Disclaimer: I always return borrowed books, but I'm not sure if I can return these characters...
Chapter 4: Change in the Weather
Thor could not think quietly. He couldn't do anything quietly. Somehow he thought whispering would make the thoughts behind his words gentler on Hal's brain. Whispering did not help. It just gave everything a hissy static to contend with.
As Hal stumbled into the quinjet, she didn't even make eye contact with the other Avengers. Their thoughts peppered her like a hail of bullets, sharp, curious, worried, loud. Six people shouldn't feel so overwhelming. Hal dealt with dozens of minds whenever she went into town. It took more than that to faze her.
She took the first seat in the back, the farthest from the cockpit, where most of the heroes had gathered. Head down, eyes all but shut, she fumbled with the straps and buckles of her harness. Her hands hadn't stopped shaking. They refused to grasp what she told them to, and after a minute of failure, she gave up. It wasn't like she'd need the damn thing, anyway.
She sat rubbing her temples, trying to pull away, retreat from her physical reality so she could sort out the mess in her head. But her hands were still trembling, and a spasm pushed her left index finger hard against her face. The nail broke skin. Hissing, she opened her eyes. Blood ringed her cuticle, traces smeared into the grooves of her fingerprint. She felt a thin drop run down from the cut, following the path a tear should make.
"Hey."
Hal focused past her hand and found a man crouched in front of her. She knew him before he introduced himself.
"I'm –"
"Doctor Banner," Hal finished. "I know. Introductions are kind of pointless."
"Maybe you know who I am," he said, "but I don't know you. Introductions go both ways, you know."
Hal rubbed her finger against her jeans, trying to wipe off the blood. It was difficult to answer, to pick the right voice to respond to. "Sure. I'm Hal."
"It's nice to meet you, Hal. Are you feeling alright?"
"Just shaky. I'm fine." She sat on her hand.
"May I see?" Banner held out his palm, waiting for her to reciprocate.
Gingerly, Hal presented her un-bloodied hand, watching with frustration as her fingers vibrated under Banner's steady hold. He turned her wrist, checked the pulse, and looked in her eyes.
"Shock, I think. You'll feel better soon."
She took back her hand, sticking it under her thigh like the other. "Thanks."
Banner nodded and rose from his crouch. "No problem. Let's see if Stark has any water on this tub."
Hal snorted. And then she realized - "You're very quiet." Banner stopped to look at her. "Inside, I mean."
"I think that's the first time anyone's called me quiet," he said, fighting a smirk.
"It isn't the right word, but I can't explain. It's like trying to use sign language to tell a deaf friend how a march is different from a sonata. It's not always a matter of volume, more…" This was impossible. "I don't know."
Banner didn't look away. He stood there, appraising her while everyone else in the jet tried to discretely eavesdrop.
To be fair, it was hard not to eavesdrop in such a close space.
"I think I understand," Banner said. "Up to a point. I'll find that water. Try to relax. We'll be in New York soon."
Hal didn't close her eyes again, but she let her head fall back against the wall as Banner made his way to the front. "Yeah," she mumbled. "That doesn't help me relax."
Everyone kept their distance for the rest of the trip, which made things a little awkward, especially since Hal could smell the uncertainty clogging the air like B.O. At least Banner found some water. Hal cracked the seal and took a few sips for appearances, but she spent most of the ride just rubbing the edge of the grooved lid. The friction kept her grounded, allowed her a sensory connection to her immediate surroundings. Sam suggested the trick during one of their first phone sessions. He said it was a method patients used to cope with flashbacks. It seemed well suited to dealing with out of body trauma, too.
The pressure of New York City swelled against the borders of Hal's mind. Even airborne, she could feel the mass of humanity mucking up her processing speed. All the images, data, and ideas slowed her down like junk files slowed a computer. And, unlike a computer, Hal couldn't delete what she didn't need.
Although everyone in the jet was thinking about her in some regard, Hal soon realized that someone was more than thinking – he was staring. Waiting for her to acknowledge him.
Tired, but controlled, Hal met his eyes across the bay. "Hi, Steve."
Steve, also tired, offered a weary smile his legion of fangirls would call dashing. Hal liked the fangirls. She found regular excuses to poke them on Tumblr. Endless entertainment, right there.
"So," she said, dragging her nails around to scratch her knees. "I've bumped into this guy twice in a week. He goes by Captain America. Big name in certain circles. Cute in the poster-boy way. But, you know, I think he might be stalking me."
Some of the exhaustion faded from Steve's eyes, replaced by the rebellious twinkle of a man who really couldn't back down from a fight.
"He could be. Or you might be a threat to national security."
"Only national?" Hal blew a raspberry and folded her arms. "I thought I was at least global. I'm not too vain – it's not like I'm the most dangerous woman in the galaxy. There's gotta be some badass chicks hiding in those storms on Jupiter."
Thor glanced at her quizzically. "I do not mean to contradict you, but I am unaware of any civilization on another planet in this system."
"Mmm." Hal scrubbed her face with her palms. "Wasn't being literal."
Thor nodded. "I see."
The interruption killed the banter between Hal and Steve, and the jet fell silent once again, which was a shame, because Hal needed a distraction. The rhythm of Steve's thoughts always brought James to mind. Something in the bedrock of their identities. Smooth jazz and snow melting off sewer lids. Time, place, values. The era of their youth clung to them both like a good cologne. If she focused, Hal could almost smell it.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Hal zeroed in on a loose string on her sleeve.
Shit. James. She should never have given – and taken – so much. No one else got caught up in the fabric of her memories like that man. She wasn't sure who to blame for that.
The jet landed. Hal disembarked with the others, still reluctant to make eye contact. She already felt too close. Unaware or disinterested in her need for space, Stark swept up behind her and grabbed her shoulder.
"You remember your old room?" he asked. "Pepper wouldn't let me change it. I mean, she had it cleaned and everything, but we didn't give it to anyone. You remember the way? Of course you do. Go ahead and store your gear. Come up to the penthouse when you're settled. We have things to talk about."
He was gone again before she could answer. Everyone had somewhere to be, and no one stopped her for a word, an explanation, or even an offer of assistance as she slipped through the familiar hallways. Although some of the décor had shifted to fit the trends, Stark honestly hadn't changed much in the floors' basic layout. Ultron had started some remodeling, but most of the damage was kept to the very top floors.
Finding her old room was as easy as if she'd never left.
Inside, the walls were clean and scrubbed. There was no sign of the drawings she'd left behind when she moved to the farmhouse. Had Pepper kept them, or had some janitor pitched them? It felt like déjà vu. An empty room with empty walls. A cold view of a cold city. Too many minds. No one to talk to. Had she dreamed up her life away from the tower?
Frustrated with herself, Hal tossed the bag with her precious few belongings onto the bed. When it landed, it barely made a sound. She glared at it. Her life, everything she'd worked for, everything she could claim as uniquely her own – and it couldn't even put a dent in a mattress.
She'd changed before Team Stark arrived, but she still wanted a shower, so she grabbed a tank top with some sweats and headed into the bathroom. She was about to tell Jarvis to let her know before Stark came waltzing in and found her in her birthday suit, but as her lips formed the first syllable, she remembered.
Jarvis was gone.
Ultron killed him, and then Ultron destroyed her chance to build her own life. Because of Ultron, she was back where she started, and she lost her only real friend – artificial or not.
Her hands balled into fists.
For the first time in ages, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the anger burning over her swelling grief was her own. Too bad she couldn't savor the sensation. Turning away from the empty room, she hit the shower.
Time to make sure she didn't have any blood in her hair.
.O.O.O.
When Hal emerged from the shower, she found a note next to her bag from Natasha. Apparently, she'd worried enough of Stark's teammates to form a safety committee who insisted he wait to debrief her until she'd rested. She shouldn't go to the penthouse until she'd slept, eaten, and showered. Not necessarily in that order. Hal set aside the note and tossed her bag onto the nightstand. She'd showered. Food didn't sound good, yet. So it must be time to sleep.
But first, she needed a touch-up.
Pulling out a sharpie, she rolled the hem of her tank to the bottom of her bra and set to work. A treasure map of stars made a trellis for flowering vines to climb. Each petal was unique, leaving the blossoms a kaleidoscopic wreck of flora. A black river traveled between the pines on her thigh. Paper airplanes surrounded a dead sparrow with curled feet. None of it meant anything, but Hal felt better for making it.
She capped the marker and turned off the light.
When she opened her eyes she was in the bunker. Information and memories from her encounter with Ultron flooded through the mail slit like a circuit-veined flood. In the beginning, her library only kept papers and printed images. That had changed over time. Now there were videos, sculptures, audio recordings, and entire rooms annexed from the primary records room.
No matter the file, no matter the format, Hal could read them all with a thought. She brought all these things into herself, and they could not deny her.
Somewhere in the back rooms, a record was playing. The music carried through the bunker, crackling with the scratchy nostalgia of a turn table.
Hal didn't recognize the song. It was all harsh brass, soothed by a full, deep voice. A woman's voice.
Hal set down the circuit board she'd been trying to index, wandering into the music.
Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky
Stormy weather
The notes rode up and down Hal's spine, luring her to answer in the way all good music created empathy. After a few steps, Hal knew she was going to a new part of the bunker. An old room undiscovered, or a new place made by dreaming.
Keeps rainin' all the time
She found a door where she didn't remember building one, but the wood felt cold and inviting under her hand, and she could feel the music in her fingertips.
Life is bare, gloom and mis'ry everywhere
Stormy weather
The door opened. Her breath made mist as her eyes adjusted to the warm, flickering light of a small fire. Oh, she knew this place. The phonograph sitting on the mantle was new, but Hal suspected the song was very old.
An old cabin. Winter. A ramshackle bed next to a mirror and broken furniture brought in for kindling.
And I just can't get my poorself together,
I'm weary all the time
She approached the bed and smoothed the patchwork of blankets. Although it was old, hard, and smelled of mildew, it felt better than Stark's down mattresses could ever feel. It was familiar, and Hal lounged across the second-hand comfort, drinking in the wood smoke and pine scent that lingered in the cloth. Wood smoke. Pine. And…
James.
Blinking slowly, she left the room.
So weary all the time
Each brush of her eyelashes swept away a bit of the scene. The fire. The broken chairs. The bed. Even the smells faded away. All was replaced a piece at a time by the bleak décor of Avengers Tower.
Hal ought to be awake.
But the music kept playing.
Can't go on, ev'rything I had is gone
Stormy weather
Since my man and I ain't together
Keeps rainin' all the time
It took her a solid moment to realize the shadows in the corner were actually the contours of a body. A man was standing over her as she slept. Squinting, Hal reached for the light, but the shadow moved and wrapped a starlight hand around her wrist. The man was so close, Hal didn't need the light to see his face.
"James?"
He wore his deepest frown, the kind that sank into his face and pulled down his eyes.
"What are you doing here?"
Someday, Hal thought, they might enjoy a different opening to their conversations. She shook him off her wrist – or at least cued him to let go – and propped herself up on her elbow. "What are you doing here? This is my room."
He folded his arms, pulling back. "Your room? We're dreaming, doll."
"I was dreaming." She looked around, studying the lights outside her window. "I'm definitely in Avengers Tower, though." She glared at him from the corner of her eye. "And I don't dream about you."
"You're in the Tower?"
Hal groaned and rubbed her eyes, sitting up properly. "Well, I guess I'm dreaming. You don't talk to me anymore. Not unless you body slam me into the street first."
James tensed, his mechanical arm whirring, and Hal wondered if the actual James would feel the same way.
"I don't blame you," she soothed. "I saw the look on your face in that alley. It was your worst nightmare come true."
"Yeah."
"Good thing I'm only dreaming then. If we're more careful, you'll never have to talk to me directly ever again. Nightmare avoided."
"Talk to you?" James squinted, turning his Frown of Doom into Frown of Bemusement. "That's my worst nightmare?"
"Apparently."
Hal reached for the sheets, intent on rolling over and slipping into a better dream. And she did. Roll over, that is. No matter how hard she blinked or how long she closed her eyes, she could still feel James' eyes pinned to the back of her head.
After several long moments of silence, he asked, "Are you asleep?"
"No."
Imaginary James gave an imaginary chuckle and Hal wanted to lob an imaginary shoe through his imaginary head. He had no right to be in her dream, even if it was her own subconscious's fault. Couldn't she enjoy any part of her first happy memories without pulling in the ugly complications?
At some point in their conversation, the music had faded. The quiet only made Hal more aware of the unnaturally silent man waiting behind her. She rolled over so she could at least glare at him.
He stood exactly where he'd been before, arms crossed, but with a much lighter frown. He almost looked thoughtful.
"What are the pictures on your arms?" he asked. "What are they for?"
"I doodle when I get bored."
He didn't have to say anything. The look he gave her explained clear as day why she was ten kinds of idiot for attempting to lie. He'd always known when she was lying. The only time she could mislead him was when she kept quiet about her pain, but even then he sensed that something was wrong. Apparently, he hadn't lost the skill. At least Hal's subconscious didn't think he had.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"Well, neither do I. Can I go back to the bunker, now?"
"I'm not stopping you."
"You're not helping, either."
James sighed and walked toward the door.
Hal bolted upright. "Where are you going?"
For a moment, he hesitated. His arm practically glowed in the ambient light from the window, but his face was shadowed. He looked over his shoulder to meet her eyes. "Go to sleep, Hal."
And he left.
Hal flipped onto her side, yanking a pillow over her head to block out the city lights.
On the whole, she would've preferred a nightmare about the lab. Bad dreams were so much worse than nightmares.
.O.O.O.
When she woke, it was daylight. Whether it was the light of the same day she fell asleep or the gleam of the next, she didn't know.
She excavated the digital alarm clock she'd smothered under her bag of possessions.
One p.m. Tuesday.
She'd slept through the night.
Too bad.
Now she'd have to deal with Stark during the craze of a New York City afternoon.
The voices surged through the white noise of her thoughts, but even the multitudes below felt better than the hyper-sensitivity she'd suffered during her trip in the jet. Rubbing her temples, she organized her consciousness, prioritizing the data she'd collected from Ultron and readying herself for presentation. Masks took time to build, and after a few hours awake in the Big Apple, she would need a strong one to hide the pain.
At least she knew she was getting stronger. The first time she tried walking through New York, the press of minds had all but crippled her. Pepper saved her. Brought her above the worst of the crowds. But only last week, Hal had known that she could remain in control even in a place as crowded as Central Park. It hurt. But she could do it. And she trusted herself.
Progress didn't mean an ease of pain, only an increase of restraint. Unless she intentionally relaxed or scrutinized an individual, deep memories rarely assaulted her. Only surface noise. And she'd managed to build a raft to stay afloat in all that noise.
Except for yesterday, in the jet.
It bothered her.
Had she missed something? Was she regressing?
Someone knocked on her door, and Hal dropped her hands to her lap, automatically assuming an easy posture.
"Come in."
The door opened just wide enough for Dr. Banner to slip into the room. He left it open and shuffled toward the bed, wiping his glasses on the hem of his shirt.
"I want to talk with you before Tony gets going. You what they can be like."
"More or less. Probably more. What did you want to discuss?"
She made room on the bed, but Banner elected to pace instead, pushing his glasses back over the bridge of his nose.
"I've been thinking. We've all, uh, talked with Tony, talked with Nat and Clint. Talked with Sam. What happened in the jet – when we were too loud – I think I was right. I think it was shock. But I didn't know what had triggered it. It wasn't the first time you've had to kill in self defense. But like any of us, you were hyper aware of the danger. So your heart rate spiked. Your adrenaline glands went crazy. Those are normal responses to assault. I think your – ability – is like every other involuntary reaction to fear. Listening more carefully. Running faster. You become hyper-sensitive."
It was exactly what Hal wanted to hear. So she immediately looked for the flaws in Banner's theory.
"But my head hurt in the jet. Not when I was in the house."
"You wouldn't notice it when you're using it. You hardly ever notice how hard your lungs are working until the adrenaline disappears and suddenly you realize you can barely breathe."
Hal brought one foot up to the edge of the bed so she could rest her chin on her knee. She tried to accept what the good doctor was saying, but experience demanded a secondary evil hiding in the benefits.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just having trouble believing anything about my talent makes sense."
Laughing in his self-degrading way, Banner said, "Maybe you haven't noticed, but we all have some pretty weird gifts around here."
Hal thought about Stark and his big, shiny brain. She thought of Clint and Natasha with their mad assassin skills. There were no words grand enough for the souped-up wall of muscle that was Captain America. Whatever they were, whatever they had, it wasn't the same.
"It's a curse, not a gift. It's painful and invasive."
Banner stopped. He stopped pacing. Stopped fiddling. And he just looked at her. Hal felt rather than saw his presence grow. It filled up the space, leaving no room for doubt. He didn't turn green or howl in rage. There was plenty of rage, of course, but not for her. Only sympathy and a silent understanding that was all too rare in Hal's life. So rare, in fact, she'd never experienced it before.
Except with James, the friend who was not.
Banner gathered the presence he'd built and channeled it into a single sentence.
"I know how you feel."
He said it with a smirk, and Hal felt it catching.
Ducking his head, Banner shuffled back toward the door. "Come on. Now that I know you're feeling better, I don't feel bad telling you to hurry up. Tony was a pain in the ass all night waiting for you. I'll see you up there once you've had a chance to get dressed."
As the door closed behind him, Hal realized she'd been in her tank the entire time. Her arms exposed. Belatedly clapping her hand over a representation of the Pleiades on her left bicep, she rifled through the generic sweats someone decided to keep for guests in Hal's old room. She found a sweatshirt several sizes too long and wriggled into it with pleasure. It hid everything. Even her hips, which were already swaddled in one layer of fluffy knits.
Dressed for a nineties sleepover, Hal made her way to the penthouse to discuss the end of the world.
.O.O.O.
Hal told Stark what happened at the farmhouse.
Stark didn't want to believe her. But once he did, he became a whirlwind of genius, trying to riddle out what each action implied. What Ultron's words ensued. And still, it was like he couldn't quite believe it, or like he couldn't believe it was so incredibly his fault. But above all, Stark couldn't get over Ultron's ability to possess the farmhouse's tech.
"He infected the house." Pacing, he combed his fingers through his hair, raking it in and out of disarray with every other swipe. Although Banner looked thoughtful, standing in the corner with his eyebrows drawn low, everyone else sat on the plush penthouse couches as they exchanged bemused glances. Well, Hal wasn't exactly bemused, but all of Stark's analysis did her no good. It was all old news. She'd had hours to think it over. And she'd been in Ultron's metaphorical head.
Stark, still pacing, continued his rant. "The drone never went there. God only knows where it went. But the important point to take away from this is that Ultron is viral. He can operate outside a closed system, and he can cannibalize other systems."
Hal sat back and propped up her feet on a glass table, wondering how Stark had managed to repair so much in so short a time.
"Think faster," she said. "You already knew he could cannibalize systems. That's what he did to Jarvis, after all."
"I know," Stark snapped. The pain of that particular loss still burned as fresh in his chest as it did in Hal's. She didn't need to look very deep to see that.
Steve moved to interrupt the budding argument. "We know the leak was a distraction. He wanted us to rush off to Hal's rescue while he… what? What doesn't he want us to see?"
"Whatever he did, it can't be his endgame," Romanoff said. "I think we'd all know if it was."
"I'm not sure he's finished doing whatever he has planned." Hal sat up. "Rescuing me was more of a detour than a distraction. His trail went cold. He got a head start to wherever he sent the drone – which has to be a clue, because wherever that drone is going must have a damn good firewall to keep out his cyber-self."
"About that." Stark turned. Pointed. "You were in his head. Why can't you just tell us the plan?"
"I can read him, but it takes a while. His thoughts aren't organic. They have their own system. I have trouble following them from point to point."
"What 'points' did you find?" Thor asked. He, even more than the rest of them, seemed perturbed by the extent of Ultron's intelligence. His "quiet" thoughts boomed across the room like a subwoofer, equal in volume to the masses on the street below.
Hal summoned the strongest images she'd collected to mind. The devil was in details. Or, at least, she hoped he was. "Mountains. A lake. The end of the human race. Parts of his plan still felt sticky – like drying paint. I think he was using the time he bought to work out the details."
Perched on an exposed beam with one leg dangling almost low enough to ruffle Natasha's hair, Clint threw in his two cents. "Pretty indecisive for a robot."
"He's an intelligent computer system, which makes him on par with the rest of us – not a god." Hal couldn't help sneaking a glance at Thor. He might not be a deity, but he could probably bench press the entire Tower with the biceps he was packing. "I mean, he's faster but he isn't all that different from a human with special talents. Whatever he had in mind was a challenge. He wasn't entirely sure he could pull it off."
"That's reassuring," Banner said.
Stark snorted. "I'll make a list of tech something out of my lab would have trouble breaking. It'll be a short list."
"He might not be after tech," Romanoff argued.
Steve took Stark's side. "It seems likely, though."
"He was worrying about codes, I think," Hal said. "It felt like tech."
"Yeah?" Even though Hal was agreeing with him, Stark still found a reason to be less than pleased with her. "And what exactly does tech feel like?"
Logic told Hal to calmly back out of the argument and save her insights for a better time. But accepting Stark's challenge to a pissing match just made too great of a temptation.
"Oh, I don't know," Hal drawled. "It's hard to explain. Kind of like the fucked up thought process that led to making Ultron."
For a moment, everyone sat in awkward silence as the burn sank in.
"Low blow," Clint stage-whispered.
Tony turned a fascinating stage of magenta, and Hal was certain he'd start spewing lava just as Captain America leapt to defuse the situation.
"Hal, Stark – both of you knock it off. We're all tired. We're all at each others' throats. But we're still on the same team, and we have the same goal here."
"How about we take a break?" Banner suggested. He wiped his glasses perfunctorily, and Hal felt a little guilty for his swelling urge to flee the room. Negativity just wasn't his thing.
"I think Bruce has a good idea," Romanoff said. "Let's give Hal time to put together what she found and give Stark a chance to make that list. The rest of us have things we could be doing, too."
"Right. Good idea." Stark stomped to the window and began tapping away at a tablet.
As the rest of the Avengers shifted and gradually climbed out of their seats, Hal marched towards the elevators, wrangling her thoughts into order. Stark was right. She needed to figure out what she'd gotten from Ultron. But she was right, too. Stark almost liked her when she wasn't in the immediate vicinity. He hadn't hesitated to come to her rescue, after all. But when they were in the same room, when he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could peep in his head and dig through his very worst thoughts and memories – well, that was something different. And the curse of being a telepath was that, on some level, she understood him. She could feel his nerves and his distrust, follow them to the hotbed of insecurity at his core, and see herself through his eyes. She didn't just know how uncomfortable she made him; she felt it.
It could make her younger self so terribly uncertain. Now, she was only frustrated.
Her stomach growled, and she revised her previous thought: she was only frustrated and hungry.
Steve trotted up just as she was about to board the elevator.
"Hey." He didn't touch her. Didn't physically demand her attention. He'd learned some things since their last encounter. Who'd taught him? "You doing anything important?"
"I haven't actually eaten anything since yesterday morning, so I had some serious designs on a pizza or twelve, but I won't pass out in the next hour. What do you need?"
"Nothing. I mean – personally – nothing personally." Waving his hand to clear his words, he tried again. "There's someone here who wants to see you. I didn't want to distract you before debriefing, but if you don't have plans, I'm sure we could get some take-out."
Hal crossed her arms. "Which someone?"
"Not that someone." Steve leaned around her to press the call button. As the doors opened, he stepped inside, claiming the elevator. If Hal wanted to leave, she'd be leaving with Captain America.
With a sigh, she crept in after him. "I'm trusting you, Rogers."
"I'm glad to hear that." To his credit, he actually did sound glad, and not in the sweetly patronizing way. "And my name is Steve."
"Really?" Hal looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I thought it was Steven."
"It's definitely Steve."
"How definite? Is it set in stone somewhere? Got a birth certificate?"
"Lots of stones have my name. Just not that one."
"How convenient."
"I've always thought so."
The chime rang again and the doors swept apart. Waiting on the other side was one Sam Wilson.
"Oh." Hal clapped her hands. Looked at Steve. Looked back at Sam. Bounced and clapped again. "This someone. Hi, Sam."
"Hi, Hal." Sam took half a step forward and spread his arms. "You good with hugs?"
"Not sure. Let's see." Moving quickly, Hal stepped into the ring of his arms and clasped her own around his middle. He carefully brought his hands to her shoulders and gave the gentlest of squeezes. His thoughts reached out to her as they embraced – warm, calm, welcoming. Hal couldn't resist a happy sigh. It was such a very nice change of pace. "This is good. Hugs are good."
The elevator doors tried to close, but Steve caught them before they could interrupt the moment. Hal giggled, half-muffled by Sam's shirt.
"Stark has a prudish elevator."
"PDA," Steve agreed. "Always a controversial issue."
Hal's stomach growled. She pulled away from the hug, snorting as Sam's eyebrows climbed.
"Is food a controversial issue? I'm happy to debate, but I'd prefer a full stomach."
Sam shrugged. "New York has some decent chow. It has nothing on D.C., though."
"I think you're alone in that opinion," Steve said, wiggling past his friend and out of the elevator.
Hal smiled reflexively, basking in the second-hand glow of their friendship. "And so the controversy begins. Food? Please?"
"How's the pizza around here?" Sam asked. The challenge in his voice was unmistakable.
"Oh, gods, yes, pizza. Please, please, pizza."
Steve shook his head, smiling. "As the lady demands."
They found an empty living area several levels below anything important, and Steve wandered off to "find a phone book" while Sam and Hal made themselves comfortable on opposing couches. It took Hal a moment to recognize the space. Not so long ago, she and Tony had made their arrangement here. A storm had been brewing. Hal had meant to take charge of her future. Jarvis had gone the first step of that journey with her.
A glance out the windows showed a brilliant, sunny day. Hal and Tony were odds again. Jarvis was gone.
But somewhere nearby, Captain America was ordering pizza. Sam Wilson sat across from her, even more at ease than he'd been on the phone. He knew what she could do, what she was. Somehow, he didn't seem to care. He worried for her. Not about her. It was another nice surprise. First Banner. Then Steve. Now Sam.
She'd gone so long without people she could consider friends. Now she'd confirmed three in one day. Maybe she should've stayed in New York to begin with.
If she had, could she have sensed Ultron before he destroyed Jarvis?
Toying the seam of a throw pillow, Hal instigated a conversation she wasn't sure she could finish. "Hey, you know how, a week ago, you asked if I had any friends?"
"Something like that, yeah." Sam, ever patient, waited for her to gather the courage to continue.
It didn't take long to find the right words, but it took a while to get them past the lump in her throat.
"Did I ever tell you about my friend Jarvis?"
Sam smiled. Slow. Sad. "I think I've met this friend. But I'm sure you knew him better. How about you tell me about him?"
She started cautiously, offering up excuses for her attachment to a computer program. Sam waved them off – each and every one. He'd heard stranger things, and everyone knew she wasn't the only one who had some kind of relationship with Jarvis. Gradually, Hal sank into the meat of their discussion, itemizing ways Jarvis helped her when she couldn't bring herself to let anyone else in. She didn't say that he was her authority on human interaction, but the flare of pity she caught from Sam proved she didn't need to. She really wished she hadn't caught that. Sam was good at understanding people, but he didn't consider Stark's butler as a sentient being.
He really didn't know Jarvis as well as she did.
But soon Steve came back, carting three large pizza boxes, and Hal let the subject slide.
Apparently, Steve gave up trying to order delivery the old fashioned way and just walked a few blocks to a hole-in-the wall pizzeria Pepper once recommended. Since he hadn't stopped to take actual orders, he'd brought back the classics: pepperoni, cheese, and –
"Tell me that's not a vegetable on my pizza," Sam said, pointing to the spots of green on the final pie.
Steve shrugged. "It could be my pizza. And I don't think basil really counts as a vegetable."
"More like aggressive seasoning," Hal agreed. "But I spy tomatoes in there, too. Not just the saucy kind. The might-actually-be-healthy for you kind."
Unrepentant, Steve fished through the living area's kitchen for plates. "Don't judge a book by its cover."
"Oh, I never do," Hal said, "but I think judging a pizza by its toppings is a separate issue."
"Suit yourself." Steve arranged a stack of plates before immediately filling one with a slice from each box. He presented the offering to Hal, all but daring her to turn down the slice of basil and tomato.
But Hal was really too hungry to be picky, and the vegetables didn't put her off so much as Sam. The pizza was hot, greasy, and tasted all the better for her accidental fast the day before. She wolfed down all three slices without comment, only stopping to wipe her mouth, smile, and ask for more when her plate was empty.
Laughing, Steve obliged, and soon the two men were back to bantering. They pulled Hal into the conversation once she'd finished stuffing her face (the men had the magic powers to somehow talk and eat at the same time).
Hal was more than happy to pretend, just for an hour or two, that everything was fine. Just fine. And maybe, in some ways, it really was.
.O.O.O.
Steve waltzed into the apartment a step ahead of Sam, still smiling after their positive visit with Hal. She was one of those odd spots in his life he wasn't sure whether he ought to feel guilty over. But he had no doubts when he sat in a room with her. As far as she was concerned, the only bad part of their strange friendship was the ghost of Steve and Sam's brief acquaintance with her past self. She didn't blame them for what she became. She didn't have any expectations. So long as they were there in that moment, and they were willing to stay in that moment with her, she seemed content. More than content. Steve dared think she might be happy, that their friendship meant something to her.
He turned the corner, and his spark of joy instantly went out under Bucky's dead-serious stare.
Sam sidled up behind Steve, absorbing the scene over his shoulder. "Hey, Barnes."
Ignoring the greeting, Bucky kept his eyes locked on Steve, and no one had any doubt who his words were for.
"She's is back in New York." No one needed clarification. "I want to see her."
"That might be tricky, pal," Steve said, taking a step into the room. Sam, probably worried about a fight breaking out, followed. "Hal's staying in the tower. We haven't really discussed it, but I get the idea Stark wouldn't be thrilled to have you visit."
"How'd you even know?" Sam asked. "Super secret spy stuff?"
Bucky transferred his deadpan stare to the Falcon. "She dreamed with me." And then back to Steve. "I don't care how Stark's kid feels about it. I need to see her."
As Sam choked on air, Steve switched to a different tactic. "Are you sure she wants to see you? I didn't get that impression. Even you seemed happy to stay away from her until now. What's changed?"
"Nothing." Bucky's mechanical hand whirred, betraying the fierce grip he'd taken on the arm of his chair. "Everything. This isn't – I didn't plan any of this, Steve. I don't like that she's helping the Widow and your Hawk friend. That path – it always pulls you deeper than you expect to go. And I was right. When I saw her in the dream, realized she was in New York, I knew something had gone wrong." His glare redoubled in fury, daring Steve to lie. "And it did, didn't it? Whatever life you claim she had, it's gone now."
Sam shifted, glancing between the two men cautiously. Steve held his ground. He met his friend's unspoken accusations head-on.
"She's tougher than you think, Buck. I wish you could see that. And if the course she chose didn't go as planned, I have faith that she'll find another road. Besides, you decided to go your own way. I don't think you get to have a say in her life choices anymore."
Bucky sucked in a quick breath, like Steve had slapped him. His eyes were bright and wounded. Steve winced.
Clearing his throat, Sam headed towards the kitchen. "I don't know about the Supermen, but I could really use a beer right about now. Would you guys like a beer? I'll get you a beer. Be right back. Don't… go anywhere… I guess." And with that graceful speech, he retreated to the kitchen.
With a sigh, Steve raked a hand through his hair and dropped into the chair adjacent to Bucky's.
"I'm going to see her, Steve," Bucky said. "I'll do it the nice way, through the front door and all, or I can climb in through one of those awful new skylights. I know Stark didn't plan them, and I bet his security is compromised."
Groaning, Steve scrubbed his face. "You really aren't giving me a choice, are you, buddy?"
"No."
A/N: Well look at that. I updated twice in one week. Technically, this chapter is two smaller chapters I decided to squish together (which explains that one awkward transition...). I'm coming to the end of my entirely together/pre-written stuff, so I shall need thy support! And, yes, I'm talking to you. No, no, not the cat (though all cats are, of course, welcome). I'm talking to you with the awesome face staring at the computer screen. Or the smart phone. Or even the dumb phone.
Speak to me.
Let's have a conversation.
Ask your questions.
I'll share my snark and unbridled use of exclamation points.
Replies to Anons:
b: Thanks so much for your review! While I'm sorry you're drained, I'm kinda proud that the writing had the power to inspire so much angst. As for Hal, don't worry. We've got some lovely stuff coming up. More Bucky? Your wish is my command... in a manner of speaking. Not sure about seeing from his POV, but he'll DEFINITELY be around. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Guest: Thank you for the review! More Bucky and Hal? Mwahahaha! Ehem, I mean, why, yes, I shall consider it. I may or may not be writing their next reunion scene right now. Ehem. Yes. Thanks again!
Guest: Thank you for your review! An update! As requested! I pretty much had the exact same thought process when writing Thor. Not only does he just have a bombastic personality, but he has so much in his head. As for Bucky/Hal angst... buckle up, my friend. Buckle. Up. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Guest: Thanks for the review! The feels! Wednesday is here! Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!