Dear Readers,

Hope you're having a marvelous week! I've been just shy of Hulk smashing, so I'm happy to be sneaking away to the fan fiction world for a bit. Join me, won't you?!

Hugs,

-Pip

Warnings: somewhere between sexual references and public displays of affection. There's not a great way to describe making out with Mark Ruffalo. I can't label a chapter with "IT'S HOT, LIT, and A LITTLE BIT GREEN..."

Oh wait, just did.

Additionally, mild language, threats of violence.

...

CHAPTER ELEVEN - Emboldened

…

Kitchen Talks - Natasha Romanoff

...

"Do you need any help?" Bruce asks shyly.

I give him a smirk. "With this small box in my arms?"

"I just thought, I'd, uh," Bruce slowly takes the box out of my hands and puts it on the counter of his apartment. "May I?"

"Be my guest," I sweep a hand at the box. I return to my mug of hot, hot coffee, sipping at the frothy edge and watching the lines of his mouth, his neck.

He pulls out a framed picture, holds it out at arms length, smiles. The Barton family photo from last Christmas. The only piece of sentimentality I cling to, the knowledge that my best friend and his family are thriving, well, and happy.

"Cute family," he muses quietly. "The kids are growing up fast."

"Maybe we should go back and visit them sometime," I say.

Bruce looks at me over his glasses, unsure at my hesitancy. "Sounds wonderful. Why wouldn't we?"

"As a couple."

"Oh, you mean, tell them we're… uh…"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised the Hawk doesn't already know."

"He has his suspicions. I won't confirm it." I put my coffee down, bracing my arms on the counter and hopping on, swinging my legs. Freely. Girlishly. "Not till you're ready."

"Someone will notice when we arrive at work at the same time every day," Bruce chuckles lightly.

"Or we don't," I suggest, "Just… for now. No carpooling. Not yet."

Bruce looks hurt. "Oh. Right. Because of the, uh…"

"Mission," I say firmly.

"Mission," he repeats, not meeting my eyes. "How long do you think this little flirtation has to go on?"

"Honestly? I can't end it soon enough," I look at the coffee as if it personally betrayed me. "I'm close. I think I'm close. There is something wrong." I look back at him. "I will find out what it is."

"Can I ask you a question, Nat? A hard one?"

"You can ask me anything, Bruce."

"Will you sleep with him? To find out what you need?"

"I've slept with men before to get what I needed. Does that bother you?"

"No, because," Bruce hesitates. "It was in the past."

"Yes, it was," I agree. I reach over and take his hand. It's bigger than mine, and warm. "But my job description did not change in the meantime. I am still a spy."

He nods. "I know."

"Will it hurt you?" I ask. "If I do?"

Bruce looks away. "The honest answer is yes."

I don't know how to answer him.

"I don't want to hurt you," I say.

"Okay, uh, uh, let me - let me rephrase that," he pulls his hand out of mine, turning fully towards me. He steps between my legs, setting a hand at my hip, the other fully encompassing my face. His palm is so warm - and despite not being sad, nor unhappy, I feel comforted. He leans me against the cupboards behind me, his chest pressed against mine. "It would hurt, yes," he says. "It would hurt me very much. But I would not be angry with you. I would not fault you for it. I would do my very best not - not to think about it. Not to be jealous of Barnes for having the privilege of being intimate with you. I would try to… put it away. Forget about it."

I surprise myself by letting my lip tremble. He is… so good. Truly good.

"Sad but not angry," I surmise.

"Yes."

"You wouldn't hold it against me."

"We all have jobs we don't like sometimes."

I rest an arm on each of his broad shoulders. "You are good."

"What do you mean?"

"You are a good person."

"So are you."

"I'm so-so," I respond, putting the tremble away. I force myself to smile. "Bruce, I won't sleep with him."

"You don't have to say that on my account…"

"No, I mean, I will not sleep with him. On MY account. I will go as far as I must to gain intel… if there's any intel to be had... but I choose to not sleep with him. I'd known that long ago. But I wanted to know what you thought. What you think is important to me."

I so rarely hug, but this time calls for it. I wrap my arms around his neck and tuck my chin over his shoulder, holding him close. "Something I am becoming used to is when you love someone, you try not to hurt them. Sometimes you fail. But sometimes you have a choice."

He breathes into my hair. "Nat, if the mission…"

"If the mission were to hurt us," I say firmly, pulling back, "Hurt what we have? The mission goes." I snap my fingers. "Just like that."

Bruce is overwhelmed. His eyes search mine, looking for lies. Finding none, he kisses me. Our lips move rhythmically together, intentionally slowly, savoring each electric sensation. Finding a relationship built on mutual respect was a dream that I never - never thought I would have. This is that dream, and I am tasting it.

My phone rings, buzzing incessantly on the counter next to my first unpacked box.

"Ignore it," I whisper, maneuvering my lips past the scruff of his chin, finding my way to his earlobe.

The phone buzzes again.

"It could be an emergency," Bruce whispers back, one hand pressed firmly into my back, the other sliding under my hip.

"Screw emergencies," I mutter, looking over his shoulder at the phone. I really, really don't like being interrupted like this. "It's… Barnes."

Bruce rests both hands on my hips. He gently presses his thumbs on my thighs, rubbing them back and forth in sympathetic comfort, not foreplay. "It's okay," he says slowly. "Call him back."

"Bruce, I can think of three… maybe five things I would prefer doing right now."

"Only five?" he teases, then sobers. "It's okay. Call him back, I won't be mad," he gives

me an understanding smile. "I am going to go take a shower and get ready for work. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You'll let the movers in? When they get here?"

"Yes, of course."

He gives me one last kiss - for encouragement, for luck, or for himself, I don't know, and his warmth leaves me as he disappears into the bathroom.

I didn't expect my first day of moving in to be so… heavy.

I call him back.

"Hey," Barnes says happily.

"Hey," I respond, equally warm.

"I've been trying to reach you. I was, uh…"

"Worried?" I infer, feeling prickly. I hate it when men are needlessly clingley.

"Well, I wouldn't be, ordinarily," Barnes says. "It's just we… we had plans for breakfast and…"

And I had stood him up.

"Oh," I say, with the overloaded enthusiasm of someone overworked and forgetful. I hadn't forgotten. I just didn't want to go. "I can't believe…" I groan, as if embarrassed. "I thought you said you wanted to get breakfast on Thursday."

"It is Thursday," he says.

A pause, for dramatic effect. "It's Wednesday."

"Check your calendar Romanoff," Barnes chuckles.

"I am rarely wrong," I say confidently. Then I wait.

"Well?"

"Today is one of those rare occasions. Barnes, I'm sorry. It… uh… appears to be Thursday. I'm sorry I worried you."

"It's all right. I'll see you at the Tower."

"Of course."

"Do you want to… train?"

I knew what he meant. Training and then making out. It's not rocket science.

"I have a… meeting with Deadpool that I can't miss. After?"

"Yes," he says. No hint of the charm, the humor. "Of course. I'll see you there."

"See you there."

He ends the call. Something about his tone had changed, and I didn't like it. It wasn't hostile. It wasn't sad, nor happy. It simply wasn't. No emotion at all, as if he's suddenly turned them off.

I stare at the phone, thinking, processing.

I don't even hear Bruce come back in. "Nat," he says.

I look up slowly. "Yeah."

"Everything okay?" he hooks a dark blue towel over one arm.

"Everything is fine."

Bruce gives a slight smile and a head shake, as if he can't believe what he's hearing.

"Remember one of the first things I ever yelled at you?" he asks.

"In words? Or roaring?" I smirk.

"Words," he replies patiently.

I tilt my head. "You asked me to stop lying to you."

He gives me that look again, the one I find so irresistible, looking at me from under his brows like I was a student evading a question of a stern professor. "Well?" he asks.

"I say everything is fine because I don't know how else to answer," I respond tiredly. He immediately drapes the towel over the back of the dining chair, walking back around the island to rejoin me at the counter.

"Talk to me."

"I'm not trying to lie," I explain, "Sometimes it's easier to fallback than it is to verbalize a working theory. One I don't have figured out yet."

"Then say that," Bruce says gently, resting his hands on my knees. "Even if it's… annoying, or scary, or unknown, or half-assed sentences… give me a try and I'll listen."

I take a deep breath. "Something is off with Barnes. Okay - I mean - more than usual. I can feel it. I just can't figure out what it is. The sooner I can the sooner I can break this off. I'm frustrated."

"I understand."

"I am good at this," I say. "You know I am."

"Yes."

"If I can trick the god of mischief into giving away his plans to use you on the helicarrier, why is it so hard to figure out an unfrozen-super-soldier?"

"When you put it like that…"

Something clicks. Not a lot of something, but it is… something.

"I know that look," Bruce says. "What are you thinking?"

"It's because I'm trying to figure out an unfrozen super soldier," I say, the theory tripping itself up in my brain, making it difficult to say. "I assumed he was telling the truth from the beginning because Steve did. Steve is one of my best friends, why shouldn't I trust him?"

"We both trust him?" Bruce isn't following. "Steve would never intentionally mislead you."

"Steve isn't at fault here. Steve trusts Barnes. Barnes told him his story - told the world his story. I was taking this at face value from the beginning. I haven't - I shouldn't, ever, ever, ever do this with a potential target."

I hop off the counter, pacing back and forth through the kitchen. "I need to strip away everything I learned from Steve. What's left? What is left? An enhanced target whose last known association with our friends was time spent as a hero in WWII and as a POW. Those are the facts. Everything else is hearsay." I throw my hands up in the air. "Just hearsay."

"Including his time spent frozen underground?"

"Especially that," I bite my thumb thoughtfully and keep pacing. "Something he said early on… it was a red flag to me. I even made a point of mentioning it to Wade Wilson. He had a surprisingly lack of curiosity about the Sokovia incident."

"So Steve may have told him about it?"

"He did. Partially. About Ultron. But not about the formulation of three entirely new Slavic countries. Counties that did not exist when he was an active soldier in Europe during the war. Do you see?"

Bruce nods.

"He had no questions, no nothing," I say quickly. "He only commented it was a rough area. Like he already knew about it." I sit heavily in the dining chair. "Like he already knew."

Bruce follows me over, kneeling in front of me so that I have to look at him. "Scientific theory is different," he says calmly. "So I can't promise I am being any help, but… when it comes to human nature… the type of mysteries you deal with every day… I believe there are no coincidences. Everything means something."

"The difference between Loki and Barnes," I say softly, "Is that there should be a huge, huge difference. Barnes should be easier. But he's not. This - essentially - tells me that I am dealing with something far bigger than I am giving it credit for. Even if this tells me nothing else, I know I cannot underestimate him."

I close my eyes, wondering if I can feel a headache coming on. "I've been too preoccupied with making sure he didn't underestimate me. The better someone knows their opponent, the faster they show their cards to play. I thought if I kept pushing him, he'd show his hand."

"You've done well on that front," Bruce says uncomfortably, "But if you truly believe you're dealing with something worse than Loki, just how much danger are you putting yourself in? What about Steve, Tony? Should they know?"

"I have nothing to tell them," I say. "No facts."

"I think Tony would listen."

"Then you talk to Tony. Please. Let me handle Steve. I'll talk to him after my trip."

"I'll do what I can to help, you know that."

"Thank you."

Bruce stands again, bending over and kissing the top of my head soundly, tugging his towel out from under my elbow.

The doorbell rings.

"My helper," I sigh.

"Do you still want to stay?" Bruce asks.

"Why are you even asking?" I push him towards the bathroom. "Go get a shower. When you come out, you'll be surprised at just how little boxes there are in your very, very nice home."

"You pack light?"

"Nothing that I couldn't carry in a backpack and run with it. So... yes."

Bruce smiles fondly. "Please tell me the movers brought more than a backpack."

"Yes," I say proudly. "Now that I've been primarily settled in New York, I've accumulated three boxes."

"Only three?" Bruce exclaims. "And you hired movers?"

I walk over and open the door.

Wade Wilson is standing outside with a box balanced on one arm, and two boxes on a red flyer wagon behind him. He purposefully scrawled TASHA STROGANOFF on each of them in red sharpie, but the R is backwards.

"I had to mug three kids at a lemonade stand to get this here," he says happily.

Bruce immediately walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Wade stares after him. "When you gotta go, you gotta go."

...

Migraines - Bucky Barnes

...

"Why did you ignore my call?"

"I was on the other line," I reply. "It was a mistake. It won't happen again."

"I need to know you are with me, soldier."

"I am."

"Who were you on the phone with?" Alexander Pierce's voice sounds soft, interested. A colleague you might drink with on a weekend. But he is not - he is sharp. Dangerous. "Tell me."

"My...my…" I almost call her my girlfriend. But… "A woman I'm dating."

He chuckles. "Settling in is an important part of your cover."

"Yes, it is."

"The woman you are seeing," he says. "She is just another corpse to me if she distracts you from doing your job. Understand?"

I feel my heart rate increase. "Yes."

"You've been doing well there. The Avengers - they trust you?"

"Some of them."

"Not all of them?"

"They are suspicious by nature and not easily won over."

"But despite the hindrance you've still been helpful to my primary suppliers."

"Yes."

"Do you understand why it is so important to me that you keep the Vulture informed?"

"No."

"The Vulture has something I want, and he's improving what I want, to make it better than I want," he replies. "That's all you need to know. He's of value to me. Ergo, of value to you. Keep the Avengers in the dark."

"I will."

"You enjoy having the woman keeping you warm?"

The implication makes my throat tight, my ears hot. She's not just the woman. She's Natasha Romanoff. She's beautiful, she's wicked smart, and altogether too incredibly gifted to be truly interested in me. But I want the delusion for as long as possible.

"Yes, I do," I respond tightly.

"Good, if you like having her around… don't falter in your charade. You know with one trigger word; I can make you forget you ever liked her and have you snap her neck in seconds."

"Yes, I understand," I say firmly. "I understand very much."

He's threatening her. He's threatening Nat.

He's threatening them all.

He doesn't just want to play a role and listen. He's say those words… someday… and ask me to kill them all. And I'll try, but I'll likely die trying.

I can't have it happen…

I can't…

I can't do it.

"Call Vulture," Pierce commands. "I think Avengers are getting their hands into his operation."

"I know they are."

"And you haven't found who it is yet?"

"No, but I'm trying. They have an agent undercover. I've been trying to get my hands on the intel but Rogers and Wilson run it and won't let anyone else in. I feel I could do more if I knew more about the crew, but I can't exactly meet up with Vulture for a long survey. Maybe if you send me more data…"

"Who do you think you work for, James?" Pierce says slowly. I hate it when he uses my first name, like I am the son who is disappointing him… using his credit card, borrowing his car.

"I work for you," I say quickly. "I have not forgotten. I am asking for help, sir. My skill set is to go in and kill everyone. Being the… people person and gathering their files is not something I have access to unless I blow my cover."

"Oh, calm down, no one is blowing anyone's cover," Pierce sounds miffed. "I will kindly suggest to the Vulture that he needs to take a little time out of his busy day and get you some data. Happy?"

"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

"You'd better not," Pierce answers. "Or some tragic accident will befall that beautiful lady you are seeing. She's good, but my men are better. We'd leave her left foot somewhere for you to trip over."

He ends the call.

I bend down over the grass and try not to vomit.
I'm not sick - I'm resisting.

This is what happens when I do.

The more I try to push them away… the more they echo. From Russian, to English, back again to Russian.

The English finally repeating itself over and over, hitting the walls of my brain and bouncing off, clamoring in a migraine I've never been able to shake.

A migraine every goddamn day.

"Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak…"

"Stop," I say out loud. "Stop."

My mind quiets, and I straighten to my full height.

I'll find a way to do both.

I have to.

...

Je Déteste le Vautour - Tony Stark

...

"Didn't I tell you?" Pepper asks, folding a napkin over her lap and giving me a pleasantly smug expression. "Getting out of the tower was the better option."

I like the way her engagement ring glints in the morning light slanting in from the cafe windows.

"Yes, Miss Potts," I say. "It was a much better idea, remind me to let you have all the good ideas from now on." I peruse the menu.

"Hi there, can I take your order?" asks the waitress.

I read her name tag. "Well, Abigail, yes you can, thank you."

"The fruit and pita plate for me, thank you." Pepper smiles and hands her the menu.

"I'll uh - I'll have the le agriculteur dejeuner?" I say. Pepper laughs outright at my pronunciation. "Hold the, uh, sausage links."

"Would you like to substitute bacon or ham slices?"

"Actually, if at all possible, can I sub uh - some the extra fruit lying around from that pita plate thing? A few orange slices? Maybe grapefruit. I will willingly take an apple core if that's what's left."

Pepper keeps laughing.

"On second thought," I say, "I apologize. I see there's a fruit bowl side here. I'll save you the trouble and I'll just order that."

Abigail blinks, suddenly recognizing me. "Ha, ha, oh - yes - of course - Mr. Stark. Will um, will that be all for you both this morning?"

"Coffee, black, for both," Pepper says. "Someone forgot to have their eighth cup this morning."

Abigail giggles. "Coming right up." She flips the orderbook shut and heads back to the kitchen.

"What the hell is a fruit and PITA plate?" I ask.

"Subbing meat for fruit?" Pepper exclaims, nearly at the same time. "Leave to us to order the only - only things on the menu that aren't French in any way."

"I'm watching my heart health," I respond. "Rumor is, I have one."

"Hello, Anthony."

I glance up as a shadow moves across our table.

Adrian Toomes is standing beside our table, wearing dark trousers, an aviator jacket, and a self-important smile.

For a moment I don't say anything.

There are very few things that surprise me… this is one of them.

"Hi," Pepper says uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, can we help you?"

"My mother would call me Anthony sometimes," I say stiffly, cutting off any potential reply to Pepper.

"What'd your dad like to call you?" Toomes replies evenly. "A disappointment?"

"Excuse me?" Pepper exclaims.

"Where are the real microprocessors, Toomes?" I cut right to the chase.

"I heard they disappeared in a fiery accident," Toomes shrugs. "Only rumor, of course."

"Tony, what is this," Pepper says, her voice laced with the edge of fear.

I hold up a hand. "Toomes, we both know that you wouldn't send up your prized possession to be burned up. That's just not you."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Maybe I'm just sick and tired of having your circus all over my ass. If you don't cool the pressure on me, I'll find other ways to pressure you."

"Tony," Pepper whispers.

I look around the restaurant. "Listen, Toomes, I hate to make a scene here, but I will if I have to. I've got point three seconds to unfold a Mark L appendage that, could, unfortunately, hit you right in the face if you keep standing so close."

Toomes rolls his eyes. "So it comes down to playground threats, huh?" He looks over at Pepper, eyes roaming up and down. Her mouth curls in disgust.

"Don't you look at her," I spit out. "Don't. Don't. Walk away. Now."

"I myself have a pair of wings getting - rusty," Toomes says. "If I call them in, they come right through that skylight. Kill - I dunno, how many people, from the falling sheets of glass and ceiling - they're sharp like knives," he smiles again at Pepper, "You never know where one of the feathers might end up."

I stand up. "It's time for you to go."

Toomes reaches over and straightens the lapel of my jacket. My hands curl into fists but I force myself not to react.

"Nice seeing you, as always, Iron-Man," he says, turning and walking through the tables. I watch his jacket disappear out the front door and into the street.

I sit heavily back at the table, looking at Pepper.

She looks afraid, confused. She reaches forward and curls her beautiful hand around my arm. The ring sparkles. "Tony," she says, "Talk to me."

"I'm afraid I've suddenly lost my appetite, future-Mrs.-Stark," I say briskly.

"Then we leave," she says firmly. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"You," I point at her. "You need to be… debriefed."

"Oh," she says calmly. "I see. So that was someone…"

"Someone I'd like to put behind bars, yeah. Subject of an open SHIELD investigation that we have our hands in because it's taking them too damn long to do anything remotely helpful. We're running our own op to… well, I guess I'll need to start from the beginning. He's… he's very dangerous, Pepper."

"They're all dangerous," she sighs.

"He's in the top ten. More subtle about it, too, which makes him worse."

Abigail approaches with two plates and sets them down. "Coffee will be up in a moment," she says cheerfully. "Enjoy your…"

"On second thought, Abigail," I say, turning towards her. "Hate to do this to you, but I'm going to need three things. First, hold the coffee. Second, I need to-go boxes. We'll need to take our breakfast on the run. Thirdly, the check. Again, I apologize. Work came up."

Abigail knows my work is usually saving the world from aliens or robots. She gives a worried look out the front window, and then back at me. "Of course, Mr. Stark," she says. "Don't you apologize. It's completely fine. Let me go get that for you, I'll be right back."

Pepper gives my arm a squeeze, takes a sip of ice water. "Breakfast on the rooftop?"

"Yeah," I say shortly. "That way - you and I can talk. No interruptions. No… surprise third parties. We'll have a nice breakfast in the sun and look down at New York and pretend it's a date."

"But you'll be telling me about the current operations."

"You bet your blond curls I will."

"Strawberry blond," she corrects.

"Come again?"

"My hair. It's strawberry blond right now."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means it's… blondish red."

"There is nothing about your hair that looks remotely pink."

"It's not pink."

"Blond and red mixed together makes pink. I know art."

Abigail returns with the boxes and check. The final bill is fifty-three. I feel badly for anyone working in the service industry for the long hours and putting up with people like me. I also feel recklessly empathetic and fucking pissed off that Toomes had the audacity to show his face here. And damn it, I'm rich.

I put three hundred dollars in the book, and write on the receipt.

YES, the 247 in change is the tip for our waitress.

Thank you Abigail

Excellent service

- Tony Stark

...

...

...

Review Replies

Starnight5: Yeah Bucky has a sort of complex response system, he's fighting off the Winter Soldier control a lot, and sometimes he gets exhausted or angry and his defenses slip, and the Winter Soldier creeps back in. Sometimes he's literally holding both personalities in his head at the same time and they're struggling to see who is dominant. It's definitely a difficult balance to write. And you'll definitely get to see Peter use his gun in the next chapter!

LooneyLovegood1981: Aw thank you I'm glad you loved that line :) Seemed like something Bruce would say! He's such a warm character. I am glad you had a good weekend anyway! And also I'm totally jealous you were in France?! That's super amazing. Was it for vacation or work or school or something?

curry-llama: Yeah unfortunately being a cancer survivor left me with some reaaal fun PTSD, so I can write a lot of anxiety and panic from the experience. While I don't enjoy having them I do appreciate what little I can when it comes to writing them out, and I feel I can portray it honestly for the characters. Something I appreciated about Iron Man 3 was how Tony was sometimes triggered by colors or shapes, which I find very true to life. For a long time there was a particular shade of pink that made me lightheaded and feel a need to vomit. :P Luckily I was able to recover from that one, since I love the color pink, haha. XD

Tightpants182: YES, Wade absolutely would have known Bucky was the leak if he had actually heard what he was saying. I reread my paragraph over and over after posting and realized I didn't make it entirely clear that Wade said he was eavesdropping only to freak Bucky out, I didn't make it entirely clear that Wade didn't hear anything from before that. Wade didn't actually hear what he said, he popped within hearing range just a little too late. He only heard the part about the ice cream. If he had heard the bit about the wall and having a place 'with a view', Bucky's head probably would have been shoved through a wall right then and there :) He suspects Bucky is sort of off, anyway, but still has nothing but his own suspicions and no proof to use. Good catch!

NEXT TIME: Peter and MJ try to go out on a date, but it is interrupted by Peter's double life. That double life bleeds over into his resolve to keep his hands clean, and this time, he's the one pulling the trigger...