A/N: *waves excitedly* aaaaaaaaannnddd it's Thursday again! I can't believe I've actually stuck to this Thursday schedule for ten chapters lol and ALSO I can't believe this story broke 300 reviews at only 9 chapters! I LOVE YOU GUYS. I say it every week but I really REALLY mean it, and your feedback makes my whole week. It really does, and you're all so sweet I just want to hug each of you. And give you all cookies. LOL :D
SO, we've got a doozy of a chapter ahead, and I'm excited :) stuff is happening, guys, and I've got a lot more up my sleeve along with midnightwings96. Our sleeves are chock full of tricks, trust me :-) in the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and I look forward to your feedback! See you guys next week! :D
"Aren't you going to ask me how my date went?"
Bucky suppressed a groan and checked his watch, sitting on his motorcycle at the dead of night and quietly responding to the woman sitting behind him, "Wasn't planning on it."
"Oh come on," Natasha teased. "I haven't been on an actual date in years. You must be curious how it went."
"Not really," Bucky insisted, keeping his eyes trained forward.
"Is it because you disapprove of me dating a SHIELD agent?" she asked.
"... Well, that is stupid, but no," Bucky shrugged.
"Your best friend is a SHIELD agent," she pointed out dryly. "Is that also stupid?"
"No, because I've known Steve since I was five," he replied. "You've known Chris less than a month."
"Clint. His name is Clint," she sighed. "And he's cute. He took me to a very nice Italian place uptown, was the perfect gentleman. Didn't even try to get in my pants at the end of the night."
"How noble," Bucky deadpanned.
"You know, you were a lot more fun to talk to back when we were sleeping together," she noted. "Maybe you should ask your wife out on a date. You could both stand to relieve some tension."
Blinking a few times, he furrowed his brows and glanced back her over his shoulder. "What?"
"Seriously, aren't you getting sick of having just your hand to play with?" she asked nonchalantly. "I know I was."
Fighting a faint blush threatening to rise to his cheeks, Bucky looked away and tried his best not to think about the woman who'd been haunting his thoughts during such... activities, but it was useless. Each time he swore it would be the last, but in the end he would always wind up giving in and picturing his wife in one filthy scenario or another. Looking her in the eyes these days was a bitch.
"I'm fine," he lied, "but thanks for your concern."
"You're full of shit," she noted.
Before he could reply, a voice told them both through the comm units in their ears that the team was in position. He wasted no time in turning on the engine and flipping on the light, Natasha holding on to him as he drove them out of the alley they'd been parked in and towards a warehouse a few blocks down. He had bigger things to worry about tonight than his depressingly deep levels of sexual frustration and the still-awkward relationship, or lack thereof, with his wife.
Tonight had been a long time coming, and if all went well, it would be an incredibly important step in his plan for vengeance. After weeks of anticipation, a window of opportunity had finally arrived and he was ready to apprehend a man who would be instrumental in reaching his real target.
Deep in the bowels of Hell's Kitchen, Bucky parked the bike behind an old, empty building and then silently made his way to the warehouse in question with Natasha at his side. They'd been casing the place for weeks, and Bucky's men had confirmed that it was something of a base of operations for the Triad's drug trade. And tonight, the man who personally oversaw that division of their operations would be there. And he was Bucky's ticket to his true ultimate target.
Once they were in position, Bucky and Natasha slipped inside the warehouse first, through a window after the alarms had been disabled. Others were stationed outside and on the roof, and six men slipped in through other entrances. They each cleared every side of the building and worked their way to the middle, where they then met and continued down to the basement, where the target should be.
But the lack of guards as of yet left Bucky slightly unnerved. They should have at least encountered a few, but so far there had been absolutely nothing. Taking point with Natasha behind him, Bucky quietly opened the door to a stairway that led to the basement, rifle at the ready as he took each step one at a time.
Then, once they rounded the last corner and reached the ground, they opened a pair of doors to find the vast workspace completely empty. Bucky furrowed his brows but didn't lower his gun, looking around at the rundown lab and blinking in surprise to find it all utterly desolate.
"Well," Natasha said, taking his left side, "this is anti-climactic."
"... The lead was supposed to be solid," Bucky said in disbelief. "This isn't right."
"I'm sorry," she said with genuine sympathy. "I know you wanted this guy."
But Bucky couldn't accept defeat so quickly. He scanned the room, checking every last crevice just in case, but he found nothing. He scanned all the tables, all the equipment, until he reached a desktop computer that was turned on but hibernating. Angrily, he reached out and jabbed at the spacebar and watched the screen flicker to life.
What stared back at him nearly made him sway on his feet. It was a scanned photo of two side by side obituaries dating back to 1991. George and Winifred Barnes, survived only by their son James, killed on the same night in their own home and soon to be buried side by side at a Brooklyn cemetery.
Natasha saw Bucky's face go white as he stared at the screen. She approached him carefully, quietly asking, "What is it?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but the words never came out. Suddenly there was searing hot pain burning through his right shoulder, and he let out a cry of shock before swiftly turning around and coming face to face with the masked man who'd just shot him. Then all hell broke loose.
They came out of nowhere, a seemingly endless barrage of armed Triad fighters who seemed to materialize from the very walls themselves to ambush the rival mobsters in their midst. Bucky left no less than ten bullets in the chest of the man who'd shot him, and once he ran out of ammo after killing three more he pulled a knife from his boot and proceeded to viciously kill every other man he could get his hands on.
Natasha took out nearly half of the men on her own, with a combination of her guns and her rather literal killer thighs. Their team took care of the rest, though two Bratva men were killed in the chaos and a third badly injured. Bucky had just finished slitting the throat of one man and had let his body crumple to the floor when he spun around to find a pistol staring back at him, aimed squarely between his eyes by the last Triad man left standing.
He stared back at the masked man without a trace of fear in his eyes, almost daring him to pull the trigger. Then a deafening crack of a gunshot struck the air, and a bleeding hole erupted at the center of the man's forehead before he fell lifelessly to the floor, revealing Natasha standing behind him with a smoking gun in her hand.
"You're welcome," she grinned at Bucky, looking no worse for wear herself despite the attack they'd just endured.
"Thanks," Bucky muttered back, surveying the numerous dead bodies in their midst. He approached his own two fallen soldiers and clenched his fists, blistering anger rising up in his throat. They had been two of his better men, more skilled than most and the most reliable. One was married. The other had a family who had been in the Bratva for three generations.
His shoulder bleeding and staining the black leather of his jacket, Bucky instructed his remaining men to take the bodies and treat them with respect, get them in car and cover them before returning to clean the mess. Then he picked up a half-loaded gun from the floor and walked back to that damn computer, still taunting him with the images of his long-dead parents.
"They knew we were coming," Natasha said, following him. "And why."
"Somebody sold us out," Bucky muttered back, the mere idea of such a thing making his blood utterly boil.
"Who would commit suicide like that?" Natasha wondered aloud, and Bucky shook his head.
Later on, he'd have to pay a visit to the woman who'd unknowingly been made a widow tonight and tell her of her husband's fate. Then he'd go and see the parents of the other man who'd been killed, because while these men had known the risks of working so intimately with the Bratva and specifically with its Captain, they hadn't deserved such sudden, pointless deaths. He always showed the utmost respect to the families of the men he'd lost over the years, personally notifying the family members even though he utterly hated having to do it.
But for now, he was fucking pissed and one thought stayed at the forefront of his mind. "I don't know," he finally replied, "but when I find out who it was, I'm gonna rip their fucking head off."
He then raised the gun and shot the computer screen, shattering it and leaving a message for whomever would find it later. These fuckers were taunting him now - cruelly and personally - but he wouldn't let this setback affect his overall mission. He'd stay focused on his primary objectives and he wouldn't rest until the people he was after we're all dead in the ground, right alongside whomever had tipped the Triad off.
Five days later
"Now be honest with me," Bruce said, leaning back in his comfy armchair and taking off his glasses. "How are you doing?"
Summer hesitated, shifting a bit in her own seat and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well... uh... you mean in terms of..."
"... Everything," Bruce nodded. "But especially with respect to the attack."
She blew out a breath and tried to briefly change the subject, knowing it wouldn't stick but figuring it was worth a try anyway. "Can I ask you a question? What kind of doctor are you? Like, you patch everyone up and do exams but you're also kind of the family therapist?"
He chuckled. "I guess I'm kind of a jack of all trades. I actually specialize in biochemistry - I'm a scientist, not really a traditional doctor - but after I... retired early, I took on my current role. Which is much better than what I was doing," he chuckled. "I like my job now. A lot less stressful. I don't do so well with stress."
Summer nodded, definitely relating to that sentiment. "Yeah, stress really sucks. Like, I thought college was stressful, and it was, but... this is all obviously a whole other animal."
Bruce nodded understandingly. "Things at the office going well?"
She took a deep breath. "Yeah... yeah, I think so. I mean, I've had a few blunders but nothing too horrible. Everyone's been pretty nice to me, except for a few old men around the office but that's to be expected, I guess. Aemilia's been amazing since day one. She's probably the main reason why I haven't lost my mind yet."
Bruce smiled. "You do seem to have a good support system. That's an invaluable thing to have. How's your anxiety?"
Summer inwardly cringed a little. "Well... when I'm too busy to focus on it, not too bad. But if I have a quiet few days or not much to do, then it kind of creeps up on me."
"Any panic attacks?"
She paused, several recent incidents coming to mind. She focused on the worst. "Um... well, actually, at work the other day, there was this... guy. Maintenance staff. Janitor, I guess. And I kept seeing him everywhere I went that day. At first I didn't think anything of it, but then I started kind of worrying a little because he was looking at me weird and... yeah. So after lunch I was on my way to the bathroom, and he was walking behind me. I started freaking out and in my head I was flashing back to Rumlow because that happened at a bathroom too, and then the guy called after me and I just kind of... lost it."
"What happened?" Bruce asked gently.
"I uh... I maced him," she admitted with shame, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. "It turned out that he called after me because he'd just cleaned the bathroom and didn't put a wet floor sign up yet. He was carrying it over and trying to tell me to be careful."
"Okay," Bruce nodded, thankfully not judging her for her gut reaction. "Was he okay?"
"Yeah, eventually," she nodded. "I apologized like five hundred times and got some medics to come and check him out, flush out his eyes and everything. Then I had to get him to sign something swearing he wouldn't press assault charges against me, which was horrible because he was actually really nice about it all once I explained why I flew off the handle."
"Well that's good," Bruce replied. "Mace isn't fun but it's a relatively minor thing. Much better to do that than to cause actual injury."
"Yeah, I just... I was on autopilot," she said, recalling that strange, almost out of body moment. "I didn't even realize that I'd pushed the button. I meant to just threaten him, but all I could think was Oh God, it's gonna be Rumlow all over again." She frowned and then added, "So yeah, I guess I could be doing better."
"Well, we could all be doing better," Bruce replied with a wry smile. "It's about doing the best you can and making the best decisions that you can. And that's not always easy, I know, especially when you're still dealing with something traumatic."
She nodded and then admitted, "Sometimes I still feel so stupid for letting it bother me so much when there's literally countless women who are actually raped every day, and I wasn't. I had people there to come and stop him and help me, and most women don't have that. I should be over it by now, but I'm not and -"
"Let me stop you right there," he said, leaning forward a bit and pausing as he gathered his words. "Just because something could have been worse doesn't mean it wasn't horrible. It doesn't mean that you should feel guilty because it wasn't worse. There's always something worse that happens to someone else somewhere in the world. It doesn't make your own experience any less valid. And as far as 'getting over' it... look, everything fades with time. But it'll never go away completely. You'll always remember that fear and remember what it was like to think that nobody was coming and nobody was gonna stop him. It's a part of you now. You can't really move on until you accept that."
His words making her feel a little better, Summer nodded and mulled them over to herself for a moment or two. "I just... I was always anxious anyway, ever since I was a kid, and this has just kicked it into overdrive. I feel better when I'm with other people but I don't want to because I hate feeling like I need them to protect me. It makes me feel useless and like a burden and... yeah."
"Well, we all need people," Bruce pointed out. "And you, you're in a very... complicated position, to say the least. But for what it's worth, you're no burden to anyone. Trust me. I'm the resident pseudo-therapist, everyone complains to me about everything. I'd know if you were."
Summer chuckled. "Oh, that must suck. I hope you're getting paid for listening to all of that."
"I can't complain," he smiled back. "I like helping people. Beats what I did before."
"I'm not even gonna ask what you did before," Summer replied, with a small smile. "So... you don't think I'm a nutcase or... stupid, or..."
"Definitely not," he assured her. "I think you're a pretty brave woman who's been thrown into a terrifying world that you never thought you'd be a part of, and that you're doing a lot better than a lot of folks would. But you're human and you have to allow yourself to be human. You don't have to always be strong. Nobody is."
"You sure about that?" Summer asked with a nervous smile. "Bucky sure seems to be made of steel. I'm pretty sure he's at least half cyborg."
Bruce chuckled and shook his head. "Well, him I can't tell you about because he won't talk to me. But I can assure you that he's also human and not made of actual steel. Even he has his weak moments, I can guarantee you."
"I guess," she sighed. "It's just... intimidating, I guess, to always be around these stone-cold people who live and breathe the mob and seem bulletproof. Not sure I'll ever really feel like I belong here, honestly, which... wouldn't have bothered me at first, but now it does and I'm not really sure what that says about me."
Before Bruce could reply, Summer's phone dinged loudly in her lap. She picked it up and widened her eyes when she saw the time. "Oh, crap, I've gotta go. My dad just got here. I'm supposed to have lunch with him."
"All right, well, my door is always open," Bruce smiled as he stood up with her, nodding politely. "You ever need to talk, you know where to find me."
"Thank you," she smiled back. "It really does help to talk about everything, even though it's not really easy."
"That's how it usually works," he nodded.
"Will you be coming to the gala tomorrow?" she asked as he started walking her to the door of his suite.
"Oh, I don't know," he shrugged lightly. "I tend to avoid things like that. I'm not a big party guy."
"Well, it's gonna be full of stuffy, boring rich people drinking overpriced champagne and comparing yacht sizes," she grinned. "But I'm hosting it, so I'm all for making as many people suffer with me as I can."
"Well, I'll think about it," he chuckled. "Take it easy, okay?"
"I'll try," she smiled, ducking through the door. "Thanks for listening to me whine."
"Anytime."
She smiled again and then waved goodbye, then hurried down the hallway towards the main staircase. She hadn't exactly been looking forward to seeing her dad for the first time since the wedding, but he had been calling her quite often and leaving dejected voicemail messages that provoked enough sympathy for her to invite him over for lunch. After all, he was her father and she didn't want to cut him out of her life. Not completely, anyway. She could at least handle cordial meals every once awhile.
She found him in the drawing room, nervously pacing before she showed up in the doorway. He looked up and smiled and she gave a much more subdued smile back, then held her breath as he rushed forward and pulled her into a suffocating hug.
"Oh, Summer, my God, I've missed you so much," he muttered as she half-heartedly patted him on the back. Then he drew back and looked her over, adding, "You look really good. Are they treating you well? Are you doing okay?"
"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine," she assured him, taking a step back to withdraw from his arms entirely. "I've been telling you that on the phone for awhile now."
"I know, but... it's just nice to see for myself," he said. Then he paused. "Have you lost weight?"
"I... well, yeah," she said, scratching at the back of her head. She had lost a little more than five pounds since she'd started training with Natasha about two months earlier. "New, um... exercise regimen."
"Oh. They're not starving you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Dad, it's the mob, not a gulag. I'm fine." Then she turned and motioned for him to follow her. "Come follow me. I figured we could have lunch outside."
"Okay," he nodded, and together they walked in semi-awkward silence to Frieda's gardens behind the estate.
The thing was, Summer had never enjoyed a particularly good relationship with Michael. The deaths of her mother and brother when she was barely out of toddlerhood had left him a shadow of what he'd once been, and Summer had been too little to ever truly know that man. The one that she did know was an unreliable, easily angered, gambling and drinking businessman who always put his company before his family. Lizzie had been her rock all those years, both of them learning to navigate his moods and get by without him, to the point where Summer could go months without having a real conversation with Michael and not really notice.
He'd reaped the rewards of his mistakes, however, and now that he had lost Summer to the mob and Lizzie to divorce, Summer didn't want to kick him while he was down. She still held out hope that maybe someday he could become a better man, even though she was well aware of how unlikely that was. People rarely changed, and more than 20 years of experience told her that he wouldn't either.
Still, they sat down outside at a table surrounded by the natural beauty around them, the floral air providing something of a balm to Summer's nerves as they began to eat and engage in awkward small talk. There was only so much to talk about, what with Michael's boring job on the board of directors at Pierce, merely there as a seat filler to rubber stamp what the leadership wanted, and there wasn't a lot for Summer to tell him about either. They got by through mainly talking about work, and fifteen minutes passed in a state of semi-comfort before Michael broke it.
"So... are you okay? Really?" he asked with a clear glimmer of fear in his eyes, like he was afraid of her answer.
She immediately nodded, shoving another bite of salad into her mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Everything's better than I thought it would be, honestly."
"Nobody's hurt you? Or tried?"
Inside, she froze at that question. On the outside, she shook her head and lied, "No. No, I've been fine."
"I just... these people aren't... they're not good people," he said quietly, barely audibly.
"Some of them are," Summer replied without hesitation. "Aemilia and Lukas have been incredible to me since day one. His mom Frieda is super sweet, and his brother. Sam, my bodyguard, he's hilarious and I love him. Even Bucky..." she paused and cut herself off, not sure of where she was going with that.
"Who?"
"Bucky," she repeated. "My husband. It's what everyone calls him."
Michael visibly shrunk a little. "Oh. I didn't know that. He... he's been good to you?"
That was such a loaded question, Summer didn't even know where to start. "Well, I mean... at first we didn't get along and he was a jerk. He didn't want to marry me anymore than I wanted to marry him. But we eventually made peace. He doesn't talk a lot and he keeps to himself, but... he's very... protective. And... loyal. He respects me and my place here now. I think, anyway."
Michael seemed a bit bewildered by her answer. "I just... I hope you know that I didn't want any of this to happen. I was afraid that they'd kill you or Lizzie for what I did, and... I didn't even think it through before I said it, before I..."
"... Offered me up on a silver platter?" Summer asked with just the slightest hint of bitterness in her tone.
"I was just trying to keep you safe," he muttered, looking away and no longer even touching his own food.
"Well, you really should have thought about that before you got involved with the mob to begin with," she pointed out. "I mean, I seriously have no idea what you were thinking."
"I had a lot of debts," he replied, still not looking her in the eye. "I... I needed help, and they were there, and..."
"And then you screwed up again and lost your family and company in exchange for your life," Summer sighed. "Look, I don't want to hash this all out again. It is what it is and nothing's gonna change it. I'm making the best of a crappy situation and that's what you should be doing too."
He nodded, finally meeting her eyes again. "And I'm proud of you. I was so afraid of what was gonna happen to you and if you could handle it, and..."
"I did," she replied. "And I am."
He nodded again, something in his expression breaking when he then asked, "Is... is Lizzie doing all right here?"
"Oh, she's totally fine," Summer replied. "She took to this place like a fish to water, honestly."
"Do you think that maybe... I know the answer's probably no, but... the divorce isn't final yet, so... do you think there's any chance she might change her mind on it?"
Summer paused and involuntarily flashed back to the day prior, when she'd walked into Lizzie's room without knocking and found her and Tony making out on the couch like teenagers. It was a visual she really would have preferred to go her whole life without seeing. "No... probably not. She's, uh... pretty done, honestly."
What little hope that had been on her father's face faded instantly. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, I mean... that's what I thought, but..."
Summer furrowed her brows and looked him over, taking in the pale color of his face and the way that his hands seemed to be shaking a little. "Are you okay, Dad?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he shrugged. "Blood pressure's a little high so I'm on two new meds for that. Side effects are a bitch."
"Oh. Well... that sucks," she replied, wondering if he was telling the truth. "So... are you coming to the gala tomorrow? You're invited, being on the board and all."
"Oh no, I don't think so," he immediately shook his head. "I know nobody would want me there."
"Well, I'm hosting it," she pointed out, "and nobody objected to your invitation, so..."
He forced a smile and nodded but replied, "I'm glad you thought of me, but... I'll just stay home. Better for everyone that way."
"Okay," Summer said, letting it go. She certainly wasn't gonna push the issue. "But... are you sure that you're okay?"
He gave her a small, sad smile and asked, "Are you?"
At that moment, Summer didn't doubt that they were both hiding things from the other that they weren't willing to share for the sake of protection. Summer didn't want to worsen his burden by telling him of the attempted assault that she never would have experienced had he not sold her to the mob, and he clearly didn't want to share with her just how far his depression ran. It was just like their relationship had always been, mostly superficial and lacking any real depth even though they loved each other like any father and daughter did. It was infinitely frustrating, but it was what it was. He'd never change, most likely, but she felt like she was changing a little bit every day.
He'd never understood her, not really, and he likely never would. She would never understand him nor the choices he made either, and they would likely never overcome that particular impasse. But all that meant was that of everything in Summer's life that was changing so much, Michael was not one of them.
She bade him farewell after their lunch ended, enduring another overly tight hug and promises to come and visit her at the office sometime that he'd likely never fulfill. Then once he left, she felt both relieved and uneasy at once. She was glad that his visit was over, but something about it - about him - didn't sit right with her. He didn't seem well at all, and she doubted that it was just her imagination overreacting.
But she could think more on that another day. After all, she had a gala to throw the following night, and as with everything else, it had to be perfect. She went back to work, throwing herself fully into it as always and staying blissfully busy for as long as she possibly could.
Just another day in her new life, she supposed, and she couldn't find it in herself to complain. Things could certainly be a hell of a lot worse.
Thankfully, the gala came together fairly easily and without any major disasters. It was the first major event at the manor that Summer had taken on since the Rumlow incident, and she was determined to get through it with her head held high and all traces of anxiety buried under a confident veneer. After all, the guests didn't know what she had been through, and if all went well, to them she would simply appear as a strong and friendly wife of the Captain who hopefully knew how to throw a party.
As she got ready in her room, she debated changing dresses at the last minute to one that would show off the tattoo on the back of her shoulder, just in case any of the guests ever doubted to whom Summer was tethered to. But since Bucky himself would be there and the guest list was one full of mainly older, non-threatening rich folks, she decided to stick with her original plan and keep the tattoo covered. And besides, she wasn't quite ready for Bucky himself to find out about it.
So, after donning a conservative but form-fitting black gown with ivory floral lace detailing along the collarbone and shoulders plus the ends of her long sleeves, Summer put up her hair and put the finishing touches on her makeup. She was going a bit more dramatic with the makeup that night after a trial run with Aemilia the day prior, when she had tested the look out and Aemilia had assured her that she looked stunning and could definitely pull it off. So, that night, she walked into the manor's ballroom with matte burgundy lips and a bronze smoky eye finished off with a heavy winged black liquid liner. It was eye-catching and elegant - or at least that was what Aemilia had said - and it gave Summer a boost of confidence as the gala began and she was forced to start schmoozing with the guests.
Glass of champagne in hand, Summer made the rounds like an old pro as she welcomed and received the guests, clearly much more comfortable in her role as host than she had once been. She was learning how best to deal with people, how to make small talk and keep them happy, and that usually meant always making sure they had a drink in their hands and keeping the conversation light and focused on them and their sparkling successes. If there was one thing rich people always loved to talk about, it was themselves.
Aemilia and Lukas were there as well, along with Natasha and Sam and the other usual suspects, but Bucky was, as always, late. Summer didn't pay that fact much mind, especially not as she found herself knee-deep in conversation with some random high-society couple whose names she couldn't remember.
"And then I told that TSA agent, 'darling, the only security risk in this entire building is that ghastly smell coming from that mouth of yours,'" the woman cackled, her husband laughing along with her. Summer forced a believable laugh as well, inwardly wondering if she might qualify for an Oscar for her performance. "I mean honestly, how can one's breath smell so badly? Did he eat an entire onion for lunch? I could smell it from across the terminal!"
Summer smiled and took a sip of her drink, then replied, "Well, at least they finally let you on with your chihuahuas. How many did you say you have?"
"Eight," the woman gleefully replied. "They're like our children, aren't they, Ronald?"
Her husband, a rather large and not unfriendly older man, gave a sigh and said, "Yes, Betsy, if by children you mean noisy, messy things I unfortunately can't send off to college and be rid of."
Summer laughed at that - not having to force it that time - and then tensed when she suddenly felt an arm slide around her waist. She looked up in alarm and mild panic only to relax when cool blue eyes met her slightly warmer ones, her husband having finally arrived and looking better than any human being should have ever had the right to. He pulled her right against his side like it was completely natural, as if it was something he did all the time, and his eyes lingered on her dark-colored lips before he gave her a grin that was almost genuine before turning to the other couple and asking, "What did I miss?"
"Oh there you are!" Betsy cried, reaching forward to shake his free hand. "And here I was starting to think that you were going to let your better half do all the work."
"Well, she's so much better at it than I am," he replied smoothly, and Summer was at a loss until her brain caught up with her and she remembered that this was standard procedure for them during these sorts of events. They were expected to play the role of a loving, happy couple, and Bucky was damn good at it. He turned his head and looked at her after his remark, and she smiled and felt her face blush quite brightly. She took a drink of champagne just to give herself something to do and distract herself from how good his hand felt on her waist.
The rest of the inane, pointless conversation went by in a hazy flash, and towards the end Summer's eyes wandered across the ballroom and landed on Aemilia, who was currently wrapped up in her own pointless talk with a few of the guests. She noticed how Bucky was holding Summer close and grinned widely, giving Summer a subtle thumbs-up that made Summer smile back in a cringing sort of way. Aemilia looked absolutely adorable, wearing a blush pink off the shoulder gown that clung to her like a dream, the bodice detailed with white lace and showing off both her pregnancy-swollen cleavage and her tiny, round little baby bump. She was 14 weeks along now and had officially reached the glowing stage, and her belly was big enough now to actually look pregnant.
Then, in the midst of briefly drifting off and thinking about babies and other things Summer thought she might never get to have, Bucky steered them away from Betsy and Ronald, his arm still around her. "Sorry I'm late," he muttered, grabbing another flute of champagne from a passing tray and replacing the empty one in her hand.
"It's okay," she said, cheeks still quite flushed. "I, uh... I forgot we're supposed to... um..."
"Look like a real couple," he finished for her. "Yeah. Part of the job."
She nodded, chancing another quick glance up at him. His hair was swept back in a neat bun, showing off his face and flawless bone structure, and there was a perfect thin layer of scruff to accentuate it. Coupled with his classic black tux, she honestly could barely handle it - especially with how close she was to him.
Before she could say something else, they were then accosted by a very enthusiastic French guest named Pierre. He greeted them in a loud mixture of French and English, giving air kisses before telling Summer with a big grin on his face, "Ah, you are even more lovely than the rumors claim."
Having never met this man before, Summer grinned and blushed a little deeper. "Oh my gosh, thank you."
Then Pierre turned to Bucky and said something to him in French with an even bigger grin on his face. Bucky seemed to hesitate before grinning back and replying in flawless French, something that made Summer's eyes widen fractionally and her stomach flip traitorously a few times. Pierre then roared with laughter and switched to English again, thanking them for inviting him before moving on through the crowd.
"Okay... what did he say to you?" Summer asked, unable to stifle her curiosity.
"... Nothing," Bucky said, sipping his own champagne with forced nonchalance.
"That wasn't nothing," Summer pointed out. "Come on, please tell me? It's gonna drive me nuts if you don't."
He sighed through his nose and briefly glanced at her before looking down and muttering, "He asked me if we were enjoying being newlyweds, but in a more vulgar way."
"Oh." She held her breath. "And what did you say?"
"Well, I didn't say that we sleep in different rooms," Bucky replied without looking her in the eye.
"... But what did you say?"
Bucky clenched his jaw and finally looked at her. "Long story short, I basically said you don't ever let me get any sleep. He thought it was hilarious. Happy?"
Summer gulped a little and blinked a few times, having not expected Bucky to make her sound like the aggressor in their imaginary love life. The very suggestion made her brain erupt with sudden flashes of different scenarios, all of them unspeakable and doomed to never be brought to life. Finally she managed to mutter, "Oh."
"Just keeping up appearances," he said, looking away again and taking another drink.
"Right. Yeah. I know."
"Well, well," then came Lukas' voice unexpectedly as he and Aemilia strolled in front of the two of them. "Look at the happy couple. Aren't they just adorable, darling?"
"Oh, indeed," Aemilia grinned. "By far the most beautiful couple here. Excluding us, of course."
Bucky raised an eyebrow, giving them both distinctly unimpressed looks while Summer just smiled and fidgeted on her feet. Bucky pulled his arm away from her at that point, and she was surprised by how much she instantly missed the grounding touch.
"And I must say, Summer," Lukas said with the utmost sincerity, "you look particularly stunning tonight. Doesn't she, James?"
Bucky glared at Lukas, knowing full well that he couldn't get away without giving an answer. Saying nothing would be rude, and he had been trying very hard to not be rude to Summer ever since they'd agreed to their truce. So he swallowed down his irritation and looked at his wife, whom he genuinely found to be the most stunning woman in the room, and as she blushed under his gaze, he said, "Yeah. Beautiful. Like always."
He then gave Lukas a pointed look and left the little group, greeting someone else who noticed him and jumped at the chance to talk to him. Summer stared after him, her insides doing rather funny things as his words and the way that he'd spoken them slowly sunk in.
"I'm just going to say it," Lukas said with a sigh. "Can the two of you just hurry up and jump into bed together so the anticipation can stop killing us?"
Summer's eyes widened. "But -"
"Honestly," Lukas went on, "if this drags on much longer I may just lock you two in an elevator until you finally get it over with."
As Summer's face became the color of a ripe strawberry, Aemilia giggled and chimed in, "Oh, the dance is the best part, darling. Remember how long it took us to finally take that step?"
"Yes, and it was one of the most excruciating experiences of my life," Lukas replied with slightly wide eyes. "You're making my point for me."
"Um," Summer interjected with a nervous laugh, "I don't know what you guys are getting at because me and him are definitely not gonna... you know... ever, so..."
"Yes, yes, of course," Lukas rolled his eyes. "Why on earth would two people who are married and insanely attracted to one another ever sleep together?"
"... He makes a very good point," Aemilia nodded. "Oh! I'll be right back. They're bringing out more hors d'oeuvres and I am starving," she added before stealing a kiss from Lukas and heading off in search of food. Then, after she left, a group of no less than four associates of Pierce Consolidated approached Lukas and Summer, and they spent the next twenty minutes or so enduring the mostly vapid talk that one tended to encounter at such galas.
Aemilia and Natasha ended up with Bucky just across the room, talking to a few board members and their spouses. Sam and Thor were keeping an eye on things like they always did, and Frieda had herself gained the biggest crowd as she was currently caught up in conversation with 12 others. She also had Pietro on her arm, who seemed quite pleased to play the role of arm candy, and few would have blamed him.
All in all, it was shaping up to be a blessedly boring night. Half the guests were tipsy and Summer was on her way, not even having to force most of her giggles as she watched Lukas charm the pants off of literally everyone they spoke to. He was so good at doing that, and he was such a skilled smooth talker that at times he very subtly insulted those that he was speaking to without them even realizing it. She was really starting to understand the whole silvertongue thing.
"Well, I have to say," one of their conversation partners said, a marketing director from another company that Pierce was partnered with, "you seem like a natural at throwing these shindigs, Mrs. Barnes."
"Thank you," Summer smiled, nodding graciously. "There are definitely worse jobs to have."
The man chuckled at that, and one of the hired wait staff walked by with a tray of empty glasses. He glanced at Summer as he walked by, and she noticed that he was mumbling something under his breath. He looked away and kept walking, and she looked down and furrowed her brows. When she looked back up, she scanned the room quickly and saw another server, this time one who was eyeing where Bucky and the ladies were standing, holding his finger briefly to his ear as his mouth moved, though there was nobody around that he appeared to be speaking to.
The problem was, Summer had hired the extra staff for this gala and had been deeply involved in every aspect of planning. She knew that they didn't wear earpieces the way that security and other staff did, because they didn't need to.
She looked back towards the first server and found him looking back at her again. Alarm bells going off in her head, she nudged Lukas' arm. Maybe she was overreacting, but something in her gut was telling her that something was wrong, and she couldn't ignore it.
Just as Lukas looked at her and then followed her gaze to the server, the man dropped the tray he'd been carrying and suddenly pulled a gun out from under his white coat and aimed it squarely at Lukas.
Lukas shouted for everyone in the room to get down and threw Summer to the ground and covered her before she could even begin to comprehend what was happening. A gunshot rang out as they hit the ground and missed them, hitting one of the guests across the room in the hip instead, and Lukas pulled out his own gun from a hidden holster within his suit and shot their assailant dead while Summer still laid under him on the floor.
Then chaos erupted. Most of the guests began screaming and running, and other members of the wait staff emerged with guns out and fired into the crowd, stoking the mayhem. Even a few of the guests pulled out guns and trained them on Bratva members, revealing just how deep this apparent infiltration had run. Summer's party had been doomed from possibly the very beginning, and now she might have to pay the price with her life.
Sam rushed over to her side, firing at one of the attackers and dropping him on his way over. He took over for Lukas, leading Summer to take cover behind a table as he stood guard and Lukas jumped into the fray, though first he called after Aemilia to make sure that she was safe.
Across the room, Bucky had tossed Aemilia behind him after the first shot had rung out, and he and Natasha had formed a wall of protection in front of her, Nat tossing her a gun so that she could play sniper. As the innocent guests fled from the room in a panicked fury, everyone else sprang into action to eliminate the sudden threat, and Summer watched in shock.
Lukas and Bucky were the main targets. Lukas himself had no less than six men converge on him, and while a few of them got a hit or two in, he took them each down with a practiced and brutal ease that was breathtaking. He shot one in the head, disarmed another of their knife and stabbed them in a very specific part of the abdomen, dropping them like dead weight, and two others he knocked unconscious before dodging a spray of bullets from the last two and throwing the knife into the first one's face and then finally bending the second's arm and aiming their own gun at their chest and firing it.
In absolute awe - and terror - Summer then looked over to where Bucky was. He had a man in a headlock, and one jerk of his arms snapped his neck and left him dead at his feet. Natasha took out another with a series of shots to the chest, and Aemilia fell one of her own targets with a shot right between the eyes.
Summer suddenly wanted to vomit. Having never seen someone die with her own two eyes before, seeing it happen ten times in a row in rapid fire was more than she had the capacity to handle.
"Summer!" Sam shouted directly in her face, quickly getting her attention. She snapped her head up and he handed her a gun, saying, "Take this and only use it if you absolutely have -"
He words were cut off when a bullet whizzed through his right shoulder, just above his chest. He grunted with pain and then turned back around only to have the butt of a gun smashed into his head, knocking him out. Then his attacker set his sights on Summer, gun still smoking and eyes horrible and cold and soulless, and the gun in her hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as she shook and tried to raise it in time.
But she didn't have to. Before he could even touch her, Lukas was behind him and had his hands on either side of his head. One swift, sickening crack later, he was dead, and Lukas and Summer were staring at each other.
"You all right?" Lukas asked, but Summer didn't hear him. Behind him someone was coming, a Chinese man with a long, deadly blade raised in his hand and aimed for Lukas' back, and the horrified look on Summer's face gave it away. Lukas spun around, and Summer didn't hesitate to act, knowing that Lukas was about to be stabbed in the chest before her very eyes. The world stopped spinning for a moment, her nausea went away, and everything else ceased to exist as she raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
The bullet raced past Lukas' ear and hit the man at the center of his face. The blade in his hand clattered to the ground and warm blood sprayed over Lukas' face and throat, and Summer watched in a blank-eyed state of numb as she killed a man for the first time in her life.
The entire ballroom fell dead silent. The remaining Triad men stared in shock and horror at the dead man laying faceless on the ground in a pool of blood before turning and retreating as quickly as they could. Natasha and Thor went after them, and Lukas turned around to stare at Summer in shock.
She felt nothing. Her ears were ringing, her hands bizarrely steady even though she'd been shaking like a leaf just a moment before, and she only snapped out of her trance when Bucky's face filled her line of vision.
He gently pried the gun out of her hands and handed it off to Lukas. Then he took her hand in his and started walking her away from the scene without a word, and she was barely aware of any of it until she started feeling her own body again.
He took her to his room, and she was about to ask why he was leading her to the bathroom when she opened her mouth and suddenly realized why. The next thing she knew, she was throwing up violently into the toilet that he had helpfully set her in front of.
She'd never felt so sick in her life. The numb wore off and shame and terror and shock took its place, her limbs starting to shake again as she realized that she had actually just killed a man. She had killed a man.
She hurled until she could hurl no longer, slumping down on the floor as tears streamed down her face and she tried to catch her breath to no avail. She looked up when a small cup of water was handed to her, and she looked up at Bucky in surprise. His expression was determined but not hard, possibly softer than she'd ever seen before, but he said nothing as she took the cup and sipped it. Then he turned away and took a few steps to their left, reaching under his sink and producing a new toothbrush. He set it down on the sink and then turned back to her, asking quietly, "Can you stand?"
She nodded even though she really had no idea. He reached out and took her hand and helped her to her feet, and when she nearly tripped over her heels, she kicked them off and opted for bare feet instead.
"... I'll give you a minute," he said quietly, turning and leaving her in the bathroom alone, though he kept the door open. She then turned and looked in the mirror above the sink, and what she found looking back at her made her nearly gasp.
The vomit-induced tears had, of course, ruined her makeup, making her look like a KISS reject. Her skin was ghostly pale, body visibly trembling, and she dropped the toothbrush three times before she managed to successfully get it in her mouth.
After brushing her teeth, she washed her face to get the ruined makeup off of her face. She had to use handsoap, since Bucky obviously didn't have any makeup remover handy, but she didn't care. She barely cared enough to wash it off in the first place.
Then, after her legs threatened to give out again, she decided that enough was enough and exited the bathroom. She was surprised to then find herself standing in the middle of Bucky's bedroom, and even more surprised when he gestured for her to take a seat next to him on the edge of his bed.
Her body nearly whined with relief once she was sitting again. She felt lightheaded and sick and confused, and the first words out of her mouth were, "I killed someone."
His eyes were intent upon her unfocused, elsewhere-staring ones as he replied, "You saved Lukas' life."
She nodded, stomach lurching again, looking down at her shaking hands. "But I killed someone."
"Yes," he replied quietly. "You did."
She closed her eyes as her gag reflex threatened to strike again. Then her face started to crumple as she half-sobbed, "Oh my God."
It was too much. Not only had she caused a death but she had just witnessed so much death. She'd watched an angry rival mob ambush her own gala and try to kill her friends and her husband, try to kill her, and how was she supposed to process that? How was she supposed to live like this, when everything always seemed to go so spectacularly wrong and danger lurked everywhere she turned, even in the manor itself?
Letting go and remembering Bruce's advice on not always being strong, she fell apart. She was so lost and so terrified still that she barely even realized that there were arms wrapped around her until she noticed that she was staining a very expensive white silk shirt with her tears.
He'd taken off his jacket and put it around her before pulling her into a hug that she desperately needed. She was sobbing like a little baby who'd just woken from a nightmare and she couldn't stop, and he thankfully didn't seem to mind. She used him as a giant handkerchief crossed with a teddy bear, and he let her cry herself into exhaustion without complaint.
Once the tears finally stopped, she was clinging to him still and her face was pressed to his chest through his shirt. His hand was moving up and down her back comfortingly - more so than she thought he was even capable of - and when he started speaking, it took her even more by surprise than their current position.
"I was 18 when I killed someone for the first time," he said, his voice a low rumble in her ear. "It was part of the initiation. We all had to do it. They brought in this... man, one of the Triad's guys. Tied up and beaten and defenseless. I had to kill him to prove myself."
She listened intently, eyes widening in slight horror. Then he went on, "Afterwards everybody shook my hand, welcomed me into the fold, acted like I'd just done this... noble thing. Then the minute I got back to my room, I barely made it to the bathroom before I started throwing up."
She couldn't imagine it. She couldn't imagine what in the world could possibly lead him to choose such a life at the age of 18, but she hoped to find out someday.
"It... it takes a piece of you and you never get it back," he added. "S'not... natural, not right. Sometimes it's necessary for people like us. But there's nothing... glamorous or good about it. Not like in the movies. It's always worse."
Then he lifted up her head to look her in the eye, hand cradling the side of her face as he told her with the utmost sincerity, "But you did what needed to be done. You saved the life of one of my best friends. And you didn't even blink. You're stronger than you think."
Tears filling her eyes, she shook her head. "No I'm not. I'm not."
"Yes you are," he told her, the tone of his voice taking her by surprise as much as his thumb did when it started gently stroking her cheek. "I've known that for a long time now."
She searched his eyes for a sign, any sign, of dishonesty, but all she saw was genuine care in his usually-cold eyes. Maybe it was the trauma of it all or the adrenaline, or maybe the way that he was holding her and touching her, but it was like a dam burst from within at that moment. Her chest flooded with warmth instead of the ice that had been there before, and her emotions ran wild.
This man, this terrifying killer of a man, was always the first one there for her when something went wrong. First he had protected her from Rumlow and let her decide her attacker's fate, and then tonight, he had left the ballroom behind without a second glance to take her to safety and to care for her following her very own first kill. She had once been so deathly afraid of him and of what he might do to her, but all of that was long gone now. Now she was starting to see him for who he really was, slowly but surely, and while he was every bit as dangerous and dark as his reputation betrayed, there was much more to him underneath that blood-stained surface.
It had taken that night's horrible events for her to realize it, but she... she felt something for him far beyond what she had previously thought. It wasn't just a little crush anymore, especially not after all of this. And being there in his arms with his eyes locked with hers and face so unexpectedly close to her own, she craved as much contact and comfort as she could possibly get. She suddenly felt like she needed it to breathe, and when his eyes flickered briefly to her lips, she leaned in closer and felt her heart thump wildly in her chest when he began to do the same.
She closed her eyes when she felt his breath on her lips. Her skin was warming rapidly, the lingering nausea in her gut dissipating, but the kiss that she wanted and needed so badly never came.
He drew away at the last minute, pulling her into another hug instead. Her eyes opened as she laid her head on his shoulder again, and her excitement faded into disappointment and stinging rejection. Embarrassed tears sprang behind her eyes, but before she could apologize for the apparently unwanted advance and before he could explain it, there was a knock at the door.
It opened to reveal Thor, who looked quite surprised at the sight of Bucky cradling Summer in his arms the way that he was. But he quickly shook it off and said, "We lost the others."
Bucky grimaced but nodded. "How's Sam?
Oh God, Sam. He'd taken a bullet for Summer.
"Bullet went clean through, so that's good. He's awake now. They're stitching him up and checking for signs of concussion."
Bucky nodded. "Okay. I'll be back down in a minute."
Thor nodded, glancing at Summer sympathetically before closing the door. Summer then drew a deep breath and straightened up, pulling away a little bit and saying, "We should go. They probably need you."
"You sure?" he asked quietly, looking her over carefully.
She nodded. "Yeah. Thank you for, uh... thank you for doing this. For taking care of me. You didn't have to."
"Yes I did," he murmured back before standing up and taking her hand. He helped her get to her feet, and then he led them out of their room and back downstairs, still hand in hand the entire way.
Once they made it back to the ballroom, they found a makeshift triage where the party had previously been. Medics were checking out everyone who'd been hurt, including a handful of otherwise ignorant guests who would probably be bribed in exchange for their silence. Steve was there instead of local police along with Clint and a few other SHIELD agents, having claimed jurisdiction in the matter and provided a blanket of safety to the Bratva while also getting an exclusive first look at what had occurred and what evidence had been left behind.
Bucky was still holding Summer's hand as she searched out a few particular faces, but their connection broke when suddenly out of nowhere Aemilia had flung herself into Summer's arms and enveloped her in a massive hug.
Bucky stepped aside and gave the girls a moment, making a beeline for Steve as Aemilia barely held back tears and gushed, "My God, Summer, thank you so much for what you did."
It was such a bizarre combination of emotions that Summer felt, a lingering sense of horror and revulsion mixed with relief that Lukas was okay and that Aemilia wouldn't have to one day raise their child alone. Summer kept a sudden rush of tears at bay as Aemilia pulled away and looked up at her with watery, grateful eyes. "I'm so sorry that you had to do that - are you okay? You left so fast, I wanted to check on you but -"
"I'm fine," Summer lied, not wanting to add to Aemilia's distress. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Aemilia nodded. "Nobody even touched me."
"Good," Summer sighed with relief. "Where's Lukas?"
Aemilia shifted to the side and gestured to where a few medics stood. Lukas was sitting on a chair, looking down at his hands as one of the medics examined his ear. His face was thankfully clean of the blood that had covered it when Summer had pulled the trigger on their assailant.
"They think his ear drum ruptured," Aemilia explained, "but other than that he's okay."
"What about Sam? Where's he?"
"Right here," came Sam's tired voice as he was wheeled past them on a stretcher. The medics pushing the stretcher allowed a brief halt as Summer turned to him and felt another bubble of tears well up behind her eyes. He shot her a grin, but she wasn't smiling.
"Oh my God, Sam - are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said with as much of a shrug as he could manage with his injured, bandaged shoulder. "These guys are just insisting I get a CT scan to make sure."
"Oh God," Summer muttered, reaching down and taking his hand. "Thank you so much for what you did for me back there."
"It's my job," he told her, giving her hand a little squeeze. "Don't worry about it. And I heard I missed you going all Rambo on someone's ass."
Summer cringed and Aemilia chimed in, "She saved Lukas' life."
"Damn, girl," Sam grinned. "You're really living up to the whole badass mob wife thing."
Cringing again, Summer said, "Well, I wouldn't have been able to do it if you hadn't given me that gun."
Sam nodded. "Looks like you should probably look into getting one of your own and keeping it on you."
Knowing that was probably very true, Summer sighed and then bade farewell to her bodyguard as the medics insisted on not waiting to leave any longer. She watched him go and then turned her attention back to where Lukas sat, and Aemilia gave her one last hug before she headed over to talk to him.
He looked up when she approached, and the medics gave them a moment as Summer sat next to him and asked, "Are you okay?"
"Well, I can barely hear anything out of this blasted ear," Lukas said, gesturing to the war in question. "But I'm alive, which I owe to you."
She flushed and looked down, shaking her head. "I just... I still can't believe what happened. Any of it."
"I can, unfortunately," Lukas replied. "Occupational hazard. Though we've never had something like this happen in the manor itself."
"I hired all the staff," Summer said. "I did background checks on everybody. Security checked everyone before they even came in. Everyone."
"I would assume that the men who were here tonight were not the ones you hired," Lukas sighed. "Our enemies are very sophisticated and very good at infiltration. Though not this good, I suspect."
"What's that mean?" Summer asked, brows a little furrowed.
Lukas sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. There's just a lot to consider following an attack this... bold."
Summer nodded, certainly agreeing with that. They were silent for a few moments, and then she glanced up at him and said, "By the way, I had no idea you were such a badass."
Lukas grinned and gave a small shrug. "I've been training for as long as your husband has, you know. I just rarely get the chance to show it."
"Well, it was amazing," Summer grinned back. "And you made it look easy."
"Well, it isn't," Lukas replied. "But what you did is no easier."
She took a deep breath and shakily let it out, fingers fidgeting nervously as the vague urge to be sick again reappeared. "Yeah... still kind of... freaking out about that."
"Are you all right?" he asked with quiet concern.
"I'm as... okay as I can be," Summer replied. "I threw up a lot and cried like a baby on Bucky's shoulder and now I'm just kind of... I'm not sure."
"It'll pass," he assured her. "Everything does with time. Believe me."
She nodded, and when he held out an arm for a hug, she happily accepted the invitation. As he hugged her and thanked her again for saving his life, three people who had been absent from the manor during the gala were finally let in following the manor's immediate lockdown.
Scott, Lizzie and Tony walked into the ballroom and were immediately dumbfounded by what they found. "Holy shit," Tony said with wide eyes. "The hell happened here?"
Just as Summer pulled away from Lukas, Lizzie rushed over to her with Scott in tow and started promptly freaking out once Summer turned and Lizzie saw the hollow look in her eyes. "Oh my God, what happened?!"
"Are you okay?" Scott asked, looking her over as well with equal but less hysterical concern. He'd been out having a fun night at the movies with his little girl and had not expected to come home to this.
Summer sighed, really not wanting to go through the story again, and luckily Lukas could tell and spared her that burden.
"There was an attack tonight," Lukas explained. "The Triad infiltrated the wait staff and the guest list and opened fire in the middle of the gala. We took them out and didn't lose any of our own, but I wouldn't be sitting here to speak of it had Summer not shot and killed a man who was inches from putting a knife in my chest."
Lizzie gasped. "You shot someone?"
Summer nodded. "It was very sudden and it just... happened."
"Holy shit," Scott said, his own eyes wide and a little horrified on her behalf.
"Oh my God," Lizzie said, pulling Summer into a hug and squeezing her. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."
"No, it's okay," Summer assured her. "I'm glad you weren't. Bullets were flying everywhere. It was insane."
Scott then stepped closer to Lukas and asked, "She really shot someone?"
Lukas nodded. "In the face."
Scott's eyes became comically wide. "In the face? That's... badass." Lukas couldn't help but nod in agreement.
Meanwhile, Lizzie was bemoaning the suddenness of it all. "The day I decide to let Tony take me out on a date and all hell breaks loose," she sighed as she pulled away from Summer. "And here?! How did it happen?"
"I plan on finding out," Tony said, strolling back over to them after having had a word with the boss. He looked at Summer and asked, "You okay, kid?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Could be a lot worse."
He nodded. "Well, sit tight. I'm gonna do some digging and see what I can find. This was as good as a formal declaration of war."
Before anyone could reply, Frieda came around next and was the next person to shower Summer with hugs and gratitude, in her case for saving her beloved son. All of the hugs and the positive words were nice but they ultimately mainly just confused Summer more, because she wanted to relate to them and feel good about it all but she couldn't quite get past that initial gut feeling of abject horror at actually pulling a trigger on someone - even someone who was about to kill a friend of hers.
As her conflicted emotions swirled within her heart and mind and left her feeling less and less peaceful, Bucky kept a watchful eye on her from afar. He oversaw the manor's lockdown and the gave the orders that needed to be given, made sure that the proper steps were taken to begin the necessary investigations following such a breach and found himself more convinced than ever that someone was feeding the other side sensitive information. But he didn't forget about his wife, even as the night wound down and she began insisting that she was fine and didn't need anyone to stay the night with her.
She sent a skeptical Lizzie off to bed, swearing that she was okay and would be just fine on her own. But Bucky knew what she was feeling and could see the shadows in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders, the unsure way that she was walking and talking. He knew because he'd been there before.
Once Steve and his men and the medics had gone and the building was secure and most everyone had gone off to their own rooms to recover from the horrible night, Bucky caught Summer on her own way to bed. He stopped her at the base of the staircase and asked, "You sure you're okay to be on your own?"
She hesitated and smiled uneasily, surprised by his concern. "I... well, no, but... Sam's at the hospital and my mom, she's... I wouldn't get any sleep with her hovering and freaking out anyway, so... I'm fine. I'll be fine."
Bucky simply stared at her, not buying it for a moment. An idea occurred to him to ask her if she wanted to spend the night in his room so that she wasn't alone, but just as he was about to offer it, he wondered if that would be crossing a line or if it would only make her even more uncomfortable. Despite the comfort he'd given her earlier, they still weren't exactly close and the very idea of her spending the night in his room was a huge shift from their usual dynamic.
Just as he was about to forget the idea entirely and wish her goodnight, something in her expression broke and she blurted out, "Actually, do you think that maybe I could... stay with you?"
He nearly doubled over in shock upon hearing his own idea leave her lips.
"I just... I don't want to be alone, but I don't want to worry my mom and I don't... I don't have anyone else."
He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you can stay in my room. I have to go and take care of a few more things, but you can go on." He paused, blinked, and added, "You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."
"Oh God, no," she immediately protested. "That's - no. I can't make you do that."
"It's okay," he lied. It wouldn't be okay. It would be hell on his back and other parts of his body that hurt enough on a regular basis anyway, plus his shoulder still hurt from being shot five days ago. She didn't know about that, though.
"No," she shook her head rather adamantly. "I mean, we are married, so it's not like... yeah."
She blushed a little after saying that, and Bucky let out a sigh before giving in. "Fine, just... go on without me. I'll be there soon."
"Okay," she replied quietly before starting back up the stairs. Bucky watched her for a moment and then turned away, absently wondering why his insides suddenly felt so strange and mildly jumpy.
About twenty minutes later, Bucky found himself just outside of his room, exhausted and bizarrely nervous to walk inside and find what awaited him. After a few seconds spent mentally chastising himself for being a moron, he twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. In his bedroom, on the left side of his bed, he found his wife dressed in pajamas and curled up with an extra blanket and a steaming mug of what looked like Aemilia's signature hot chocolate in her hands. Her hair was down and every trace of makeup was gone from her face, and she immediately looked up upon his arrival and muttered, "I, uh... Aemilia made me this. I hope you don't mind me drinking it in your bed. I know some people are picky about stuff like that but... yeah."
"... S'okay," he assured her, tossing his phone down on the nearest surface and heading for the bathroom to start his usual nightly routine, which he could follow like a mindless zombie at this point. He brushed his teeth and took his hair down, then started unbuttoning his shirt before he realized that Summer's presence meant a distinct change in his usual sleeping habits was necessary. He hadn't worn a stitch of clothing to bed in years, but if he walked out of the bathroom naked and slid in bed next to her like that, she would probably have a heart attack and require immediate medical assistance. He debated compromising and at least sleeping shirtless, but that would probably freak her out too. She tended to look at his tattoos like they were lollipops she desperately wanted to lick whenever she caught a glimpse of them.
Well then. He left the bathroom and headed to his walk-in closet, threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants that he usually only wore to workout in, and then he finally made his way to bed. And she still stared at him nervously the whole time.
Once he was settled in on the right side of the bed - as far on the edge as he could comfortably manage - he sat back against the headboard and cautiously glanced over to Summer. She quickly looked away and stared down at her drink like it was the most intriguing thing on earth, and he sighed.
"I can still take the floor if you want."
"No!" she immediately squeaked. "I mean... no. Please don't do that. I'd feel bad and I already feel bad enough."
"... You have nothing to feel bad about," he told her gently.
She smiled a little sadly, still staring into her cup as she muttered, "But I do." Then she looked up at him and asked, "Does it ever stop?"
He paused. That was a complicated question if there ever was one. "Yes and no," he replied. "You killed in self-defense. It was justified. More than justified. You'll come to terms with that. But like I said... it still changes you."
She nodded, looking away again. "I feel like I've been doing that a lot lately. Changing, and... I don't know. Feel like I'm gonna wake up one day and not know who I am anymore."
Those words struck a nerve within Bucky. He'd done exactly that before, more than once. He didn't wish that kind of inner confusion and turmoil on anyone, let alone her.
"I'm sorry," she said, setting the drink aside and scrubbing her hands over her face. "I keep thinking I'm done crying but it just keeps coming and I feel so stupid..."
Bucky let out a breath and reached out for her, pulling her into his arms the way that he had earlier. Her neediness didn't annoy him or bother him, to his own surprise. Instead, he felt like comforting her was the least that he could do, considering everything she'd been through since she first visited the manor was ultimately because she was married to him.
She curled up to his side and laid her head on his chest, muttering apologies as she stained another shirt of his with her tears. He murmured back that it was okay and let her cry it out all over again, this time running his fingers through her hair as an extra comfort. He didn't even realize he was doing it until she leaned into the touch and seemed to calm down a little the more that he did it.
Her hair smelled good. The subtle floral scent of it kept wafting up to his nose, scrambling his brain a bit and taking him by surprise. He remembered how her skin had felt earlier when he'd cradled her face and stroked her cheeks, remembered how it had felt to touch skin that soft for the first time in ages, and he had to close his eyes and take a breath to will those memories away.
Then he thought back to the gala, of the chaos and how she had stood up in the middle of it and killed the team's apparent leader with one shot to the face. She'd looked so strong, unblinking and unyielding, as if it was something that came naturally to her. It didn't, of course, but to anyone who didn't know her, she looked like a fierce and powerful woman who would do anything to protect her people. She looked like his other half, like she'd been made for him.
"Thank you again," she sniffed, not looking up at him as she spoke. "For everything you've done for me tonight. And letting me stay here."
He didn't know how to answer. He stared up at the ceiling and searched for words besides a generic you're welcome that he could say back, but his brain came up empty. As his struggle continued to no avail, he continued to stroke her hair and she slowly drifted off to sleep. He could tell when her breathing evened out and her sniffling stopped.
He closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief, then wondered what to do next. He didn't want to move her and wake her, so in the end he decided to keep her as she was while he slipped them under the covers and laid his head on his pillow. She shifted a little but didn't move, keeping her head on his chest and her hand just in front of her face, body curled comfortably against his.
He hadn't slept with another woman in... a very long time. Natasha never used to stick around to cuddle, let alone sleep with him, at least not unless she'd fallen into a sex coma before she could go back to her own room. He hadn't held a woman close like this, just for the sake of care and comfort, sex not even a factor, since...
Pushing that thought away before it could go down a road he was sick of constantly traveling, he closed his eyes and, in time, drifted off to sleep himself with his wife nestled safely in his arms. Her warmth was a comfort of its own, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed that until those quiet, hazy few moments before he fell into a remarkably peaceful sleep.
One of his last clear thoughts was if this strange, unexpected night together would be a sort of turning point in his and Summer's equally strange and unexpected relationship. He supposed that he would find out in the morning. Most surprisingly though, he hoped that it would be.