The fifth of September had rolled around much more swiftly than Holly Rogers expected it to, and suddenly she was expected to go back to her life, circa two months ago. Inevitably, maternity leave had to end, and soon enough she found herself bundled up in proper clothes, rushing about the house in an effort to pull everything together at the last second. Steve, having elected to go in to work at the same time as her, aided her as best he could, setting the kitchen to rights after breakfast and dressing their son for the day as she dodged between rooms. Desperately, she scooped up her laptop and some forms she had brought with her at the start of her leave, knowing full well she would need them at the base. Once all that was in his truck, she was meeting him at the back door, taking the baby's bag as he carried out Grant. Locking down the house, he muttered something to Grant as they eventually followed her into the garage. She couldn't say for certain what it was, but from the way he guiltily slid his glance to the back of the cab and blandly ignored her raised eyebrows, she could guess it probably had something to do with her state. Once all were strapped into their respective seats, they were off, the security set for the property as they went.
Roughly two miles before the turn-off for the frontage road that led to the base, Steve signaled a left, as was expected. As neither he nor Holly were intent on giving up their careers at that point, it had been necessary to secure daycare for Grant. Several options had been presented, but through one of her acquaintances at the base (a woman named Stacy; she worked in the research and development department, and was about to go on leave herself), she had gotten in touch with a highly recommended caretaker. Jan Masters was in her early fifties, but had years of experience with children, and had even worked at SHIELD as a daycare worker back when the Triskelion still existed. She had migrated with the majority of them when the new base was built, having reasoned that some of those who returned to the call of duty would inevitably be bringing their kids with them. A good portion of the workers at the base, from agents to janitors, had gone to her for the care of their little ones, and had thought it would be the best fit for them. After a couple of phone calls and a direct meeting at her house, while in the midst of caring for several children ranging from newborns to preschoolers, she was impressed with her warmth and enthusiasm. If they had to relinquish care of their baby to anyone, Holly supposed they could do worse than Jan.
The fact that she had once been an active agent, and therefore familiar with the dangers all too present in the lives of the children's parents, was actually somewhat of a benefit. She would be under no illusions, and had a lot more flexibility, should it be required of her.
The small, squat house was set back from the road by a graveled drive, another car leaving as they arrived. As Steve negotiated the vehicle in its turn and they approached the cream-colored home, Holly felt the churn in her gut increase. The closer they got, the more she glanced in the rear-view mirror, the back of the baby's car seat a frequent sight for her up until the truck was put into park. Threading a hand through the waves of her hair, Holly took in a deep breath before she followed her husband in getting out of the cab, though her quiet insistence of removing Grant from his car seat herself had him shooting her a concerned look.
Of course he was concerned, she thought to herself as she held her son close for a few small moments. She had been with their boy since his birth, had never strayed far for more than a couple hours at a time. It would be difficult to leave their little man with someone else, when she knew him so well. She could already feel herself beginning to miss him terribly as she rounded the truck, allowing Steve to guide her up to the front door, his palm in the small of her back and rubbing small circles. And while she inwardly chided herself for being silly and clingy, she couldn't quite bring herself to care. The door snapped open before they could even knock, the older woman smiling at them from her perch. She flicked her carrot-colored braid over her shoulder, glancing back in time as a couple of four-year-olds ran squealing from her helper behind her. Her expression indicated it was about par for the course for a Monday morning, but she did not seem disturbed, over all. Greeting them pleasantly, she accepted the diaper bag they'd put together, as well as their explanation that Grant ate twice as much as a typical infant, and they did not think it would be fair to deplete her supplies without helping in some way. She tutted at that, but still put the bag just inside the door. Another hello was saved especially for their son, the brightness of her eyes and the genuine nature of her mirth going a ways to ease the nerves inside the baby's mother. Slowly, gently, Holly passed her son into Jan's arms, her dark gaze riveted on the boy as he settled. The older woman rocked him a bit, a couple words of nonsense dripping as she held him close.
"Okay, Mr. Grant, better say bye-bye to Mommy and Daddy," Jan said, the mellow lilt of her voice capturing the baby's attention briefly. The little guy eyed up the strange woman holding him, staring for a second or two before stuffing his own fist in his mouth, acceding to whatever she wished to do with him. As he was held out once more, first to his father and then his mother, she lingered a bit longer by Holly, looking her directly in the eye and murmuring, "I promise, he will be just fine."
Her heart twisted a little at that, and she could only nod once before the older woman backed away.
"Sweetheart, we have to go now," Steve murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and physically turning her towards the truck. The door of the house clicked shut behind them, and it compelled her to move away.
"I know, I know," she returned, self-awareness all too apparent in that moment. She glanced back for a second, and couldn't stop herself from biting her lip briefly. "It's just...I worry."
After helping her into the passenger seat, Steve made quick work of getting back around, not wishing to prolong the beginnings of the separation. He could understand the feelings of hurt; he'd felt them too when he had to go back to work, leaving his wife and son alone all those weeks ago. Still, he kept his demeanor placid, even if he did not feel it.
"It'll be fine. She's got all of our numbers, her background check cleared, and she consented to have JJ installed for extra security purposes," he reminded her, his tone even as he started the engine. The commander of the Avengers was unlikely to just let anyone take care of his son, and so he had done checks of his own. At least she had been accommodating to his requests, when he had finished conducting his research. Well, joint research. "Hell, even with Tony's digging, she came up clean. Jan will take care of him."
Holly scrubbed a palm over her forehead, lingering on the scar above her eyebrow for a few seconds. At once he reached out, taking her hand and lowering it. Slotting their fingers together, he gave them an encouraging squeeze. She flicked her gaze past him to the house again, and sighed deeply.
"I know all that. I know he'll be alright here. I just...ugh, I wish I could be as calm about this as you are," she groaned, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes. A tremor of laughter rose up from him, and she gave him a halfhearted glare as he buckled up.
"Practice, Princess," Steve indicated, turning his head slightly. "Years of practice."
"And being good at faking it, right?" she inquired, catching his own furtive glances towards the little house they were still parked in front of. That time, his chuckles were self-deprecating, and he shifted the gears with alacrity then.
"That, too," he confirmed, taking up her hand again as the truck was turned and they started heading back they way they'd come. She let a tiny grin grace her lips, breaking through her nerves. Thinking back on his previous pronouncement, she also let out a snort and grumble of her own.
"Nerfherder."
A small, proud smile cropped up on his lips as they turned out onto the main road. He lifted their still-joined hands to his lips, kissing her fingertips.
"There ya go."
The remainder of the ride to the base was had in silence, with Holly's wan grin dissolving as the road rolled beneath them. Turning up the track, she felt the twist in her stomach and the slight increase of the patter of her heart. It had been well over a month since she'd been to work, been in an environment that did not consist of diapers and bottles. It was odd, yet the familiarity upon parking the vast underground parking garage and taking the elevator to the correct floor, and then passing through the security points, impressed itself upon her mind. Steve left her at the door to the archives department, kissing her quickly and promising to see her at the end of the day (fairly hightailing it out of there, before the higher-ups saw him and got it in their heads to drag him into whatever pre-1950's documentation they were undergoing at the moment). The sense of leaving something behind, missing out on something rose on and off, but she pushed it down as she entered the department, brief hellos passed between her and the receptionist in between her transferring calls. Thus far, she avoided her coworkers; perhaps she'd make it straight to her office and have a moment to sit, absorb it all before her return meeting with Melanie...
"Holly, welcome back!" a voice called out behind her, the only warning before she turned and was suddenly swept off her feet in a hug. Though she did not think she had many people she could call friends in her department, the gangly, bespectacled giant was one of those who came the closest. (He topped out at six-foot-five, making even Steve look up to meet his eye). Granted, they had kept in touch over emails since they often worked on similar projects as junior archivists, but it made the nerves in her stomach slink away as he embraced her. She hugged him back, slightly bewildered by the warmth, but allowed herself to smile when he finally set her on her feet again.
"Thanks, Todd," she said, smoothing down the skirt of her dress to sit right (chosen as it hid the excess weight that was dropping ever-so-slowly). Risking a look down the hall behind her, she asked in a hushed tone, "So how much are they gonna dump on me, now that I'm back?"
"At least a mountain's worth," he speculated facetiously, smirking as he inclined his eyebrows. "How dare you have a child and leave the department to care for him?"
Holly rolled her eyes and sighed. "Of course."
Lifting a shoulder, Todd raked a hand through his messy curls, jerking a thumb back in the direction he'd come. "And, um, actually, I've got a few files to sort through, need another perspective. Want to give me a hand after reporting in?"
Taking a swift look at the clock at the end of the hall, she dipped her chin. There would be time, and she had to fill up the hours somehow.
"Sure, I can do that."
True to her word, after clocking in and meeting with the manager to briefly discuss what projects would be under her care for the time being, she adjourned from her office to the storage units. Todd's reports, it turned out, had some photographs and small pieces of memorabilia attached to them, and he needed help with the retrieval. In between finding what was needed and cross-referencing with the files he had, they brought each other up to date on their separate lives. After being shown and tutting in appreciation of the latest pictures of her son on her phone, he confided in her about the lack of diversity in the dating pool, still, and his resolve to get a dog for companionship. Which he'd followed through on the previous week—he himself was now a father, to a three-year-old Blue Heeler named Buford, and he furnished his own pictures. It all set the tone for the rest of her morning, as she returned to her office and found the first files she would be delving into. Those were reserved until after lunch, which was had when Kay Szymik found her way down from testing. The blue-haired agent was also pleased by her return, the two women trading gossip and news as they ate. Life had proceeded much as it ever had, and she was merely rejoining the flow, despite the nagging sensation of it all being at odds with something else. That something else chipped away inside of her after Kay's departure, when she started scanning the documents in the first file folder. The weight on her shoulders and in her chest were persistent, but she did her best to ignore them.
A tap came at the glass inset of her door, and she took a steadying breath before looking up. A light grin pulled at her lips as her supervisor, Melanie, entered the room. Resplendent in a lime green day dress and bandana in her hair, the older woman exchanged pleasantries with her for a minute or two, her gaze raking over the returned employee with interest.
"You doing okay?" she asked as Holly ducked down, tucking her things under her desk (moving her pump out of sight, as she'd taken a bit of her break to take care of that). The grin doubled in brightness, and Holly canted her head.
"Yeah, I'm great!"
The supervisor's eyes did not waver from hers for an instant. Instead, deep understanding blossomed in the irises as she crossed the room and took a seat in the visitor's chair across from the young woman.
"The first day away is tough," she said plainly, the typical excited nature of her tenor subdued as she made her point. "Part of you is really glad to get back to the 'normal' area of your life, but...you also feel like you're missing out on something even better. Despite the craziness."
It hit the nail so squarely that Holly could feel her head ringing. At once, the facade she'd been sporting since that morning fell away, and she lowered her gaze to the edge of her desk.
"...Yes," she admitted lamely, inwardly conceding the foolishness of her denial. Melanie had children of her own, and even though her sons were grown, she had not forgotten what it was like to first embark on the road, to make her previous life meet her new one and force them to coalesce. Reaching out, the older woman patted her hand genially, a true smile of support on her lips and a minute lift coming to her shoulder.
"You'll be fine. You already are," she professed, eyeing up the younger woman and canting her head decidedly. She had faith that she would get back into the groove of things, would make the new course of her life run as she saw fit. With a final pat, she let go of Holly's hand, straightening in her seat and gesturing towards the stack at her elbow. "Now, have you made any headway with those reports?"
The brittle brightness of her demeanor drained away, allowing the flash of minor contentment override the residual concern.
"Some." Holding up a piece of paper, on which the components for a specially-made air rifle were listed, the brunette cleared her throat and inquired, "Would this classify as evidence or weaponry, do you think?"
Melanie grinned at that, and leaned over to look at the proffered sheet.
The afternoon rolled on, with five o'clock coming around before Holly knew it. All in all, her first day back had been about what she'd expected. A few new projects were on the docket for the next few weeks, and she could anticipate helping Todd sort out a few reports from last March (finally, they were beginning to crack into the last twenty years as far as data was concerned) in between all that. Sorting her files into her to-do and finished trays, she shut down her computer spiritedly. Gathering up her things, she hoofed it to the elevator bank, checking her messages to make sure that Steve was still in his office, waiting for her. Going through another set of security clearances, she soon enough was winding her way through the halls, past the empty rooms belonging to the others as she went.
The team, it seemed, were separated at the moment: Sam, Wanda, and Natasha out on mission, while Bucky, the Vision, and Scott were off for the evening. Coming up to the correct office door, she paused before knocking, peering through the glass at her husband. Steve had his elbows up on his desk, his smartphone in hand and his eyes staring intently at the screen. Finding that to be somewhat suspicious, she edged her way into the room, opening the door with minimal fuss. Dropping her things by the door, she made it partway through the room before he glanced up, his spiking eyebrow telling her that she wasn't as sneaky as she thought herself to be. Pointedly, she shifted her gaze to the device in his hands, matching his knowing look with one of her own.
"Whatcha lookin' at?" she asked as she rounded the desk. At once, he dropped his phone down, thumbing the side button so the screen went black. Pushing it away slightly, he shrugged at her, brushing it off.
"Oh, uh, nothing," he muttered, keeping his grin light and airy even as the tips of his ears burned pink.
"Uh-huh," she retorted, stepping into the V of his legs when he swiveled the chair to face her. "Because you're in the habit of staring at your phone for extended periods of time."
His teasing smile grew a little stronger then, and he attempted to chuck her under the chin. "You finally caught on, huh?"
Tilting her head to the side, she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips and seemingly letting it go. Waiting until he'd relaxed into her touch, until his hands reached up and cupped her face, her own shot out nimbly. She snatched up the abandoned device, retreating from him and the kiss in a single motion. Left stunned, he could only gape as she brought the screen back to life, her furrowed brow smoothing and a scoff shooting out of her mouth.
"I knew it," she exclaimed, turning the screen back to him to show him that he was caught red-handed. The interior of Jan's house was on the screen, the play-space for the children in the camera's view (the only one in the house, as had been promised to the older woman when it was installed). Off to the side, a few of the children still left to be picked up were playing quietly, their caretaker standing nearby. In her arms was a baby, all wrapped up in a onesie sporting yellow chicks. Their son was just fine, the physical evidence right there before them. Tilting her head, the silent question sat between them, and Steve blew out a breath.
"I was just...checking the security systems, that's all."
"Right. How many times?" she demanded, resting her backside against his desk and crossing her arms. His face went blank, but she merely stared down at him. The impasse lasted for several long moments, until her husband looked heavenward and deflated somewhat.
"...Once beforehand. Around lunch," he told her, bracing for the flak he was about to catch for his over-protectiveness. "Nothing came up then, or now, so it can be assumed they're safe."
A perverse delight lit up her irises as she looked down at him. There was proof that she was not the only worrier in the family, and she felt weirdly vindicated by his check-ups. Cheekily, she tossed the device back at him, flapping a hand towards the door and standing up straight.
"Why don't we go find out, seeing as how I'm clocked out and ready to get outta here?"
In response, Steve smiled impishly, rising from his chair after putting his computer through its shutdown. All their personal items were gathered, and the trip down the garage went smoothly. Tucking bags and climbing up into their respective seats, the engine rumbled as it was fired up, the desire to go home amping up inside of her when the vehicle drove away from the claimed spot.
"How was your day?" Steve asked as they pulled out of the garage, the dirt under the tires spitting up as they went down the frontage road. Care lit up his features,wonderment at how she had handled her first day away from their son following behind. The little smile on Holly's lips became more pensive, and she stared out the window for a minute or two, considering her answer.
"Fine," she told him soon enough, feeling it as the ultimate truth in her heart. It had been fine, all around. And while she did not think the feeling that she was missing out would go away anytime soon, she could appreciate what she had done, and what she was going to do from that point on. Nodding once, she reached over and patted his thigh, the reassurance comforting them both. "I think tomorrow will be fine, too."
She maintained that hope as they picked up their son, just as safe and sound as he had been that morning. Tomorrow would be fine, she decided, cuddling her baby close and pecking him before bundling him in for the ride home, and the day after that would be, too. So long as she tried, and kept trying.
xXxXxXx
The week had started off shaky, but as the days progressed from one to the next, the meshing of home and work lives within the Rogers household started to ease. For that, Steve was relieved; he knew his wife all too well, knew that she would make it work, come hell or high water, and after the tremors of the first day, she was getting the hang of it. Both of them were, of course. His check-ups tapered off, and while he knew better than to fully trust in Jan just yet, he did see that Grant was in capable hands. The rhythm of their lives was beginning to take shape, and he was pleased for it.
On Thursday, he would be glad for that much, considering that work itself was about to become tenser on his end.
A general conference was called between teams and directors, all active members not on duty expected to participate. It happened at least every month, so that the primary and secondary teams could all get on the same page, as well as the SHIELD reps in charge of their support systems. For the first time in a long while, all members were present, with the exception of T'Challa—his duties as a king circumvented his Avenger ones, particularly as he was in the middle of organizing some formal to-do among the leaders of his government. Even Tony had managed to get patched in, the billionaire more eager than ever to start reaffirming his place, despite being part-time.
Across the pond, Joe Chapman had corralled his mates, Duquesne and Pietro Maximoff nearly frog-marching the youngest of their team into the room to do so. Finesse, regrettably, lacked that quality personally, and was grumbling as she sank into her chair. A swat on the arm from the Latina to her left made her growl, but Emily fixed her with a steely stare, shutting her up immediately. Wanda herself edged close to the display with her brother on it, the two exchanging words as a redheaded woman approached, her bulldog companion invited even to that event. Sam sat at the end of the table, texting and smirking at his phone, with Natasha attempting to look over his shoulder obviously. She laughed when he scowled and blocked the screen with his hand, Barnes rolling his eyes and guiding her to sit back down beside him. All in all, it was a fairly typical start to the meeting.
However, it would not remain that way once everyone had heeded the command to sit and get things underway. After giving some updates on field reports done by the top-level agents at the base, Maria invited Chapman to explain what his team had been after. With Zemo's arrest and new detainment at the Raft facility, there were some concerns about the possibility that someone was going to be grasping at the reins of his organization. A good majority of the stragglers had been flushed out, by both teams, but as had been proven time and again, the enemy would not oblige them by staying gone. Rumors about Klaue were surfacing, specifically his second-in-command make more and more waves in the black market. Finesse, at that point, piped up and said she was keeping an eye on it, on any bare tidbits that happened to come in. ("When you let me stay at the computer, of course," she'd groused, undeterred in the least by both her penultimate and ultimate boss' unimpressed expressions.) As well as that, the arms dealer with the metal claw for a hand was being watched carefully, in case he was doing anything to give his old second the chance to step up, or better yet, step out to help him. Despite his still being in prison, of course.
Bucky, barely looking at the packet in his hand, gave a swift summation of the primary team's efforts. Strange blips in New York and southern Asia were churning up the waters, and while investigation hadn't yielded much, he and the others felt it all needed to be watched. Something beyond what they could see was happening; he couldn't shake the sense of it. While that was met with obvious scorn, he did indicate that there were gang-related activities springing up in those areas as well, something they needed to shut down with alacrity. That, they could get behind doing.
"How are things looking on your end?" Rogers prompted Fury when Barnes had finished, catching the man's eye on his high definition display. The older man sat forward in his chair, further blocking the wide window of his office on the helicarrier and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Good, for the most part. Got a couple teams following some splinter cell leads; Coulson's heading that."
A ring of nods dipped then. That had been Coulson's mission on and off for the last several months, so it was unsurprising that he would be pursuing more of the same.
"Any other new business that needs addressing?" the commander inquired, closing his copy of the packet that Hill had printed off for them all. At that, her spine stiffened, causing the others to pay close attention to her when she spoke again.
"Word's gotten around by now about the new sheriff in town. Or rather, new captain," she announced, all eyes in the room shifting from her to the captain in question. Bucky, to his credit, barely squirmed in his seat, though his metal fist did curl in a little tighter than typical. Steve glanced back at Maria expectantly, knowing she would have more to say than simply that. And, true to his supposition, she did. "People have started to notice it's not you in the field anymore, Steve, and it can't be dodged any longer."
"The U.N. chose not to submit a statement?" Natasha cut in, a perfectly-shaped eyebrow inclining. Clearly, she had thought something of the like would occur well before then. Hill swiftly rectified the negative conjecture.
"Hawley did, and while the change of hands has been met with some skepticism, it is something they are slowly accepting. However, it has not been given out to the general public. They are looking to us to do so, or more specifically, one of us."
Once again, focus was turned onto Bucky, and that time, he did shuffle uncomfortably in his seat.
"I thought you guys had people who dealt with this stuff," he countered, his hand disappearing below the table's edge. Given the way Natasha shifted ever-so-slightly closer to him, it was easy to tell he'd reached for her for comfort. Maria let the gesture go unremarked upon, and shrugged.
"We do, but it would go a lot further with the world if it came directly from the source," she indicated. Publicists they had aplenty, but well-timed phrases would not be to their benefit. Not in regards to Bucky and his reappearance on the world stage, at least. Swallowing hard, Barnes sat up a little straighter, steeling himself and drawing on his well of courage.
"What do I have to do?" he asked, ready to get down to business, if it was required of him.
"It all depends, really."
A dark eyebrow spiked. "On what?"
"On who, Bionicle," Tony interrupted sharply, drawing all attention onto himself. Spotting Maria's glare of disapproval, he apologized facetiously, "Sorry, I took that as my cue."
"Stark," Steve exhaled, the truth of the situation crashing down upon him in that instant. With his extended experiences in the public eye, Tony was the best equipped to provide the solution. A solution that would, inevitably, open up painful wounds, for him in particular. Good form would dictate his permission, his acceptance, as being necessary for the go-ahead, and a deep slide of fear began to course through him. He owed them nothing, after all; Bucky had killed his parents, and Steve had had suspicions that it was the case. Granted, if they had waited longer to tell him the truth, it would have gone worse for the lot of them, but it still was a sour, unpleasant time of their recent past. As the child of victims, it would be natural that he would wish the perpetrator to suffer.
This would be his chance to truly break them, if he wanted to do so. And as his bright gaze connected with the fellow's darker one, he knew full well that he was aware of it, too.
However, his response would be more of a shock than anything else.
"Yeah, me," he said, sounding for all the world like he was about to let a bomb drop. Bracing himself, Steve was taken aback when he rubbed his hands together quickly, leaning forward and letting his eyes bore a veritable hole through the new captain. Coughing once, he continued in a lower tone, "The U.N. is expecting a direct approach for this, and that's exactly what you're going to give them, Barnes."
The general outline of the plan was laid bare in the moments that followed. As said, the public statement from the new captain would need to be made. However, feeding the public some canned lines would not do, not when a good portion of them would recognize Bucky for who he was in the past. As well as that, though the United Nations had gone the extra mile to assert his position and stabilize him in that position, that wouldn't mean that there wouldn't be someone out there who wouldn't try to reverse that. The precarious and dangerous nature of the past could swamp him, take him down just as he started to rise up. And that, in the end, was not something any of them needed. Not when key dissenters were looking for any excuse to push their faces in the mud (a certain ex-general came to mind, but his name was not mentioned in that time). Between them, the secondary team, and the SHIELD intel that came in daily, they would have to work to get everything locked down. It would be impossible to scrub his record totally clean, but they could minimize the damage, control what could and couldn't be washed away. It would take a couple of days, flushing out the digital records and dumping the physical ones, but it was what needed to be done.
For a long moment, everyone sat in utter silence. What Tony was proposing...was definitely not something they expected him to get behind. Gazes ricocheted around the room, the others absorbing all that he'd said, save for two blue pairs latching onto him. When more seconds ticked by, and nobody said a word, Barnes drew in a sharp breath.
"If you say so," he murmured, tacit agreement to the proposal given as he inclined his head. Stone-faced as the tech genius had become, he did return the nod, and suddenly the commander could not let it all just sit and stew.
"Could we have a minute?" Rogers asked the others, folding his hands atop the conference table and meeting the others' eyes before looking at Stark again. Spying the determination there, Hill nodded, ushering the others out of the room one by one. Chapman and Fury disengaged their cameras, each claiming they would begin efforts on their ends before signing off. Soon enough, it was just him and the billionaire staring one another down, the tension thick in the air.
"What's up, Old Age? Worried about Treachery stickin' the landing on this?" Stark quipped, the humor in his voice not even touching his eyes. Brushing off the slight, the commander leaned forward in his chair.
"Yes, but also about you, too," Steve confessed baldly, crossing his arms as the brittle grin on Tony's face faded. The enforced joviality melted in the presence of the harsh realism, which he did not think could be ignored.
The effort to which Stark was willing to go on all of it, that he was willing to even be part of it period, was truly humbling. That he thought it necessary to assert Barnes' place, that he was willing go through the effort of data-mining and erasing all traces of the Winter Soldier on their behalf...it beggared belief. Swallowing hard (and trying his damnedest to ignore the wrench in his gut), Steve looked at him for a long moment.
"Tony...are you sure?" he asked, the question hanging in the air between them. Though they were on the way to healing, though Tony had started to express measures of friendship towards him again, he did not wish him to go against what he truly wanted. Understanding his allusions, the older man focused on a point off-camera for several minutes. The question he'd been asked had circled in his mind as well, before Steve had said anything.
For days, he questioned the sense of his actions, when Fury first brought up the idea well before the meeting. The heartbreak and rage of the previous December had flowed up and spiked, but it had not lingered as it once did when thought of it. A thought had anchored him through the entire planning process, allowed him to embark on the new path without wishing to cave in on himself. And that was what he was going to tell Rogers, to make him understand why he did what he did.
"It's enough that the world will know what he's capable of. The extent...it won't serve any purpose to tear open old wounds. There's more important things at stake these days. It's enough that I know, and that he knows. It's done, either way." He shrugged his shoulders as Steve shot him an incredulous look. It was true, though, at its core, all of it. Was he still upset about it all? Of course he was. Did he wish that Barnes could have endured the same suffering his parents endured? There was a time that the answer was a hard yes, but now, it was nothing more than a lingering fantasy, one that he could not see being fulfilled. His time for judgment had passed; the world would know soon enough, and it would be up to them to decide where to go from there. Tipping his head, Tony continued, "And yeah, I could fight it until the cows come home, but in the end, what would it matter? It won't change the past. And as for the present, I'd lose just as much as he would, and honestly, I don't really dig that outcome."
Silence hovered between them, each mired in their private musings, until Steve ventured another thought.
"People might make the connections, anyway," he stated plainly, eyebrow barely arching. Even with all the work they'd be doing on behalf of their requests, it did not mean that the world would remain ignorant. Likely there would be a link, a rumor, anything to tie the new Captain America back to his dubious past. Things that could invariably destroy him, once and for all. However, to that, Tony merely canted his head.
"On some things, maybe," he conceded. He could not stop speculation, could not stop others from pursuing the path that had been laid bare. Still, that did not mean they would find everything. In fact, he would wager that it would be nearly impossible to do so. Rumors and lies were so blended with the truth now that there would be no way of knowing everything. And what could be known, would not be available. Not on his watch. "On others...no, they won't."
Another long silence permeated the air between them, and slowly, carefully, the commander inclined his head, taking the billionaire's word.
"We better get started, then," he intoned mildly, palms flat on the table before him. Stark leaned back in his chair, cutting a glance to the left where he knew the door out of the room was on their end.
"Better call back Frosty. This is going to take awhile," he remarked, the shadow of his smirk fading even as Steve did as he asked. The time for jokes and play was over; it was time to crack on.
xXxXxXx
Mumbling to herself over the file opened before her on her desk, it took Holly awhile to notice the presence waiting on the other side of her door. When she did, she veritably jumped in her seat, shocked at the looming man waiting there. Getting up from her desk, her brow was automatically screwing up in confusion as she went to open the portal.
After all, visits from Bucky Barnes to her office had never happened before. It certainly was disconcerting, to say the least. For his part, he nodded to her, pushing the flop of his part out of his eyes.
"Holly," he said, an attempted measure of friendliness coming to his voice, though the warmth did not reach his eyes. Something was the matter, but she hadn't a clue of what it could be.
"James," she returned the greeting, staring at him curiously. Sighing, his eyes flicked from her to the interior of her office, the silent question being asked dawning on her after a few moments. Dipping her chin, she stood back and allowed him inside the small office. As he passed, she risked a glance around the hall, a few of her coworkers lingering outside their doors. The new Captain America had not ever come down to archives even before his tenure, and to see him suddenly appear at the wife of the previous title holder's had a few eyebrows spiking. Shrugging a shoulder, she frowned before going back into the private space, latching the door firmly behind her. Circling back to her side of the desk, she caught him staring down at the file she was attending to, a flicker of interest in his irises. Taking note of that, she worked quickly to compile it all together, dropping it in one of her trays before focusing on him again. "What brings you down here?"
For a long moment, he just sat there, staring down at his hands. His fingers were interlaced in his lap, metal and flesh weaving in and out of one another. Though she did not know him as long Steve had, she had gotten to know him well enough when he was living with them. He was gathering himself, gathering his thoughts, before bringing up something that could potentially be unpleasant. Folding her own arms, she leaned forward and rested them on her desk, waiting as patiently as she could. Her lunch had passed, and she wasn't sure the visit would be sanctioned for very long. Eventually, after some leg-bouncing and subtle glances at the open forms on her computer screen, he got his bearings.
"I...need some help," he breathed finally, meeting her eye-line. As her eyebrows inclined, he cleared his throat, relaying a summary of the events of the morning. Little by little, her brown eyes grew wide as he told her about the world's speculation about him, about taking Steve's place, and how he would, in essence, have to come clean. The fact it was Tony Stark's plan they would be following to do so, with the United Nations' stamp of approval, nearly had her brows disappearing into her hairline, and her jaw slackened slightly. However, the curious light that had lit up her face upon his arrival was returning, the burgeoning questions surfacing in her mind again, and he hastened to address those as well. "Most of the other work is being taken care of, but, well...Steve said you've done this before for him. I've never done something like this before. That I can remember, at least."
The curiosity doubled, and so Bucky spelled out his request. Upon hearing it, she sat back again, digesting all that he had divulged. What he was asking wasn't impossible, but to have it done on a such a grand scale...she didn't know.
"You want me to act as your speech writer," she confirmed aloud, her words accompanied by the incline of his head. Tapping the pads of her fingers against the desk, she wondered, "When will you be giving it?"
He winced a little before replying, "Saturday is the aim."
Closing her eyes, she concealed the roll they went into, her fingers coming up and rubbing at her temples. Two days. He had to give a speech, in two days' time, and he wanted her aid. Not impossible, but it certainly wouldn't be anything Shakespearean, she could say that much. Her brain raced with thoughts, going several miles a minute as she considered his proposal.
"Okay, but there are going to be some stipulations," she started after another minute or two, ticking off the points on her fingers. "I'm not writing the whole thing for you. The caliber of this situation kinda requires it to be addressed by you, in your own voice. Pen out some prelims, and we'll go from there. And, word of warning: be honest, but don't be overly graphic. If I can't read it without being scarred for life, then you sure as hell can't say it."
Unconsciously, his lips quirked, and had the situation not been as dire as all that, he would have smirked.
"Noted," he said, agreeing to her stipulations. Gesturing for a pen and a piece of paper, he took both when she furnished them and jotted down the notes on the blank sheet. His own mind was still processing all that had been discussed, been spoken of. It was one thing to take on the mantle his friend had relinquished; it was something else entirely to defend his candidacy for it. Particularly when he, deep down, still did not think he deserved it on his poorer days. But he had given his consent to play the part that Stark would require of him, that Steve would require of him. He had to make his reveal, and his appeal, and do so well enough that the faith placed in him by the United Nations and his colleagues would not be squandered. Reading his compilation upside-down, Holly swooped in with a pen of her own, adding a note here and there as he went.
"I really should get paid for this stuff," she mumbled under her breath after several moments passed in that fashion. Bucky scoffed aloud, a final scribble traipsing across the paper before he leaned back.
"You won't be the first person I owe for this."
Her pen froze, and she looked up at him, dark gaze unfathomable.
"How much are they making you pay?"
"It really depends." That was the truth; it all rested upon the reception of his speech, of his admittance to the past. If the world sought retribution, it would have to be paid in full. If there were varying degrees to it, he would meet those and give back what he could in repentance. After Saturday, he would know for sure. His bright eyes focused on the hands in his lap again, and the scratch of the other pen picked up soon after that.
"Consider my fees waived this time," she said, flicking her fingers as if to flap the non-existent things away. Finishing her last note, she continued, "Mock something up, and bring it over to the house tonight. We can take a look after dinner. You and Natasha both."
Bucky stared at her for a few seconds, feeling something in his chest loosen as the invitation registered. Before he'd arrived at her office, off his friend's persistent prompting, he wasn't sure how she would react to news of that caliber. Since his return from his imposed exile, he had seemed to bring nothing but additional headaches and strife into the Rogers' lives. Still, despite all that, he was welcomed and accepted, over and over again. With Steve, it had become something of a near-fault to do so, but for Holly...he knew it marked something more than mere acceptance at another's behest when she held out her hand to him as well.
Rising from his chair, he pocketed the sheet of paper, impulsively taking one of Holly's hands between both of his. He did not know how he could adequately express himself, other than with a tight squeeze and the guilelessness in his irises. One day, he would pay her back for her acceptance. He would start by doing as she asked.
"Thank you," he said, squeezing her hand once more before leaving. Dropping her hand down to the desk, Holly blew out a sigh before picking up her phone and dialing through for transfer. She had to inform her husband of their enlarged dinner party...and get his side of events before they all got down to work that evening.
xXxXxXx
Saturday came, and with it came a flurry of arrivals and activity. As agreed upon with Hawley and some other representatives of the United Nations, a block of time would be given for the new Captain America to make his first address to the public, to show himself to the world. The morning was spent in preparations, from nearly every angle, bleeding into the afternoon and early evening as well. The air around the base crackled and popped, the tenseness that hovering at the edge of something unknown coming down upon them all. While there was not much she could do during the day, Natasha Romanoff waited for the hour of truth to arrive, going at the behest of her commander to summon up the captain in question. She knocked against the glass door at the end of the hall, opening it before permission for entry had been granted. It was more of a courtesy than anything else; after all, she was already able to come and go freely from Bucky's quarters, and his office would be no different. Stepping into the space, she raked her gaze over the framed prints on the walls, the simple furniture that was adequate enough to serve its purpose. Really, there were very few personal touches, the effects of living with almost nothing to define his life having not totally worn off. Still, upon the few frames that littered the desk space by the computer set-up, the portrait of Bucky and Steve in their Howling Commando days (a fantastic Internet find, if she did say so herself), to the cheeky photo of her winking at the Rogers' wedding. Her focus, however, centered then on the man behind the desk, his head in hands and a low groan floating out of his mouth.
Definitely a far cry from how he was that morning, she'd noted, though the groaning wasn't too far off-course. Shutting the door behind her, she strode right up to the edge of his desk, crossing her arms and smiling softly at him.
"You ready for this?"
Pulling his face away from his palms, Bucky blew out a sharp breath. His fingers raked through his dark hair, willing it to sit right in its side part. The ends brushed a little past the lobes of his ears, tucked away from them to keep his face clear. His scruff was trimmed, his best shirt employed, and he even went so far as to wear good, dark jeans. Granted, the broadcast would only catch from his stomach up, but he was going the extra mile to make himself look...normal. Non-threatening, not a like a man pulled from the fire and lost in the world. Rolling up the ends of his sleeves, the normalcy of his look was broken by the gleam of his metal arm.
"I'm ready to throw up, is what I'm ready to do," he intoned darkly, his complexion paling even as he admitted that. No doubt he was considering all the outcomes that could come from his address, and all he could picture were the negatives. Sidling up to him, she tenderly carded through his hair, fixing it further. Her touch made him visibly relax, and once she finished with his hair, she let her fingertips graze down over the curve of his jaw.
"Funny how with all the things you've seen and done, this is what makes you nervous," she teased lightly, her thumb stroking his cheek. He snorted at that, opening his eyes and blinking at her.
"Some of us weren't taught how to play to the crowd, sugar," he retorted, fondness breaking through the nerves momentarily. Sure, he could charm a dame or two in his day, but public speaking wasn't exactly his bread and butter. He hated it in school, and even more so when he became part of the world's best task forces. Managing a half-smile for her, it dropped quickly when he faced forward again. Inhaling sharply, he muttered, "I don't think I'll ever get used to this part of the job. For however long I have it after this."
"It takes awhile to get your bearings. And you'll at least have it until tomorrow," she pointed out, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms about him. Resting her chin his shoulder, they stayed still for several moments. Of course, he had every right to fear what was to come; it would be foolish to not consider that, despite their best intentions, it could all go sideways. However, she did not wish him to feel as though he'd be facing such consequences alone. The seriousness of it all lightened somewhat by the impish cast coming to her smirk. "Got a contingency plan in place? Gonna make a run for it if they come looking for you?"
He tilted his head, allowing it to rest against hers briefly.
"Depends," he replied, his voice becoming husky as a finger started to trace along her forearm. "Would you come with me if I did?"
It came to her then, unbidden: the memories of the farmhouse, the wish that she had to disappear from it all, to disappear with the man she care for. At the time, she had thought that the fellow she'd chosen was the best choice, a man of honor and principle. While Bruce still had those traits, he had proven that he did not share her desires, not truly. Their broken pieces did not match, could not be forced into more than what they were. And while she could not deny that Bucky was just as broken, the edges were more interlocked now than she ever could have imagined. Where Bruce would go alone, Bucky refused to do so.
Water rimmed her eyes, though she would vehemently deny it happening after the fact.
"James..." she breathed, tipping her face to bury into the side of his neck. Her grip around him tightened, and after a few seconds of taut stillness, he felt the barest brush of a nod on his skin.
Standing, he turned to face her, cornflower blue eyes latching onto hers and holding her in the moment.
"You'll be here when it's done, right?" he asked softly, wrapping her in his arms and bending to brace his forehead against hers. Another nod came, and she leaned into his arms.
"Da, Medved'," was her whisper, and he pulled her all the way in, cheek resting against her fiery hair and steadying breaths taken in the quiet.
The embrace ended all too quickly, with one of the tech guys responsible for the set-up interrupting it. Red-faced and awkward, the fellow announced quietly that all was ready, and that Bucky could go in when he wanted to get things going. Pulling himself to his full height, Barnes relinquished his hold on Romanoff, striding after the kid who had come to collect him, the ring of his boots echoing in the halls as they went. (He missed the death glare the Black Widow had given the poor guy, all but threatening him with terrible consequences if he breathed a word about her tender moment with the new captain to anybody.) Rounding several corners, he eventually was directed to a large conference room. A flash of memory recalled heavy microphones, glinting silver, stations embossed on placards before them, though in his mind, it was Steve settled before them, giving a rousing turn of phrase during a spare moment between missions. He never really liked the idea of parading himself like that. Now it seemed that he had no choice. Not if he wanted to continue living.
However, unlike the past, the microphones in the room were nearly invisible, a small one clipped to his shirt and secured to a battery pack in his pocket (for security purposes, in case the ones attached to the cameras failed). The long table seemed to stretch before him as he sat, the single chair wooden and uncomfortable. The cameras were, tiny on their thin tripods, were hooked up to various laptops. The broadcast was to be directed to several local affiliates, and forwarded through the United Nations website. All of this was set up in record time, clearance and passes issued with a little determination and elbow grease (and, likely, large amounts of money trading hands). One of the other tech people fluttering around set a glass of water on the table beside him, along with the reminder that Hawley was near the end of her introductory speech, and it would only be a few more minutes until his cue came. A spike of fear tore through him, then, and his metal hand fairly trembled as he raked it back through his hair. The cards bearing his speech came to his grip, but he could not focus upon them. Instead, he glanced up, almost shocked to see the team waiting there. Scott hooked a thumbs-up at him, Wilson dipping his chin in commiseration. Wanda, from her station to the far left, gave him a tight smile, her green eyes flushing scarlet as an aura projected from her hand at the glass. As it was significantly dulled by the physical materials it had to float through, it was enough to touch the storm in his mind, his soul, and calm it slightly. The Vision laid a palm on her shoulder, the seriousness of his expression unwavering. And at the center of the group were Steve and Natasha, each one giving him silent encouragement in their own ways.
Suddenly, the techies planted themselves beside laptops, with one doing a physical countdown on their fingers. As he reached 'one,' he pointed at Bucky, and he took the signal for what it was. Shifting his gaze to the cameras around him, he swallowed hard, flicking a glance at the cards and starting.
"My name is James Buchanan Barnes, sergeant of the 107th Infantry Regiment and member of the Howling Commandos. Many of you know my name, my rank, and probably even my old address in Brooklyn. Even how I had...died. But there are many things that you don't know, and that's what I'm here to tell you. After falling from a train bearing enemy agents in 1945, I was captured by hired soldiers and mercenaries, and held prisoner." Here he paused, the cards in his hands shifting as his fingers twitched. The knot in his throat was threatening to reform, the repressed fear and horror of those days—of those days that he could remember clearly—making it difficult to continue. Still, he coughed once, grabbing up the glass of water set nearby and down almost half of it in one go before he felt that he could speak again. Setting the glass aside, he glanced down at his cards, another shaky breath taken, and then he went on. "When the war ended, I was transferred into what was later called the Soviet Union, wherein I endured years of torture and manipulation, both physical and psychological, until I no longer even knew my own name, let alone my true nature. It was...a hell that I would not have wished on my worst enemy. In short, I had been turned into the very evil I had fought against for so long, and used to perpetuate that evil through more manipulation and lies. And with what I have since learned is called cryogenics, I was frozen on and off for seventy years, fighting for a cause that I had forgotten that I was, and still am, against.
"I've done terrible things. I've killed people: people who were important, some who did not seem so but were...whoever was a threat to the cause, I was forced to eliminate, without any idea who they were, to the world or to myself. I may not remember names, but I can see their faces, even now. All of which I regret. I was known by many titles and names, but not my true one. That was returned to me by a good friend, who had the luck of discovering the truth and who had fought for my freedom, along with yours."
Blue eyes darted up, focusing on the frame of the fellow on the other side of the glass wall of the room, beyond the camera set-up. Steve, standing at Natasha's right, had crossed his arms, his head tipping down almost bashfully at that pronouncement. Still, it was true; if it weren't for Steve, and his efforts to reach him while in the darkest of places, he would still be lost, still be trapped. It needed to be said, and so he would. (It was the one portion of the speech that Holly didn't touch. He wondered how much that had to do with her own personal pride in regards to her husband's trials and behavior, rather than his own writing abilities.) Glimpsing his cards again, he took another drink of water, he steeled himself for the final portion of his speech.
"However, in my heart, I still carry the responsibility of the blood on my hands, on my conscience, and will until the day I die. I deserve no less, frankly. I have spent nearly two and a half years attempting to atone for the mistakes and heinous deeds of the past, and will continue to do so. Through testimonies provided by captured HYDRA agents and further assessments of my mental state, I have largely been acquitted of my crimes. I have faced the evils of the world, have lived in it, and I now choose to fight against it, to fight for the light. Even if it may cost me my own life to do so. Like so many of you choose to do so, no matter who you are, what you've done, or where you're from. Or when."
Bucky looked directly at the camera then, taking a final deep breath before delivering the last of his sentiments.
"I will serve as your captain, continue with the core principles of the title. For however long you want me to."
On the other side of the glass wall, he looked up in time to see Natasha's wan smile, his lips curving up in thankfulness only when the tech officially announced the cameras being off. His eyes darted then to the blond fellow beside her, his best friend and leader stoic as ever. But in his gaze was a measure of pride, a layer of sadness beneath it. Steve was proud, proud of him for owning up to the past and working to rectify the mistakes made. And he was sorrowful still, would always carry that tote of guilt for allowing it all to happen in the first place. Bucky's brow furrowed slightly, and he gave the smallest shake of his head. There was no reason for his friend to feel any guilt in regards to him or his life. It wasn't his fault; if it were up to Steve, he would never have allowed those HYDRA agents anywhere near him, had he known what would befall him, befall them all.
But, that was neither here nor there. The past was the past, and while it was necessary to enlighten the world as to what had happened, it would not be changed. Dwelling would not do either of them any good. Sighing, he rose from his chair, exiting the room. There was still more to do, and he couldn't dawdle. Others would watch and wait to see how the nation, how the world, reacted to his broadcast, but he could not. Stepping into the hall, he shared a final nod with Steve before looping his arm around Nat's shoulders, his metal fingers curling into her blouse as they pivoted and walked down the hall as one. The others broke off, one by one, vanishing to their separate endeavors, but only one remained rooted to his spot.
Steve, watching them all disappear after a couple of seconds, let out a low sigh. Turning, he went in the opposite direction, leaving behind the broadcast space and descending to the next floor down. Weaving through the halls, he took himself to another private space, one that had been vacant for several months. Typing in the guest codes at the panel at the door, and then going through a rigorous relay of entry requests via the AI, JJ, the heavily-bolted door clicked open and he entered. The wide space was littered with steel tables, equipment and tools adorning them. It was amazing the rate in which the occupant had made himself at home, given that he had been there for only a few short hours, and had been stationed at the computer bank along the west wall for the majority of it. Still, odds and ends of wires and metal pieces anchored digital blueprints to their spots already, at once familiar and not to his eye. Along the far wall sat an embankment of suits, tailored to several different specifications and needs. All had been flown in; they literally flew themselves in, startling the hell out of some poor interns and even some hardened agents in the process before storing themselves in the glass cases set aside for their use.
The Iron Man laboratory and hall was finally being put to good use, after nearly a year of abandonment by the owner of the hall. And speaking of the owner, Steve crossed his way over to Tony Stark, intent on catching up on all that was left to be done that day. Stopping just behind the the fellow in the desk chair, the darker-haired man did not bother to turn around to greet him, though from the way his back stiffened, it was obvious he'd known about the approach. Fingers continued to fly over the keyboard before him for several long moments, reams of code and flashing images cropping up and disappearing as soon as they appeared. In the far corner of the screen, another inset of information flooded by; it was the media reception of Bucky's address, a mixture of responses slipping in and out as he worked. Thus far, things looked as though they would remain on track, but it was early days yet.
"The data wipe is done already. All that's left to be done is to get rid of the physical copies," Tony muttered several seconds later, a final keystroke given, the screen reflecting a green 'complete' sign over it as he pulled away. Tapping a finger at the hidden comm-link in his ear, he let out a low sigh, the weight of the world still pressing down upon him as he swiveled his chair around. Scrubbing a hand over his face and goatee, he reported, "Chapman and Fury have taken care of it on their ends; now, it's our turn."
All part of the plan, as they were both aware of when he proposed it days ago. Still, Steve looked askance at him, at the lengths of his efforts on behalf of those who had broken parts of him long ago. The smirk quirked at his lips, the mild pain flashing in his irises, but his subtle nod was not missed. There was no need to rehash all that had been said before. The job needed to be finished, and they both knew it. Scooting forward in his chair, he stood, taking out his handheld and shutting down the Iron Man hall for the evening. Together, both men exited the facility and the base, Steve leading the way in his truck to his house and Stark's Maserati right behind. Parking in the driveway of the property, Stark took a moment to appreciate the swatch the slate-blue house cut against the sunset-drenched woods, the thickness of the air between the trees so different from the stale city breezes he was used to. The commander darted into the house for a moment, coming out with Barnes in tow. Several notebooks were in the brunet's hands, as well as a thick file folder perched in Steve's. Taking a deep breath, Stark ducked back in and retrieved the files sent on ahead by Fury, the three men proceeding to a far point of the backyard. As he followed them, he looked over his shoulder at the house, catching the backlit shapes of two figures standing at the window, one bearing something much smaller in her arms. They would not follow them out, but merely stand watch. The ground had been cleared of debris prior to their arrival, save for a ring of stones and a pile of broken twigs shunted into the center.
Taking out a lighter, Steve ignited the twigs, wedges of newspapers fed in between the open areas to keep it lit. A stack of logs stood off to the side, added as the flames ignited the kindling. Once a true fire was blazing, the billionaire and the commander turned to look at the ex-assassin, the fellow selecting the first notebook off the top of his pile before dropping the rest at his feet. Little by little, he tore out the pages, balling them up and casting them into the fire. Phrases of recovered memories, of lost souls, sputtered and caught, curling into blackness and ash mere moments after landing. Over a year and a half of his treatment, of his fractured self had been recorded in those notebooks, signifying that not all had been lost when HYDRA had taken control of his mind and life. However, memories though they were, they were also hard evidence, things that could be twisted and used to break him again. Fury had given the three of them the recommendation (an order, really, but it was one that was difficult to refuse) that anything that left a connection between Bucky and the Winter Soldier beyond the vaguest terms had to be eradicated. The SHIELD dump had not had everything, obviously, but there were bits and pieces hidden in the digital files. Those would be worked on, taken care of; it was the notebooks, the physical papers and words that had to be destroyed.
All highly illegal, of course, but with the U.N. choosing to grant immunity and willingly turning a blind eye to it all—after all, despite his horrid past, Barnes was an efficiently trained fellow, one that they were willing to take a risk on for his service to the greater good—it hardly mattered. The gist was enough; the details weren't something anybody wanted. And so, the details had to go.
After the third notebook, Steve took his turn, mute as he reached into the thick folder in his hand. The tie around it came loose, and he stared at the top contents for a few seconds. Carefully, he extracted a single picture, of Barnes in his hat and military garb, handing it off to his friend before dumping the rest of the papers into the flames. It was dutifully tucked into a pocket, and their eyes remained focused on the fire itself. Blocks of Russian were met with German, the English translations running in the margins literally going up in smoke as the seconds past. The last, another photograph of Barnes, fluttered and landed atop it all. The sickly green cast of it, of the face pressed to the frozen glass, made a dreadful slide go through his stomach. Tony's pile came next, Nick Fury's private research having been bestowed to him months ago to use as he saw fit. As such, he only saw fit to watch it all go up in flames.
The fire burned, the cardboard and papers curling and smoking as the words were lost, the grisly truths within turning to ash and rising to the heavens, lost to the world once again. The three men stared down at it, the crackle and pop of flames mixing with the sounds of the woods settling in for the night. The sun sank lower and lower as they stood, one or the other either stirring it or adding more kindling as the minutes slipped by. Once the last notebook was tossed in and burned, Tony exhaled deeply, dipping his chin once as if to punctuate the finality of it all.
The past was the past, and would remain as such. The present, and the future, were more of a concern for him.
"You know, I rather like the idea," he piped up suddenly, drawing Barnes and Rogers out of their separate reveries. Off the commander's furrowed brow and the new captain's question look, he gave them a dry smirk. Nodding first to the brunet, then the blond, he elaborated, "That you basically owe me for the rest of your life. And for you, most of yours."
The two men shared a loaded look at that, with Bucky scrubbing a hand over his face after and Steve shaking his head, the glimmer of a smile playing across his lips.
"Figures," he mumbled, and Stark nodded again.
"Yeah." The fire burned down a little, the rustle of wind in the trees and the dots of the stars breaking through the canopy above were signals to the older man to start heading back. He would spend the night in his quarters at the base, and be on the road back to the city in the morning. Truth be told, he was exhausted, the invisible weights and trials of the day pushing him down further. Taking a step back, he hooked a thumb back in the direction of the house, and said, "Tell the wife I said hi, Rogers. And the kid, too, if he can understand language at this point. Otherwise, a wave will do."
Steve's answering grin came out more like a grimace, but he took it either way.
"I will," he replied, his hands going into his pockets. Flicking a glance back at the house, at the shadows passing in front of the kitchen lights on and off, he sighed. Clearing his throat, he offered, "Baptism's in a few weeks, if you'd like to come."
Stark's jaw quirked, and he lifted a shoulder.
"I'll see what I can do," he responded, not certain he could make any such commitment at that moment. Too much had happened that day, and it would take awhile to process it all. Stepping further away from the fire, he glanced across to the other man, his so-called leader, the ex-assassin. Inclining his head, he could not think of what else to say to him, that he could say. So, instead of pushing the issues that lay between them, he merely bid him farewell for the night. "Barnes."
"Stark," the brunet returned, holding his gaze for several more seconds before the tech genius ambled away through the darkness. The distant click of locks releasing hit his ears, followed by the opening and slamming of a door. As the engine of the car revved, and the grind of tires grew and faded, he glimpsed his friend out the corner of his eye. "You think this did any good?"
Steve, resting a boot atop one of the rocks ringing the fire, expelled a short breath. "I hope so. It's all we can really do, now."
The pop of wood cut through, and the ex-assassin knelt down, picking up the stick that had been used to stir the coals and materials. Trailing it through the mass of ashes, causing them to cascade up with the next plume of smoke, he coughed, pondering his friend's words. Hope was all they had now, hope that he would be allowed to continue, to go on paying for his sins freely and fighting for the right. Hope that the future would remain open to him.
If that was all he had at the moment, while he still breathed free air, then he would take it.
"Right," Bucky murmured, unable to say more. Rogers did not feel compelled to speak, either, and so they remained in silence. The pair of men watched the fire burn for a long while, going inside only when it had flamed out completely and the ashes of the past were extinguished.
A/N: There, not super-fluffy this week. And also, super-long again. Alas, I think that will be somewhat permanent now. Not that many of you have complained, if at all. ;-)
Holly goes back to work, and Bucky lays (most of) the truth bare to the world. I knew he could not simply just take up Steve's mantle without there being some comment, and more to the point, without some idea of investigation taking place. And Tony, inevitably, would have to be a part of it, too. I just hope it all came off alright to you guys. It's a tough place for all three of them to be, and I hope it sounded okay.
Somewhat on time this week, and hopefully it will be the same for the next one, too. I heard back from my interview: I did not get the job, and I am very disappointed, though writing has helped pick me up a bit. Oh, well. Try, try again. I hope you all are doing well, at least.
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Star Wars, Frosty the Snowman, Bionicle by Lego, etc.).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!