowing she had done what she could and Steve had survived. Maybe that would be it, and she would be content with that.
He says tomorrow would be best. He's certain he'll feel better and up for another visitor then.
Holly let out the breath she'd been holding, part of her glad to be able to see Steve conscious and on the mend, even if it had be the next day.
I can do that. I can come by tomorrow afternoon, around 3.
It would take some finagling, but she reckoned that she could get away with doing errands for the store and still be able to leave by then. (Plus, going in early would help soften the blow to the part-timers who would have to close.) With a solid plan set, she was able to finally start her car and head out. The only problem was finding something to do with her time. She had no family who lived in the D.C. area, and the rest of her friends were either working a full day or leaving to see their families.
An idea struck her, and instead of pulling out right to go home, she crossed over to the left lane, weaving into traffic yet again.
xXxXxXx
The Smithsonian Institution had had an exhibit set up about Captain America for about a year now, around the time when he (evidently) took up residence in the city. And while it was said to be an interesting experience for museum goers, it hadn't struck Holly's fancy at the time. She been to the Smithsonian once when she first moved out east, doing a circuit of the landmarks and museums as any respectable out-of-towner would. But she hadn't been back, though. She didn't have a reason to.
The exhibit was tucked into its own gallery, halfway towards the back. After paying her museum fare, Holly brushed by the other sights, encountering a crush as she crossed the threshold into the main exhibit room. It was strange. Really cool, but ultimately strange.
It was a comprehensive immersion, a side of World War II that Holly had never considered. Her great-grandfather and a great uncle had served in the war, and of course there were the obligatory class units in school dedicated to the subject, but this was a facet that was never really covered in any class. The display of Project: Rebirth's effect on Steve's body and even his life was a shock. He was over ninety years old, chronologically, even though he physically didn't look a day over twenty-five. The mounted buttons would pump out a smooth narrator's voice, detailing how he had been rejected several times over by the army before being chosen for the project. At the end of one set of mounted displays, she could see some kids measuring themselves against cutouts of Steve pre- and post-operation. Indulging herself, she found that she was taller than Original Steve (as she called him in her mind) by about three inches.
'It has to be weird, and sad,' she thought to herself as she strolled past the Howling Commandos uniform display, 'to have your entire life out in the open for anyone to indulge in it. God, let's hope Steve has never been here.'
Guilt set in, and she solemnly swore she would not bring the exhibit up. She actually took a few steps towards the exit, thinking it may be best to just leave, but she couldn't force herself to go. The curiosity was too strong, and she didn't want to go into the hospital the next day, struggling to connect with a famous hero as an ignorant civilian. She wanted to know something about him, to get an idea of what shaped the man she had called for help for. The flow of the crowds pushed her deeper into the exhibit, and she did not have the will to fight it.
The old motorcycle was pretty neat to look at, despite the fact that she'd never been interested in vehicles. When she reached the area set aside for James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, she had to wait for a hoodie-wearing guy with a ball cap and dirty jeans to move on, actually causing her to revisit a couple displays in the interim before he finally moved off and freed up the space.
Something about Bucky's face in the pictures looked familiar, the eyes especially, but for the life of her Holly couldn't think to place him. Maybe she'd seen his face in a textbook back in grade school, or probably during a group project. She brushed it off, too busy reading about the single friend that Steve had from childhood who followed him into war.
The only one lost overseas, the narrator had murmured, her finger lingering on the button as she listened. The only one not to return home. That struck her as devastating; she couldn't imagine losing her best friend in such a manner. It would break her heart, probably scar her for life. Poor Bucky. Poor Steve.
There was an option to sit in on a movie in the projection room, but Holly had had enough for one day. Pulling away from the crowd, she took light steps towards the back exit. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, alerting her. She could feel that someone was watching her, and she was fairly certain it wasn't either of the guards posted at the arched exit. Glancing around, she spotted the hooded guy from before, resting stiffly against a wall. His head was turned towards her, but the bill of the cap was pulled low over his face, and he didn't move from his spot.
'Just some creep,' she mused, hunching her shoulders and slinking out of the building as quickly as she could. As she clambered out into the parking garage and located her car, she kept looking behind and in front of her, reasoning that she wasn't being followed, and there was no need to panic. When she got to her car, the stranger from the day before popped into her mind. Maybe he'd followed her, set himself up with a disguise to see if she'd done as she was told. Violently, she shook her head, throwing the thought away. It couldn't have been him.
'It wasn't him. You're just working yourself up into a panic for nothing,' she chided herself, jamming the keys into the ignition and pulling out hard from the space. 'There's no reason to be afraid.'
But the image of him circled through her brain as she jumped onto the roads, and wouldn't leave her alone for the next few hours of the evening.
A/N: I hope the texting bits weren't too confusing for anyone.
Yes, we all know who the guy in the hoodie is (it never specified when he was there, did it?). And no, Holly hasn't made the connection yet for Bucky and the Winter Soldier. Unlike Steve, she doesn't have a long history with the guy and probably wouldn't recognize him right off the bat as Bucky. Plus, she was only in the Winter Soldier's company for a few moments; she most likely couldn't make a connection if she wasn't forcing her brain to work for one. It's there, though; she just hasn't arrived at the conclusion yet.
Sorry if this was a lot of filler and boring for you all. I said Holly and Steve would meet soon, but I didn't promise that it would happen this chapter. However, you all know where the next one will be leading...so, thanks for reading, please review, and I will see you later!