As promised, Thor had departed from the base several days after his arrival, intent on discovering the whereabouts of Bruce Banner. The god left with a simple pack, money and documents included to aid him in traveling between countries, and Jane and he were able to work up enough of a rapport for her to hand over some of the clothing she'd acquired for him over the last few years, tepid smiles exchanged with their farewells. With promises to alert the team if he found the wayward doctor, his last scheduled stop—the Avengers Tower, where Tony disclosed his theories about Bruce's possible residence under extreme security—left after a day or two. Much like the counterpart he was searching for, he disappeared, with no word coming from him one way or another. For his part, Steve wished him all the luck in the world. After a year and a half of few answers and disintegrating chances, he deserved to have something go right.

Still, his mission was his own, and he would see it through, one way or another. Until then, the team, and Steve could only proceed as usual. Their own missions and hard work were on the table, detains to make and the world to protect as ever.

Well, up to a point. Sometimes, there weren't any missions or reports to put in, and it freed up the schedule somewhat. A few weeks on, that was the case, and as far as Steve was concerned, he was wishing it was not so. Or, at least, he was wishing that the conversation that precipitated the dearth in his schedule had not gotten him into the strait he found himself in.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Holly had said a couple weeks back, trying her hardest to coax him into agreement. It had been several minutes since she'd first posed the idea, but he was no more inclined to it than he had been when she first broached the subject.

"It'll be cheesy, dear," Steve retorted, not even looking up from his sketchpad. Off of work for the day, and with Grant reclining in his bouncer at his feet, he had not expected the conversation to take the turn it had. However, he supposed it would be inevitable. After all, it was the beginning of October, and time was of the essence for the subject matter in question. Still, he really wasn't having any of it.

"So? That's the appeal," she replied, perching next to him on the couch. The television show she'd selected earlier was muted, her case needing to be made without additional distractions. Tapping his shoulder, she continued, "Besides, at least we'll be characters that you knew before going into the ice."

That time he did meet her gaze, his eyebrow inclining slightly. "Themed Halloween costumes, though?"

Tutting under her breath, she tilted her head and shrugged. "I could call Tony, have him pick for you again."

Steve's expression flattened significantly. "No, thank you."

She smirked a little at that. Never again would he surrender costume autonomy to Stark, and she'd banked on it.

"You can channel your inner Ray Bolger," she stated, tiptoeing her fingers up his arm, drawing his gaze away from the sketchpad again. Twitching the collar of his shirt to make it lie right, she professed easily, "I always did like the Scarecrow the best."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curling and drawing fully abandoned then.

"Yeah," she breathed, scooting closer to him. And she was being honest; she always thought the Scarecrow was the most interesting of the bunch, and had done since she'd first watched the movie, all those years ago. Poking Steve's arm, she could not help but guess, "And I bet you dug Dorothy, back in the day."

He looked away then, chewing the inside of his lip. "Hmm."

Spying the tinge of pink in his cheeks, she smiled broadly and laughed outright. "You so did! You totally liked Judy Garland, didn't you?"

Unable to deny it, he couldn't stop himself from shrugging.

"She was pretty, talented, and seemed sweet in her pictures. What wasn't to like?"

Clicking her tongue, Holly murmured, "Wow, Minnesota girls are right up your alley, huh?"

"Some of them are," he replied, looking at her with fondness lining his irises. For a long moment, they maintained their focus upon one another, neither relenting. Eventually, Steve deflated a little, canting his head and giving up the fight. "Fine, I'll do it."

With a joyful giggle, she wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a kiss in thanks and hugging him. Accepting her embrace, he shook his head and smirk. If it made her happy to dress up as she wanted, he supposed it would be no real hardship. It would only be for one evening, after all.

"Thank you," she murmured in his ear, another peck dropped on his cheek before she pulled away. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

Grant squawked in his seat then, demanding his parents' attention, his little fists thumping down as his seat rocked. Before Holly could slide off the couch and retrieve him, she was stopped by her husband's grip on her knee. Raising her eyebrows at him, he cleared his throat and pointed at her carefully.

"I'm holding you to that," he said calmly, watching the glimmer in her dark eyes grow even as she smirked and slid away, intent on retrieving the baby.

Which was why he found himself at his wife's mercy the Saturday prior to the holiday, sitting on the closed toilet of their bathroom and squirming under her scrutiny.

"Hold still," she scolded him lightly, tapping his shoulder with her free hand. Cupping his chin with the other, she tilted it up, getting more light on his face. Behind him, the lid of the tank was littered with make-up, both purchased for his costume she'd found and some of Holly's own mixed in. She didn't wear it often, but she had enough to work with that evening. Since she was the one who wanted to go whole-hog on the venture, he had rightfully (in his opinion) enlisted her aid in applying the necessary make-up for his part. For the most part, it was going decently, but she kept insisting on altering the drawn-on stitches or the shading on his nose every few moments. For not being particularly artistically inclined, she was certainly doing a decent job of it—when he could see around her into the mirror above the sinks. Reaching behind him, she fetched up the instruction sheet, peering at it for a few seconds and dropping it onto his lap for later reference. Grabbing up one of the tubes and an applicator, she squinted down at him, dabbing a little more of the makeup on. Having already endured the ordeal for the last several minutes, he was on his last legs of patience. Shrugging back a little, he blinked as she rolled her eyes. "Geez, you'd think that you'd have less trouble with the process, Mr. USO Tour."

That earned her a sour look, one of many that merely had her shaking her head and continuing with her work.

"Doing it every night did not mean I liked it," he pointed out, letting her blend the dab into the mass already accumulating on his nose. Granted, the stuff they were using right now was much lighter (and likely safer) on his face, but it wasn't exactly something he was itching to have spread all over his skin all the time. Especially when the foundation caked or flaked off. "Still don't."

"Really? Couldn't tell," she snarked back, overemphasizing the sarcastic tone. Snickering to herself, she tucked her lips between her teeth as she made another swipe at his face. She was trying to get the nose the right shade without going too dark, and it did require some concentration. Sighing, she continued, "That's too bad. Because if you think about it, it's like art for your face."

"Huh," Steve muttered, some of the irritation bleeding away as he considered the point. Tapping a thumb against his jeans, he stated, "Maybe if I thought of it that way, it would've gone a lot smoother back in the day."

Holly chuckled a little at that. "What did you think of it as?"

"Face and eye torture," he deadpanned, closing his eyes just as she aimed the setting spray at him. Flinching with each spritz, he relaxed when he heard it being set down. Opening his eyes, he narrowed in on the pencil in Holly's hand. Her dark eyes seemed to gleam mischievously as she held up the eyeliner, waving it back and forth. A frown came to his lips, and he canted his head in denial. "No, none of that. I just wanted a little help."

Her playful smirk only grew, and she edged forward just a bit. It was enough for his hand to shoot out, catching her wrist to stop her. The other rose, his finger extending and shaking.

"Put any more on me, and I promise I will find a way to pay you back in full."

"Okay, okay," she responded, tucking the tool behind her ear at that moment and raising her palms in surrender. Stepping out of the way, she let him take a look at her handiwork in the mirror. All told, she hadn't done a bad job; granted, she was not on a par with the ladies who had helped him out on his tour and with the small films he'd been in, but the effort was clear. Darkened nose, false stitches drawn along his cheek and above his eye, and the corners of his mouth had the sewn look penciled in. Definitely not bad, he mused silently. Glancing up at Holly's concerned look, he hooked her a thumbs-up in the mirror, his approval evident. Dipping her chin and smiling, she took up the eyeliner again, gesturing at him with it. "Well, just because you're having none of it, doesn't mean I'm not."

Flapping her hands, she shooed him out of the bathroom, imploring him to see to the set-up downstairs for a little while. Giving her the space to get ready, he did as she asked. Instead of attending the major bash that was put on for the agents at the base, the top brass elected to go to their own small gathering, to be hosted at the commander's house. It was a decision they took in stride, and in all honesty, Holly fell into it with gusto. She was all for a private, small gathering with friends, as opposed to the big blow-outs that happened on Stark's dime, and was eager to get started. A couple of times, he'd caught her eyeing up themed items on her phone or computer, his opinion asked when she realized he'd discovered her searches. The end result reflected that enthusiasm, with fake webbing in the corners, orange and black streamers strewn about, and themed knick-knacks decking out the bookcases. The record player had a stack of discount records she'd ordered, ready to be changed in and out for the evening, electronic candles also around the room ready to be turned on.

Passing through to the kitchen, he checked over the list of things yet to do before the others showed up. It appeared that food placement needed to happen, and the cooler of chilling drinks should be brought in from the garage. Taking care of all of that, he peered at his watch, forty-five minutes left until showtime. Chewing his lip, he made his way through the lower levels of the house once more, setting things to rights or artfully moving things out of sight (closing the new curtain that covered the laundry area definitely had to happen, what with the load that still had yet to be washed down there). Soon enough, he was treading back up to the bedroom, now devoid of his wife's presence. His costume was spread out on the bed for him, and he blew a sigh out of his nose as he meandered over to put it on. The patched trousers and shirt weren't all that difficult to shrug on, careful as he had to be of the make-up on his face. No, he struggled with the headpiece, trying to get it to sit straight and not mar anything else. As well as that, the attached hat seemed to have a mind of its own, but he eventually got it to sit right. The fake straw was tucked in on the flap in front of his stomach, at the wrists and the tops of his boots—he outright refused to wear the ones provided, claiming that if he was going to be stuck in the costume, he'd at least be stuck in footwear that fit him properly. Checking the full effect in the mirror, he snickered at his appearance. He thought he looked too imposing to be taken seriously as the Scarecrow, but it was what it was. He'd make the best of it, and with that resolution in mind, he went off to find Holly and Grant.

The nursery door was open, giving away their location easily as her voice drifted out of it. Striding up to the jamb, he froze in the doorway, his bright gaze trailing over her get-up. Occupied with their son, she didn't notice him at first, which afforded him a few moments to get his fill of staring. Her own make-up was less intense than his, from what he could see, and her braids were tied off with binders in place of ribbons, but he still liked the effect. Instead of getting a knock-off pinafore and shoes combination like he'd seen advertised on the costuming websites, she'd gone through a different channel. Her dress was an actual dress, made from good material and definitely lacking in puffy sleeves. The skirt ended just above the knees, wherein white stockings extended down into the silver shoes she'd had to wear for Sarah's wedding. That was what he couldn't look away from, even when she finally noticed him standing there, her cheeks pinking and a giggle tearing out of her. After clearing her throat, she eventually jarred him out of his reverie, a sheepish grin on his lips.

"Nicely done, Miss Gale," he complimented her, eyes still lingering on her legs for a few moments.

"Same to you, Scarecrow," she returned, coming up and twitching the fringes of the headpiece. After adjusting it to lie right, she grinned up at him again, her red-painted lips all the more enticing. Before he could even think to act on the thrum that rushed through his veins, she turned back to the crib, picking up Grant and showing him off to his father. "Look at our little Cowardly Lion. Isn't he adorable?"

That, he could not disagree with; the little lion costume she found for the baby was precious. With his little face peeping out from where the mouth should have been, the entirety of it looked more stuffed-animal like than anything from the film. And that was perfectly alright in his book.

Taking their boy from her, Steve grinned. "That he is. Well, at least we make up some of the outfit. Too bad we couldn't find a Tin Man, huh?"

Fixing the tail on her son's costume, she darted a fast look to her husband. "Who says I didn't?"

The impishness in her tone nagged at him, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"...What did you do?" he asked after a couple of seconds. The corners of her mouth turned up, and the flush in her face deepened, but she did not say a word. Running through the possibilities in his own mind, he stuttered, "Who...no."

The smile broadened, and mischief streaked through her irises. "Oh, yes."

"There's no way he agreed to it," he refuted, quirking his brow at her.

She shrugged, tugging on the end of one of her braids. "I may have had some help. Whether it comes from the good witch or the bad witch remains to be seen. Natasha was still making her choice, last time we discussed it."

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling exhaling sharply as he bounced the baby in his arms.

"It's a good thing we're having a party here this year," he grumbled aloud, imagining just how it would look. Scoffing to himself, he mumbled, "I think Bucky would actually explode if he had to parade around the base like that."

"Hey, I can be merciful."

Steve was unsure how true that could be, once everyone began to arrive for the party several minutes later. Eyebrows rose high as he realized, as each member of his team filed in, that the theme extended beyond all that Holly had mentioned. It had seemed that they all had joined in with her suggestion, following orders as they had been given. Sam filed in with Kay, the couple enlisted to dress as the aunt and uncle of the heroine in gingham and farmer drab. Scott looked proud in his suit, an emerald green pin attached to his lapel proclaiming him as the titular wizard. Maria, having taken the evening off, arrived as a nondescript Munchkin, refusing to represent any particular guilds or leagues. Holly's coworker Todd (who appeared to be pleased as punch to have merited an invite) was a citizen of Oz, decked and green and playfully salute the Wizard as he joined them all. As it turned out, Natasha had chosen to be the Good Witch of the North, and like Holly, she had chosen to moderately update her costume to be less frilly—the low cut at the front of the pink gown was definitely one. Sadly, Tony, Rhodey, and Thor were unable to attend, but warm wishes were sent in their absence (though Stark had offered to highjack the drone assigned to the baby and make it whirl like a bastardized twister). And, true to the commander's conjectures, Bucky entered the house, silver paint smeared over his face, his own metal arm exposed and matching the rest of his body swathed in glinting silver fabric. The spout on his head was slightly tilted, and the grimace on his face seemed to be permanently etched there.

Accepting a beer from his friend once he came into the kitchen, Bucky grumbled, "I'm sorry, Steve, but after today, I don't know if we can be friends anymore."

"Yes, this is what derails a ninety-year friendship: Halloween costumes," Sam chortled into his cup, adjusting his hat and counting his blessings. Being the uncle appeared to have its perks, despite having to wear overalls. The other two men halfheartedly glared at him, before Steve blew out a snort.

"Don't look at me, we're in the same boat here," he said, gesturing to his own costume. He had hardly come away unscathed himself; his face alone was a testament to that. Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, back in the direction his wife and Natasha had gone, he muttered, "I didn't have a clue that those two were working together on this."

It was Bucky's turn to snort. "Well, that's not surprising. You've never really had a clue when it comes to women."

The blond man inclined an eyebrow. "Had enough of one to manage getting married without any outside help, thank you."

"I maintain that was pure, dumb luck on your part." Bucky's lips quirked into a smirk, and Scott snorted into his cup to hide his laughter as he joined them.

"Hear, hear," Sam concurred, raising his cup and encouraging the others to join him in the mocking toast. Steve, of course, was not amused, his eyes rolling as he shook his head.

"Meanwhile, I never thought I'd ever see Natasha in a pink ballgown," Wilson pointed out, tipping his head back. "Didn't think she could pull that off."

"Better not let her hear you say that," Scott said as he grabbed a cup of punch from the cauldron. Rubbing at the center of his chest, he winced. "She's been practicing with that wand."

Bucky glanced over to the arch that led into the living room, a warm glint in his eye. "Yeah, it looks alright."

A loud scoff coursed out of the commander's mouth, the captain raising an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, please. You liked Glinda, even back then," Steve said, spilling that little tidbit of the past. As Bucky opened his mouth, he jumped in again, refusing to let him deny it. "I caught you eyeing her up when we saw it in the theater, don't even pretend."

Barnes raised his chin. "Two words for you: Billie Burke. I don't think any other explanation is needed. Besides, it's not like it mattered to you anyway, what with you practically drooling whenever Garland was onscreen."

"Shut up," was the apt retort, the other guys snickering around their cups and bottles. Pondering what was revealed for a few moments, Scott cleared his throat.

"Hey, did you ever meet her when you were filming your pictures?" he wondered, curious glances coasting over Rogers. A flush of red crawled up the blond man's neck, and he immediately shook his head.

"No, thank God. I was already embarrassed enough that I had to fake-jog in front of a moving screen all day; it would've been worse if I'd crossed paths with her afterward."

Barnes and Wilson shared a glance, before the Falcon piped up, "By the way, you think this is bad, wait 'til you see who got drafted into being—"

"The Wicked Witch? I already know: it's Wanda," Steve said, a marked lack of humor in his voice. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he went on, "She enjoys playing off her codename far too much."

Sam's gaze trailed away from him, fixing on the arch leading to the rest of the house."Actually, I was going to say the flying monkey."

Frowning, Steve turned and followed his gaze, his eyes widening and a look of shock decorating his features

"Oh, Jesus," he groaned in sympathy for the android, watching as the creature visibly squirmed and tugged at the collar of his get-up.

Bucky could barely hold in the laughter, and Scott was doubled over on the other side of the counter. "Bet the Vision regrets making a move on her now."

Wanda, all done up in green paint and black dress, whispered something into the Vision's ear, patting him once on the shoulder before disappearing again. The creature let out a deep sigh as he caught the others' stunned looks, his hands tugging at the apparatus strapped to his body.

"Is this what humiliation feels like?" the android wondered, staggering up to the men ringing around the punch cauldron. Glancing down at himself, at the embroidered vest and straps holding up the tail and wings, he grimaced. "Because I'm certain this is what it looks like."

"Depends," Bucky said, scratching at the paint along the curve of his jaw. "Do you wish that a hole would open up in the ground and swallow you right about now?"

The android blinked. "Yes."

"Then yes," was the chorus given around. The Vision nodded at that, his electric blue eyes snapping over to the commander. They narrowed into an actual glare, and Steve merely raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I swear, I thought it was just going to be Holly, the baby, and I," he said, absolutely truthful. He flicked his gaze over to the other participants of the party, from Sam to Bucky all the way across the room. Unbeknownst to him, the theme his wife had begged him to indulge in had become a party-wide thing, aided by the most duplicitous member of the team and done so carefully that he was not alerted until it was too late. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I didn't know it would come to this."

"Conspiracies abound, Commander," the creature stated obviously, emphasizing each word so that he would never forget them. "Some right within your own home."

Taking in his surroundings, the attire he and his friends all sported, he nodded sagely. "Well, I definitely know better for the future."

All of them commiserated with that, and with drinks in hand, they moved off to join the others in the living room. Maria was being introduced to the baby for the first time, a genuine smile stretching her mouth. Holly hovered at the edge as Wanda and Todd encircled them, sharing a look with Nat and chuckling under her breath.

"At least the Lion looks like he's having a good time," Barnes said, nudging Steve with his elbow.

"'Course he is, the little ham," he retorted, taking another swallow of his drink. Grant, even though he was just over three months old, was already soaking in all the attention that was paid to him. The little guy had no problem being passed from person to person, his brightening gaze always wide and his contented hums turning into pleased gurgles.

"That kid's gonna be trouble when he's older. In a good way," Bucky commented lightly, his grin becoming a little more genuine as the costumed baby was handed over from Maria to Auntie Nat. The Good Witch hoisted the three-month-old a little higher, her free hand dropping away so that her wand would not jab him. Little hands tugged at her locks, and the tiny smile he gave her went a long way to soothe any pain or irritation his grip was causing her. Shooting Steve a sideways glance, he smirked. "Wonder who he got that from?"

The commander rolled his eyes, before affixing his son with a fond look. "He's just naturally gifted, I suppose. Either way, I think we'll be able to keep him in line."

That promise for the future made, they stepped into the room. Music churned on the record player as the hours went by, the center of the room cleared for anybody who wanted to dance along. The baby was shuffled from one person to the next, sharing a dance with his mother before Uncle Bucky snatched him up, letting the kid tug on the hair that had come loose beneath the spout. Food and drink were indulged in, the atmosphere so relaxed in comparison to the typical nine-to-five chaos they seemingly endured (exceptions were obvious, with Holly and Todd concurring that filing data and transcripts was less intense that fieldwork). With another holiday free for them to take part in, the others were glad for the chance to simply be, and not be on display as well. Dusk had transformed into night just as the first snuffling crows came from the Cowardly Lion, less fear and more discomfort in his voice as the seconds ticked by.

"Okay, grumpy lion, we'll get you changed and into bed. Sound good?" Holly told the little guy, Grant's eyes falling shut even as he frowned. Rubbing his back, she brought him upstairs swiftly, shooting fast farewells to the last attendees. Given the passage of hours, with ten o'clock hovering ever-closer to eleven, the others took it as their cue to prepare to leave. With thanks traded and promises to be safe for the remainder of the night, Steve saw them all off, his mind already drifting in the direction his wife had gone. Performing the final lock-up and security checks for the night, he eventually made his way upstairs, just in time to kiss Grant good-night. With their son abed with little fuss, the married couple tiptoed silently down the hall, adjourning to their own room. At once, he disembarked for the en-suite bathroom, pulling off the headpiece and letting it drop as he went. She followed him in, going straight to her sink and fetching up make-up remover wipes from the drawers. Split between them, they began to scrub their faces clean.

"So, all in all, the night wasn't so bad, I think," Steve told Holly once the last of the drawn stitches had been swiped away. A triumphant gleam entered her eye, and she tapped him on the shoulder.

"I told you the themed costumes would be a good idea."

Her husband canted his head at that, a teasing lilt to his gaze. "Dunno. Still not entirely sold. Especially since I had to work to get all this off my face."

Holding up one of his dirtied wipes before dropping it in the trash, he showed her the extensive markings and smudges lacing it. Tilting her head to the left, she cupped a hand in the air.

"Be glad you weren't the Tin Man. Or the Wicked Witch, come to think of it," she said, the final bits of eye make-up cleared away. Her own wipes joined his, and she sighed. "Poor Wanda, all that green paint..."

Steve snorted audibly, shucking his shirt. "At least her green can come off, unlike others."

"Right," Holly muttered, bending to remove the silver shoes. Grateful as she was to get a second use out of them after Sarah's wedding, it was past time to take them off. From her vantage point, she glanced over at her husband, the swift glide of his gaze over her form making heat spread through her. It had been present throughout the evening, a warm undercurrent beneath the camaraderie and enjoyment. Smirking to herself, she slowly rose from her bend, pausing to twitch at the material on one of her stockings. Blue eyes narrowed in on her fingers, his progress in removing his own costume halted as she did so. Swinging up fully, she caught him darting his gaze away, private smiles on both their mouths even as he shucked the boots and pants. Traipsing over to the counter between their sinks, she hopped up onto it, swinging her legs as she untangled her braids.

"Want to hear something kinda cool?" she asked him, keeping her tone deliberately smooth. Off his confused nod, she continued, "There was a cut storyline for the movie that was rediscovered awhile ago. That Dorothy and Hunk were supposed to have a sort of romance, and the undertones were supposed to carry into Oz with the Scarecrow."

Steve hummed, tapping a thumb along the basin of his sink. "Well, that would explain why she says she'll miss him most of all at the end."

"And in the extended version of, 'If I Only Had A Brain' when he sang that perhaps he'd deserve her and be worthy of her," she included, to which his befuddlement became all the more apparent.

"What?" Realizing he'd never seen the extended scene, she quickly retrieved her phone from the pocket of her dress, pulling it up to show him. The bootlegged video, complete with Ray Bolger's vaudeville-inspired dancing and acrobatics, made him chuckle, and he shrugged when it ended. "Makes a lot more sense now."

Her concurrent nod was lost when his focused wandered again, back to her legs. Arching her eyebrows, she was about to speak when he cut her off.

"Surprised you went with the silver shoes," he said, dipping his chin to where they were resting on the floor. She inclined her head, picking at the hem of the dress.

"Thought I'd mix in some of the book canon, make it a little different."

"Nice touch," he replied, eyes drawing up again. Taking a few steps closer, he reached out, a finger trailing over her covered knee and shivers blooming in its wake. His baritone was pitched lower as he asked next, "What version did you pull the stockings from?"

Her smile took on a lusty air as she took his hand, tugging him to stand in the V of her legs.

"The version that says my Scarecrow really, really likes when I wear them," she told him, her knee rising and grazing his thigh as it went. A palm curled around it, hitching to sit around his waist, the other joining it soon after. The heat between them rose as he leaned nearer to her, sparks ignited from the smoldering coals of intimacy.

"Yeah, he does," he said, the words ghosting over her lips. Her arms linked around his shoulders then, pulling him in. His mouth claimed hers, innocence abandoned in the wake of desire. A slow swipe at the bottom lip, opening, and the tastes of one another were traded. Touches along bare skin drove them on, each reaching for more as they became nearly inseparable. All evening, he'd had his eye on her, and all evening, she'd been wanting him just as terribly. After three months of chaste actions, of striving towards repair of her body and finding balance as parents, they could not help but turn back to what they had together. A few times, they had reached, but had pulled back at the last moment. Now, now, it seemed that they could press on. Sensing this, Steve had to be certain before pressing his case.

"Are you sure?" he breathed, bracing his forehead against hers as he inhaled sharply. He wanted this, wanted her, so badly. However, he also knew that she might not truly want it, not with the pain and the healing freshly behind her. Swallowing hard, he murmured, "Because if you're not, we don't have to—"

The stocking-clad legs around his waist tightened, cutting off his words as she kept him close. Stopping was not on Holly's agenda, had never been since initiating the encounter. Three months had passed without the touch of her husband—all for good reason, of course. However, those reasons were no longer applicable to the situation, and she was of no mind to let it end there. Squeezing her thighs, her own moan mingled with his, palms coasting over his chest and up to cradle his head.

"Yes, yes," she whispered, a wolfish smile growing on his lips in an instant. Strong arms hoisted her off of the counter, carrying her into the bedroom and extending their own private party into the early hours.

xXxXxXx

Eyelids snapped open, blinking against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, and Steve realized it was morning. More to the point, it was morning, he didn't have a stitch of clothing on, and he had overslept. Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand confirmed it, and he let out a sigh. He couldn't be terribly bothered by it. Not when he remembered exactly what had happened to make him sleep so late. A goofy grin blossomed on his lips and another sigh, one of immense satisfaction, spilled out of his nose. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he let his arms fall, thumping against the mattress. Holly's voice floated up through the floorboards, the little hums and snatches of conversation she had with Grant as she fed him mingling with the click of the heat flowing through the vents. Grinning to himself, he sat up, the sheets wrapped haphazardly around him falling down to his waist. Looking over the sides of the bed to the strewn articles of clothing on the floor, his grin turned a touch more feral as he recalled exactly how each had gotten to their current position. Particularly the stockings that were dropped on either side, rumpled and well-worn. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled off the sheets, making his way over to the dresser and sliding into clean sweatpants.

Making his way downstairs, he passed the leftover debris that were the Halloween decorations. Some pieces of the webbing were starting to come off the walls, as well as the leftover streamers. It barely registered in his mind as he went into the kitchen. What did register was the sight of his wife bottle-feeding Grant, her red flannel shirt swathed around her frame and her brown eyes flicking up as he entered the room. A small, pleased smile came to her lips, though she continued to feed the little guy. Steve's mouth curled up as he wandered over to the coffee maker, the carafe full and steaming. Pulling down two mugs, he assembled both their cups as she cooed to the baby, telling him how good he was during the party and speculating how the day was going to go. Finishing with his task, he joined them at the table, pulling a chair over so that he could sit next to his family. Resting his arm along the back of her chair, he took a sip of the coffee, catching the baby staring at him and admonishing him for his caffeine envy. ("He gets that from you," he accused Holly, who only rolled her eyes and drank from her own cup, refusing to comment.) With Grant finishing his bottle, his mother adjourned to the living room, to the playpen set up there. Steve's eyes slipped over her as she walked away, over the curtain of her hair falling loose and the red flannel she was sporting, a contented hum blown out his mouth as he sank back against his chair. Soon enough, she was returning, a shoulder resting against the wall as she looked at him. Her dark eyes reflected humor and something deeper as she dug into the breast pocket of the flannel. Fishing out her cell phone, she waved it in the air a little.

"Want to take a look at the photographic evidence, see if there's any outstanding moments from last night?" she asked him, sidling back to the table. His palm came up, sliding along her waist and heating through the thin material. Nodding down to the opened gallery app on the phone, she proffered it to him. "I was thinking that one or two could probably be used for the Christmas card this year."

Taking the phone from her, he smirked. "Well, it is just around the corner. We better take a look."

Grinning, she dropped back into her seat beside him, starting the show. One by one, they scrolled, with Holly pointing out one thing or another. Scott feigned fear in one as Wanda wagged a finger at him, and another had caught the Tin Man sneaking a kiss with the Good Witch of the North in the background as the Flying Monkey cast an flat look at the camera. The blackmail material was rampant, but it was all in good fun, and they both sported delighted grins at the group shot of the entire outfit, Grant held in the center by his parents, the rest of the family surrounding them. Once the last picture was looked over, Steve chanced a glance at Holly, clearing his throat.

"Maybe we should do themed costumes again next year," he ventured, his tone nonchalant. Meeting his eye, she let a slow smile bloom over her lips.

"I wouldn't be opposed," she remarked lightly, placing her phone on the table and shifting in her seat. A little grunt came out of her then, the soreness she'd been ignoring having gotten the better of her in that moment. Blue eyes darkened a fraction as he watched her, and pleasure welled up inside him when she shot him a wink. Waiting until she'd gotten comfortable in the chair, he announced that he would get a start on some breakfast for the two of them and got up. As he passed behind her, he paused, bending so that he could whisper directly into her ear.

"By the way, it was worth it," he told her, tucking back a strand of her hair and kissing her cheek. A stray shiver wracked her as he did so, and he could not help but smirk. A sense of victory hovered in the air, both of them savoring it as he kissed her again, breakfast being delayed for several minutes more after that.


A/N: Halloween fluff, y'all. Couldn't resist. Can't you just picture them in Wizard of Oz-themed stuff? I can, haha! Also, a little shorter this time around, hope that's alright...

There really was a deleted story-line of Hunk and Dorothy having a romantic arc in the plot of the movie, and there really is an extended version of 'If I Only Had a Brain.' I recommend giving it a watch; I absolutely adore Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow, and he just shines there.

I managed to make it on time, everyone! Whoo! Also, met my baby nephew. Little guy is adorable, and he totally loves his mama (my sister). Such a sweetheart...

Next chapter we jump to November...should be interesting, I think. And if you want to know what happened with Steve and Holly's party of two in this chapter...head on over to my AO3. There's a one-shot entitled, "Boudoir Commando" that outlines that there. Only read if you're of proper age/maturity/etc.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references made in the text (The Wizard of Oz, etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

EDIT: Did a new post for my Livejournal, with pics that inspired some looks for previous chapters as well as this one! It can be found under the name "phantomproducer", and it's the most recent entry. Check it out if you feel so inclined...