I give you the tenth installment of Rage, Rage.

Chapter Nine - It Takes Two

"Prefer the shadows?" Matilda asked. She smiled when the other woman jumped in surprise and held up her hands. "Sorry, I forget that sometimes people don't hear me coming. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't."

She paused at the sharp tone. "Oh. My mistake, then." She took a moment to study the woman's appearance. "Cully, correct? Isodyne Energy?"

"It's my husband's," the woman corrected. "You've heard of him? Calvin Chadwick?"

"He's the face, maybe," Matilda agreed, turning a little so she could watch the stage. "See, at least at my company, the face is also half the brain. I'm sorry that it's not like that for yours."

Cully straightened. "You're Rogers."

"Matilda, please. It's nice to meet another female mind, Cully."

That managed to get a smile from her and she held out her hand. "Agnes."

"Matilda! We're going to be late! Are you coming?"

"Late?" She glanced at the clock and then over her shoulder at where Howard was approaching from. "We'd be early still if we left now."

"I forgot his gift, so we have to stop by the hotel. We goin'?"

"You forgot—" She sighed. "Of course you did. The one thing you were in charge of today." She smiled back at Cully. "It was nice to meet you, Agnes." With a wave, she turned and grabbed Howard's elbow before marching him away. "You didn't forget anything when you were packing for this trip, were you?" she hissed. "You didn't forget any sort of scripts or, I don't know, metals?"

"See, this is why I didn't tell you when I realized earlier. I forget one little thing at the hotel and you get all bent. Gimme the keys."

"No. I'm driving." She dug said keys out of the pocket and threw open the door into the outside air.

"You're joking. You drive mad like this and you'll crash the goddamn car."

"Get in," she said with a sigh, opening the door and sliding into the convertible. "The car's bulletproof. I'm sure it could stand up to any scratches I might give it when I'm angry at you, which is quite a lot, might I add."

"Well, you're easy," he said, jumping into the passenger seat without opening the door. "You know, if ya don't get a handle on that temper, the wrong person is going trip it someday."

"Hmm, if only. Might give me an excuse to vent a little. Physically. With my hands."

He whistled. "Goddamn, you're scary. Turn left up here. You know that angry person who came in the office the other day? Threatened us? I bet you could've taken her out no problem."

"She was an eighty-year-old woman, Howie. She got us confused with the dry-cleaners across the street."

"Still. I've been thinking of getting bodyguards, but with you around— Left! I said left!"

Matilda swore and turned the wheel sharply. Another car swerved to avoid them, honking loudly, and she took a moment to readjust after they hit the curb. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. My bad. And bodyguards, Howie? Really? We make weapons and it's not like we don't know how to use them."

"You might be comfortable with that little .45 under your skirt, but I'd feel a hell of a lot more comfortable with a little more."

"How do you know about what's up my skirt?" she asked, shooting him a look.

He held up his hands in defense, grinning. "You underestimate me, Rogers. You think I wouldn't know when you're heavy?"

"Hmm. Well, you missed my .25 cal. And the six inch blade."

"Six inch— What the hell? Since when—"

"Here we are," she announced stopping jerkily. "If we're late 'cause you don't wanna run for fear of sweating—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Howard jumped out of the car and dashed into the hotel.

She tapped her fingers on the wheel impatiently, glancing to the side. After a couple minutes, she honked the horn. The front doors flew open. "I wasn't even gone that long!" Howard yelled, taking the steps two at a time. He clutched the gift bag to his chest and got back in the car. "If you're so concerned about being late, then step on it."

"Gladly."

The moment they took off far too fast down the street, Howard let out a whoop and yelled something about this being the reason they got along so well. Matilda ignored him, grinning as she turned one sharp corner after another. Then they came to a screeching halt in front of Perino's. As they got out, she tossed the keys to the valet. He fumbled with them and scratched something out in his books before hurriedly handing her a ticket. Matilda took it and put it in her pocket before putting her hand around Howard's elbow. "Shall we?"

"You're just excited to see someone other than me, aren't you?" he asked with a laugh, leading the way inside.

"That's not it at all. You've got the gift?"

"I see where Barnes gets the nagging from."

"What the hell is that supposed to me—"

"About time!" a voice interrupted loudly, cutting across all the talk in the restaurant. A figure at a booth table stood up, spreading his arm. "I hope you don't mind that I ordered for ya both. Food just got here; nice and warm."

"Joe!" Matilda grinned and pull forward from Howard. She reached him first and threw her arms around him. "It's so good to see you!"

"You're looking well." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks. "And you've managed to avoid killing Stark, so I'm guessing you've gotten that fiery attitude under control?"

"Guess again," Howard said with a laugh as he reached them. "She's as short-tempered as ever. It's good to see you, Manfredi."

Joseph shifted so that he had one arm around Matilda but could still clasp Howard's hand with the others. "You two punks really made something of yourselves. DeeDee here even went and found herself some proper glad rags."

"I know how to dress up when it's called for," Matilda said, smiling. "And you just happen to be worth it."

He laughed. "That's sweet, doll." He stepped aside and gestured them forward. Howard and Matilda slid into the booth across from each other and he sat next to Matilda. He waved to the men in suits that stood nearby—three of them—and they turned their backs so they faced out at the rest of the room with their hands folded behind them.

Matilda eyed them for a second and then did an odd little half-laugh, half-sigh. "Seems like you went another route but did well for yourself all the same."

He smirked. "Absolutely. You didn't go soft over the years, did ya?"

Howard scoffed. "As if. Her? Never." He set the bag on the table. "We brought something for ya."

One of the men stiffened and turned, but Joseph waved him off with his hand. "Naw, these are old friends of mine, Clifford. Lemme see here." He pulled the bag across the table and reached in, pulling out the bottle.

"Goldschläger," Matilda said, smiling. "107 proof. Good for a bad day." She titled her head to the side. "Or an incredible one."

Joseph grinned at her. "God, I missed you."

"Howard, wrong one."

"Wha— Right. My bad." He put the shield down and took the one she was holding. "That would've been bad."

"It would've been funny." When he gave her a look, Matilda grinned. "But bad. You're right. Go ahead, Howie." She stepped aside and let him out onstage.

"Ciro's is the playground for Hollywood's brightest stars!" Howard said loudly, all the bravado in him coming alive the moment he was before the crowd.

"Rogers?"

Matilda's fingers itched for a moment at the unfamiliar voice and she smoothed her hands over her skirt, turning. "Yes? Can I help you?" she asked, studying the man in uniform before her.

"Colonel Chester Phillips," he said succinctly.

"Ah. Sir, Stark Industries has already made our position on your request for a contract with the SSR clear. Given that the majority of the company's work is done strictly by myself and Stark, it would not be possible nor practical—"

"If I could, Rogers, I have footage that I'd like to show Stark and yourself. It just might change your minds."

Matilda glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Donna shoot at the vibranium shield Howard was holding up, the act followed by loud applause from the crowd. Then she sighed. "I suppose we can spare a little time to watch a film. You have the reel?"

"I do."

"Good. There's a projector in the building I'm sure we can use. Though I'm going to be honest when I say Howard isn't the one you have to convince."

"I know."

As the clapping started again, Matilda glanced to the side. "Howie," she murmured when he started past her, one arm around Donna's waist and a grin on his face. "Colonel Phillips would like a word with us."

"A word?" Howard asked, stopping short.

"He has footage for us to watch."

"Huh. Alright, run along, Donna. I might catch up with you later." He kissed her neck and then pushed her along. "You know, Colonel, if you want me to invest in a movie, you should just ask. We don't need to waste time watching dailies."

Matilda rolled her eyes and led the way back through the halls. Phillips spoke up. "The footage you're about to see was just smuggled out of Nazi Germany by Agent 13, an undercover operative the Brits have planted deep within Hydra, Hitler's advanced weapons program."

"Ooh, the competition," Howard said, only to grunt when Matilda elbowed him. She opened the door to the room with the projector and Howard asked, "You gotta reel?"

Phillips withdrew the reel and handed it off to Matilda for her to set it up. As it readied, he spoke. "A few years back, a rebel-held town in fascist Spain, Guernica, was destroyed with the help of Generalissimo Franco's Nazi Allies. At the time, it was believed their air force—the Luftwaffe—was to blame. As you are about to see . . . we now know better."

"Is there a cartoon beforehand? I'd like to go into the lobby and—"

"Howard," Matilda growled. "This is serious."

That shut him up.

Then the footage began. Matilda's heart jumped as the tank crashed through the wall, the echoing blast staticky on the old film. Fire shot from the gun on top of the tank and Howard flinched, hand grabbing her elbow. "Do you see—"

"Yes," she said hoarsely. "Stop that. This isn't— Oh, g-god." She broke off, staring at the giant exoskeleton soldier ripping apart people on screen. Something chilly turned over in her stomach.

Then it stopped.

"That's . . . that's it?" she asked, glancing at Phillips.

"What, you want to watch more of that?" he asked, retrieving the reel.

She swallowed. "No, not particularly. So . . . why do you want to talk to us?"

"You turned down the SSR's request for your help before. I'd like to change your mind."

She stared at him evenly. He stared back.

Howard cleared his throat. "Maybe . . . maybe we should take a ride."

"We're not at war with Germany," Howard said over the roar of the wind, taking the curve sharply.

"The general consensus in the White House and the war department is that that is a temporary condition," Phillips said, glancing from Howard back at where Matilda was sitting in the backseat, frowning as she looked through the documents he'd given her. "The Third Reich represents the greatest threat to liberty and justice the world has ever seen."

"Hydra had some decent horrors in the thirties. Against the Spanish rebels," Matilda nodded, looking up from the papers for the first time in a long while. "If they had those toys then . . . ."

"God only knows what horrors they've cooked up now," Phillips said. "Exactly. That's why President Roosevelt has authorized the SSR. Howard, he asked for you personally."

Matilda frowned a little at that but knew not to take the slight too personally. Howard was the one that liked to schmooze with the populous. It was her own fault for preferring to stay away from the cameras. "Stark Industries is a company. A manufacture. We aren't an army branch."

"It's a good thing we're not asking for all of Stark Industries, then."

"You just want Howard."

"Well . . . . Him and yourself, Rogers."

"Sounds like you're starting a crusade," Howard cut in. "What you need are crusaders. And the costume doesn't quite fit me—"

His words were interrupted by the roar of a police siren. Matilda glanced back, shutting the file in her hands and setting it aside. "Goddammit, Howie," she muttered.

"Pull over!" the police yelled.

Howard made a sharp tch sound. "Look at me. I can't even stay out of trouble for an hour at a time. Though I am going thirty over."

"Just stop the car," Matilda sighed.

Phillips shook his head sharply and leaned over. "Don't stop!"

The car jerked forward, accelerating dramatically. Matilda grabbed the seat beside her for stability. "What the hell!"

"Hail Hydra!"

And then her thoughts were drowned out by gunfire. Matilda ducked down into the back seat, reaching for the gun hidden beneath her skirt. She drew the colt out and chambered a round, steadying herself as Howard served recklessly. He was shouting something to Phillips but she couldn't hear him over the gunfire. Phillips turned around and shot. There was a cry and a brief pause in the shooting. Matilda took that chance and sat back up, taking aim. The man in the back seat of the other car was leaning out of the window, getting ready with his own gun. Matilda squeezed the trigger twice. She wasn't sure which one hit, but all that mattered was one did.

Howard was shouting orders of some kind to Phillips now. Matilda aimed for the driver, but he swerved his car and accelerated faster then them. When he glanced to the side, he lifted his own gun.

Bang!

She'd never felt pain like that before. If she was being honest with herself, it probably had something to do with the fact that she'd never been shot before. Matilda slapped her hand up over her right shoulder, her grip loosening involuntarily on her gun. Her head hit something hard when she fell back and her vision spun while her pain sang.

The car rumbled in a familiar way and she recognized it from her hours of testing the mechanism over and over with Howard. Then she heard the combustion. And the following explosion. The car swerved harshly and jerked to a stop, making Matilda bite out a cry of pain.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Matilda, hey, look at me! Hey—"

"Rogers, keep pressure on that! Stark, take us back in and to the hospital! I'll send someone else to come clean this up."

"But what—"

"A-anytime now," Matilda gasped out, screwing her eyes shut. When had everything gotten so white and so loud and god, couldn't someone stop that ringing?

"Go, Stark!"

The car roared to life again and Howard swung back around in the direction they'd come from. Phillips climbed into the back seat and pulled out his handkerchief. "Here." He lifted her hand and put the cloth over the wound before pressing her hand back down. "Keep that pressure." He moved his hand and her fingers lifted a little. "Rogers, don't— Rogers? Rogers, stay with us. Rogers!"

She stared at the blank ceiling for a long time before finally convincing herself to look elsewhere. There was an IV in her arm and it itched terribly. She distracted herself by looking to her right. A curtain cut her off from where she assumed the door was. She looked to the left. Howard was sitting in a chair by the window. His notebook sat open in his lap, but he was staring through the glass as he twirled the pen in his hand. Matilda stared down at the clipboard sitting on the bed by her feet. Frowning, she craned her neck only to stop when that shot pain through her muscles. She flinched and squinted to get a good look.

"Virginia Anderson?" she croaked.

Howard jumped, the notebook in his lap tumbling to the floor. He stared at her hollowly and she realized just how pale he was. He swallowed visibly. "Um, yeah. Didn't want the word to get out about the better half of Stark Industries getting shot. Besides, can you imagine what Steve and Barnes would do to me if they had to read in the paper that you got hurt?"

She laughed weakly, only to almost immediately regret it. "I can only imagine." After a moment, she murmured, "The better half?"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about." He cleared his throat and picked up the notebook. "I told Phillips that I'm in."

"Oh?" Matilda stared up at the ceiling, mulling that over. Then she whispered, "I am too."

"What, getting shot change your mind?"

"I changed my mind when I saw the film, Howie. We can do something about Hydra. So shouldn't we?"

He shrugged and moved to stand beside her. "How do you feel?"

That got a groan out of her. "Like shit."

"Yeah, well, you look the part too. You've been out a day."

"A—"

"Well, you woke up a little while ago but you weren't lucid. They said that was the anesthetic wearing off. They had to put you under for surgery." He brushed a hand against his right shoulder. "They had to get the bullet out and fix everything it damaged—muscle, tendon, bone—"

"Yeah, I get the idea." She screwed her eyes shut. "What now?"

"You'll be in a sling for three weeks, minimum, they said. Something about you being lucky and how it could have been worse."

"Shit. Stevie's probably freaking out."

"He doesn't know yet."

"I know. But we've been here a day? We were supposed to go back in the morning."

"So we'll be late. Oh well." Howard shoved his hands in his pockets. "Phillips says there's paperwork we have to fill out once we're back in New York."

"Good. We'll schedule that once we're back. When can I get out of here?"

"Matilda—"

"Howie. I want out of here."

His jaw tightened and then he nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"You've been quiet," she commented. "Lacking your usual chatter."

"Hmm."

She stared out the window at Brooklyn's familiar buildings as they drove by. "Something wrong?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"No."

"You got shot in front of me. I think that entitles me to an off day."

She held up a hand—her left one—and arched her eyebrows. "Touchy. My bad." Matilda shifted in her seat and hissed in pain when it jostled her shoulder against the car door.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault."

He made an odd noise and pulled to a stop next to the apartment building. "You know you don't have to stay here."

"The fancy mansion is your thing, Howie. This is where Stevie and I grew up." She undid her seatbelt. "I don't want to leave that."

"Right." He stopped the engine. "Don't move. I'll get you out."

"Not a baby," she muttered. But nevertheless, she waited. Howard opened her door and took her left hand, helping her out. "Think Steve's home?"

"Hope not. I don't want to help explain this."

"I've got that covered. Quit holding me. I can walk myself." She pushed past him and jogged up the stairs, wincing at the way it jerked her shoulder in its sling. But she hid that, not wanting to give him any more reason to coddle her. When they reached the door, she began awkwardly digging in her pockets for her keys. "I coulda sworn I—"

Howard sighed and leaned in, knocking loudly. "Hey, Steve! Let us in!"

There was a loud thump from inside and then the door was thrown open. Steve stood there, eyes wide and chest heaving. "Juno." His gaze dropped to her sling and he paled. "What—"

"So an interesting thing happened while we were in California," she started weakly, voice breaking just a touch.

"Tilly, what the hell happened?"

She jerked in surprise, looking past Steve to find Bucky sitting at the table. He got to his feet, brow creased in concern. "Bucky, I . . . . Um . . . ." She cleared her throat. "Turns out that weapons manufacturing can really make ya some enemies. It's not too bad. A few weeks in a sling and it'll be all healed up." She attempted a smile and a joke that fell flat. "They wouldn't let me keep the bullet."

"Oh my god," Steve breathed, lurching forward. His arms wrapped around her. "Juno, that—"

"Shit!" She jerked backwards and a pained hiss built up in her throat. "Sorry, that just— Shit. Watch the arm."

Bucky reached out and took Steve by the shoulder, pulling him back. "Careful," he murmured, though Matilda wasn't sure if he was saying it to Steve or to her. "Ya know, when you didn't come back yesterday, Steve got paranoid."

"Just Steve?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"I knew you could take care of yourself." But his expression was doubtful and he wouldn't stop staring at her sling.

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe you."

Her smile faltered just a touch and she met his gaze. "Okay."

Bucky knocked softly and waited. "Come in," she called. He pushed his way into the office and Matilda looked up from where she was sitting at her desk. "Bucky?"

"Hey, doll. You weren't out dancing with us."

"Can't exactly dance with this," she said, frowning down at her sling.

"That's not true." He sighed. "Anyway, Howard mentioned you've been really caught up in your work. And knowing you, I guessed that meant you hadn't eaten, so." He held up the plate of pastries he was carrying and then set it down on her desk.

"Thank you." She sat back and picked up one of the eclairs.

"What's got ya workin' so late?" he asked, leaning against the desk and reaching out for one of the papers. She dropped her pastry and smacked his hand away. He pulled back in surprise.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Government contract stuff. Supposed to be a secret." Once he nodded and pulled back, she cleared her throat and picked her eclair back up. "We've got a lot going on. And my part is taking longer than normal since, well . . . ." She scowled down at her arm. "I can't exactly write easily with this."

"What's this I'm hearing?" he asked. When she looked at him curiously, he grinned. "There's something you can't do?"

That dragged a laugh out of her and she muffled it with her food, rolling her eyes. After she polished the eclair off and licked her fingers, she leaned back again. "How was dancing?"

"Good, as always. You shoulda come."

"Like I said, I can't dance with—"

"That's ridiculous. Here." He pushed off from the desk and came around it so he was standing next to her. He held out his hand. "Dance with me."

She stared up at him and then sighed. "Bucky—"

"C'mon. What? Don't trust me?"

She eyed him. "Don't pull that." She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet.

He pulled her out past the desk into the open area of her office. "It's just like normal," he murmured, moving his hand from hers in order to curl it up her back. His steps were slow and gentle and she followed easily, familiarly. "Just . . . minus a hand. Right?"

She smiled faintly. "Right. But there's no music either, genius."

"Hmm, you're right about that. Do you need it?"

Matilda stared up at him. Then she smiled and leaned her head forward against his shoulder. "No," she whispered. "Guess I don't."