I don't own Marvel. Or anything aside from Christina and anything you don't recognize.

Well here we are guys, end of the line! At least for part one anyway. It's officially the New Year irl as well as in this story; we made it to 2012! We're going to ring the year in with all kinds of new things, i.e. alien attacks and a little surprise at the end. The next update will be over at the second installment, "Pomegranate Kin" will be comin' at ya soon! Are you reading for this ending?

"Over the still world, a bird calls
waking solitary among black boughs.

You wanted to be born; I let you be born.
When has my grief ever gotten
in the way of your pleasure?

Plunging ahead
into the dark and light at the same time
eager for sensation

as though you were some new thing, wanting
to express yourselves

all brilliance, all vivacity

never thinking
this would cost you anything,
never imagining the sound of my voice
as anything but part of you—

you won't hear it in the other world,
not clearly again,
not in birdcall or human cry,

not the clear sound, only
persistent echoing
in all sound that means good-bye, good-bye—

the one continuous line

that binds us to each other."

Christina falls into 2012 renewed; begone her inhibitions, farewell her doubt, so long guilt. She returns to the girl who wrangled the earth on a leash, walk it like her pet pitbull on her choke-chain. She's all but ready to rule it all, like the queen of spitfire and brimstone she'd been once, in another life. Except this time she'd do it with her pet wolf, the Winter Soldier ready to rule at her side.

She jumps back into fixing restored vigor, but this time she does it clean, only consulting Rumlow on the hardest of cases— still wary after the McFarland incident. This round it's her blazing ardor and gleaming zeal that gets Christina her way. People see the fire in her eyes and feed off the raw vehemence she exhibits, everyone is enraptured by it. She knocks out four cases without a hitch, with merely gusto and determination alone. At work they keep saying that she makes the name Valkyrie ring true.

"You look like you could crush the world beneath your feet again," Deja tells her one day, having joined the blonde for a victory brunch after closing yet another assignment in record time. To be honest she believes the brunette, can feel that flame burning again, the same one she'd been so sure had died years before. The New Year brought it roaring back to life with flaming vengeance.

Christina attributes it to having Winter by her side. For all their sins, they're better when they're together, and she knows it's the reason she'd made such a successful come back. Having him gives her strength and with him on her side, she feels there's nothing she can't do— the world be damned, they could run it all if they wanted. Lucky for the world, the only thing they want is each other.

Winter sees it too whenever they're together, the light that had for a while gone dull is back and his girl is on fire. She's all well-put together, all vitality and exuberance, ready to take the world by the reigns like he's always known back when they she was twenty-four and they'd first met— that she was going to grab life by the balls one day and make it her bitch.

He'd known it when he'd looked at her, even seated on her father's couch that first time with her nude between his booted feet. And, he knows it now. The assassin has every intention of being at her side, helping her along in any way she sees fit. For Christina Pierce he would burn the world.

Valkyrie Consultants isn't the only place where Christina is a burning inferno. She takes Winter to bed with vigor so renewed that he's sure they'd gone back in time. She's all beautiful and strong, unbridled and unforgiving. The firm is nothing for her because she could set fire to the earth if she wanted to and the Asset would be happy to watch it burn, if for her. He'll set do anything she wanted. There wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't do if for Christina Pierce.

Between missions, and cryo, and rounds in The Chair, he's able to see his girl and it's like seeing a living, breathing goddess. All ethereal and glowing, blonde bombshell who's always ready and willing to welcome him home like he belongs there. Like he belongs to her, and hell if he'd ever have it otherwise. Christina is his home, and his life, and his love— if he could ever truly recall the emotion. He takes every single opportunity to try and memorize everything detail about her, should Hydra and the machine rewrites him ever try to take her away.

They always come down like two people shattered, full euphoria and splendor, and so much goddamn admiration and affection that there's no other word for it than love. He revels in that intoxicating scent of pomegranate, buries himself in it, wills himself to remember it. The Soldier decides that no matter his past, whatever mysteries lie what he cannot recall, no matter the evils Hydra had forced him to suffer through— this is exactly where he was meant to be in this universe. Because that would mean he was meant to end up right there with his girl, and he'd give anything to be there with Christina Pierce.

Falling asleep after sex still startles the assassin, especially with the nightmares that creep up his spine and occasionally reign control of his dreams. His lover is a smart girl, who knows better than to touch him during a night terror, she always gives him a wide berth before calling to him from a distance to stir from his horrors. It's safer that way and he's thankful that she knows what to do in those situations. Winter knows he'd never forgive himself if he harmed her in his rousing state, when he goes into Soldier mode and wields that left arm like the deadly weapon that it is. Thankfully it never goes that far. Christina keeps her distance and hums him smoothing reassurances that he's home, that he's safe and he comes out of his clouded delirium without ever causing her too much trouble.

That night is thankfully, not one of those nights. When the dreams turn dark he startles out his nightmare and blinks around the dimly lit bedroom of his lover's apartment, turning to find her lying beside. She isn't curled close— he'd probably rolled out of her reach in the throws of his oncoming night terror— but she's angled toward him, looking like an angel in the moonlight. She dressed in the cutest black lace and polka dot cami and little matching panties, her blonde hair all tousled and flowing around her like a halo, her long eyelashes laid out against her cheeks, soft pink lips parted just the slightest as she inhales and exhales in the quietest of little snores. She's so goddman cute and all his for the taking.

Christina is nudged awake by Winter's insistent mouth, kissing her back to life and then tracing those kisses down her jaw and throat. She giggles in the dark, like the gentle sound of a wind chime filling his ears, as she reaches up at tangles her fingers in his brunette locks. "Mmm," He groans, rolling over on top of her and damn near swallowing her whole in his kiss. When he pulls back he bumps his nose against hers affectionately, "You are the most beautiful fuckin' thing I've ever seen, solnyshka moyo."

Smiling up at him sleepily, the petite blonde brushes his long hair away from his face, tucking the dark strands behind his ears, "I could say the same about you." Winter grins, plasters himself against her front and places numerous possessive pecks along the length of her neck. Christina giggles, wraps her arms around him and begins combing her fingers through the tangled ends of his hair, even as those insistent kisses travel down to her clavicle.

Before she knows it, he's tugging down the straps of her cami, exposing her chest and leaving little love bites on her breasts. Her hands drift over his shoulders, one of them coming down to rest on his waist and fiddling with the band of his boxer briefs, moaning as he colors her chest with hickies. Finally she pushes the black material down and then she parts her thighs, allowing him to follow suite with her own underwear. She raises her knees, legs coming up to lock around his hips as Winter breaches her folds, making her moan and clutch at his shoulders.

Christina can already tell it's going to be one of their more intense escapades. In the way he watches her face as he eases inside of her, his little breathless moan and the way he leans in to nudge their noses together. "You with me, doll?" Winter voice is soft, his lips brushing intimately over hers without actually kissing her. She hums, nodding minutely and then kissing him hard as he starts fucking into her. God, is he good at unmaking her.

But, it's not as if she's the only who's weak for the other between them. Winter releases a stuttering breath, feeling the tight warmth of her sweet cunt around him. She feels so good, absolutely perfect for him, like she does every single time. It's all so, so good. With the Asset hunched over her, all of him pushing, and pressing, and pounding into her with earnest. He groans, hastening his pace, and driving her right into her first climax.

Christina is boneless beneath him, mewling and clutching, and crying out as he fucks her. Winter maintains eye contact, steel blue blazing into her cerulean eyes with each thrust. He loves it, the way she comes apart for him so simply every time. "Mine," He's reminds her, pecking her mouth and pounding precisely into that spot that has her screaming for him. His lover takes it all greedily, eagerly meeting his punishing rhythm.

She hisses and whines, scores the length of his back with her sharp little nails and pleads in his ear. A whispered mantra of "Yes, yes, yes." And, "Yours, all yours." It makes the raw, possessive animal in him swell with pride and it drags straight into his own orgasm, pulling him under and spilling inside her. Roaring, growling, and grunting his pleasure into the sweat slick curve of her throat. And then she's coming again, breath catching in her throat and burning in her chest, her back arching off the mattress as he pins her thighs wide open in the iron grip of his metal hand.

Winter settles down atop her, like a human blanket plastered over her front, his nose tucked into the hickey speckled curve of her neck and his arms locked around her little frame. They come down from their high in heavy, panting breaths, still clinging to each other. "Did you have another bad dream?" She questions as he pets his damp hair. Winter shakes his head, breathing in the fruity smell of her body wash and shampoo along with their sweat. "Started to, woke myself up." He answers plainly. Her chest rumbles lightly as she hums, her steady heartbeat soothing him. "They're worth it," He tells her, "As long as I get to wake up next you." And, they that hope that all this good will continue.

It, of course, does not. Christina is still coining case after case and nailing them without even working up a sweat. But, the wake up call comes ringing in March when a picture of blonde hair and blue eyes is plastered on the front page of articles from the Times to the Washington Post, running barefoot through Times Square. Captain America is alive and well, despite almost seventy years frozen in suspended animation in the Arctic. It doesn't start any sort of chain reaction that Christina can see, but it does mark the end of better days, even if none of them know it.

The couple goes on their merry way none the wiser for two months, continuing to partake in their habitual trysts and the usual business. All is special ops missions and then steamy rendezvous, trying legal battles and then amorous sentiment. They continue doing what is normal until they can no longer pretend that normal exists anymore. That day comes in May.

It starts on a day like any other day. Christina is having a girl's day curled up on her couch with Deja and Winter is somewhere on a mission in the northern reaches of the Mediterranean, when a Norse god is sent through a wormhole, wielding a scepter with the ability to enslave anyone it touches. He steals an ancient power source from outside their world, known as the Tesseract and plans to use it to take over Earth and mankind along with it. The public knows little about his schemes as they occur, that is of course until a great, vast wormhole opens over the Manhattan sky. Suddenly the world is no long what they'd known.

It becomes monsters, and magic, and aliens sweeping the streets of New York City and systematically wiping out every human who's path they cross. And, who is there to challenge them but the Earth's own person freakshow? A group the government is calling The Avengers, consisting of a Tony Stark's Iron Man, a Norse god, two master assassins, and a scientist turned science experiment, all of whom are led by The Star Spangled Man With a Plan himself, Captain America.

Christina and Deja watch the newscast in horror as footage of armageddon in the streets plays on every television channel from local to international. There isn't a corner of the work that doesn't know what's going in New York City, except NYC itself. Christina watches, terror stricken, as the broadcaster announces the launching of a missile headed straight for the Island of Manhattan, knowing it'd been authorized by the World Security Council and in turn her father.

She let's her best friend cry, and scream, and cling to her in fear that her fiancé may never return home from his business trip to the city currently under attack. Hours of fear, worry, and panic later Aarav's phone call finally makes it through the airwaves, letting them know that he and Adam had safely made it over the pond to Queens before the invasion had gotten bad. The knowledge that their friends are safe and sound awaiting the soonest outbound flight at John F. Kennedy International Airport for Washington D.C. has them crying different kind of tears. The battle's over, the aliens are gone, but nothing's ever the same again.

And, it isn't. After The Battle of New York S.H.I.E.L.D. goes into overdrive, working double time to clean up the mess Loki and his Chitauri army made and leveling up to make sure that they'll be ready for the next attack of such a caliber. The World Security Council is torn into by the House and the UN, which leads to the belt being tightened on her father, as if he's the one that made the call, which he hadn't— in fact Hydra had been eerily quiet in regard to the extraterrestrial invasion. Ultimately, plans are set in motion for something code named Project Insight, which is kept very hush hush, even with Christina.

She doesn't stress over, in Winter's absence she uses the ticket Adam had bought her for Christmas and joins him in NYC. She spends her summer with the resolve that this encounter had shook them— herself, her friend group, the human population in general— that they aren't alone in the world and that people as a unit have to stand together in trying times. A world of monsters, magic, aliens and gods lies beyond the boundary and yet there are still people fighting each other.

So, for a month and a half she plants herself in the heart of giving back to the people, stays with Adam and his lovely new girlfriend at their apartment just outside Manhattan and she volunteers. Christina serves food at shelters, shovels debris in restoration sites, takes in the sheer destruction of it all, but sees first hand the sense of community. People far and wide, from all over the country and the world, come to help out in the Big Apple. And, the New Yorkers? They do what they've done before, at a different wreckage, for a different tragedy, they go on with their lives, but that doesn't mean they forget.

Everywhere Christina goes that summer, be it in New York or even once she returns to D.C., the immense, indescribable gratitude to Earth's Mightiest Heroes is everywhere she goes. In murals painted street side, in art hung in galleries, in cookies sold at every bakery and every cafe, in tee shirts worn by appreciative civilians that want the world, and The Avengers to know that America and her people are thankful they exist.

Come July the Winter Soldier returns to The Vault from intercontinental operations and is greeted by his lover more warmly than she ever has. The attack on New York, seeing the devastation there, having brushed so close to losing two of her closest friends, has Christina holding her value for Winter at astounding levels. She's never been more anxious to see him in these last few months than she has as long as she's known him. Because she loves him and wants him home, wants him safe.

The next several weeks are a blur of haphazard sneaking around The Vault and unexpected drop-byes to his lover's apartment. There's hot, needy, unbridled sex in the holding bay, with hands clamped over their mouths to keep from getting caught. There's rushed, hurried, quickies in various conference rooms. There's the slow, languid lovemaking in her bedroom where he holds her after and tells her pretty truths that neither ever realize won't come true.

It's nearly a quarter after midnight when Christina Pierce is startled on the sidewalk as she makes her way from the Valkyrie offices to one of her favorite nearby eats, a Lebanese fast-food place called Muncheez Mania. A place that she often frequents during overtime at the office. If not because of the late night hours, then because they offer the best shawarma, falafel, mezzes, and what-not in Georgetown.

She's only a block over from the restaurant when she's caught by surprise and tugged off the main street, into a shadowed side alley. The blonde immediately goes into defense mode, the way that Rumlow had taught her, ready for her assailant to pin her so that she could take counter measures to fight then off. But no mugging or groping or attack ever comes. Looking up at the man who'd pulled her aside, she finds the Winter Soldier towering over her, peering out from under a black baseball cap with a smug grin on his face.

The brooding giant is dressed in civilian clothes; an army green hoodie, zipped up over a black tee shirt and paired with a pair of dark wash jeans. Christina recognizes the garments as items from the back of her closet and concludes that he'd gone to the apartment before coming out to find her. "Hi," greets the petite woman happily, wrapping her arms around the assassin and leaning up on her toes to kiss him. Her lover greedily excepts the contact, drinks her in like a man starved before pulling back and touching his forehead to hers.

"You didn't wanna wait at home?" She questions, reaching out to tuck the long hair that falls into his eyes behind his ears. Winter shakes his head, bumps their noses together. "I wait a long time." insists the Asset, "Needed you." The admission has the woman smiling and kissing him again. It's so dark, nearly one o'clock in the morning, in a dimly lit nook, and still Christina's smile lights up the dark like the goddamn sun. Hence her nickname— his sunshine— because from the moment they'd met she'd brought light into every corner of his life.

His lover's rumbling tummy is what eventually drags them back to the task at hand. The pair walks hand in hand to the restaurant, shoulders bumping all content, soaking up sweet affection in the simplicity of walking down the street side by side. Like real people do. Winter opens the door for her, the way any woman's lover would, and curls around her shoulder as they enter the mostly empty shop. The queue is short and the assassin hangs back, using the cover of his cap and ducking his face into the curve of Christina's neck. They are just two people— an average, affectionate couple— waiting in line to order. Like real people do.

They take their meal to-go and backtrack to the woman's office, ducking security cameras and treading lightly in the empty building. All of her colleagues have long gone home and so they curl up on her couch and share spoonfuls of turmeric rice and shwarma between bubbling laughter and the occasion make-out break. It's so goddamn normal, like they're just a couple of people in love, not two prisoners to the clutches on Hydra. Like their lives aren't built on blood and lies. Like they're free,if only for a few hours together. Like just months ago reality hadn't been fractured in little shards by a great, horrible tear in the sky and what had come through it.

When the takeout boxes are picked dry Christina tosses them in her trash can and curls into Winter's ready embrace. God, she loves the sickeningly domestic stuff. She settles into Winter's embrace, really and truly praying that a day will come that occurrences like these are the norm for them. Like real people have.

At the beginning of August Aarav and Deja resolve nothing can keep them apart, come alien attacks on New York, come hell or high water— nothing can keep them from being together. Christina only wishes the same could be said for her and Winter's future. She's forced to balance trying cases at the firm, sneaking around with Winter, and planning a wedding all on her plate when the couple announce they're moving up their wedding date.

It's needless to say that this summer is running Christina ragged and having only half of the planning period than they'd intended stresses her out to no end. Unlike the bride-to-be, who is so head over heels in love and brimming with enthusiasm. While head-in-the-clouds is busy day dreaming, her best friend gets in gear.

Christina manages to maintain her training regime with Rumlow, though even he is busy following the attack on New York. She starts a planning binder for Deja and works two cases side by side. She has lunches with her father and late nights being fucked under the Winter Soldier. She works out a wedding budget with Aarav and leads the case against a police officer accused of sexual assault. She writes out the ceremony attendees, makes a seating chart, and picks three invitations for the couple to pick from.

Officially dubbed the Queen of Multitasking by her friends; she closes a case of false child abuse against a high profile divorced couple, helps finds the ceremony and reception venues, books the officiant, even manages to throw an Deja an engagement party, all while tiptoeing around with Winter. By mid-August she's exhausted, a little sick, and extremely stressed out.

Which is why she doesn't hear or notice when the Winter Soldier slips into her apartment. Slipping in via the balcony, the assassin finds practically every light in her apartment on as he enters. He settles on the couch, fingers making quick work of his tactical gear before leaning over to unfastened his boots. Setting them by the balcony door, he strips off the rest of his gear without a sound; his utility belt, his weapons. He leaves his coat and weaponry at the breakfast bar before padding through the living room in search of Christina.

Articles of clothing are discarded across the carpet, a navy pantsuit, a black tank top, her strappy heels. The Asset can hear her mumbling from her bed as he follows the trail of clothes into her room. Thoughts of climbing into bed and wrapping the little blonde in his arms make him giddy and almost relieved to be home. He finds his lover lying on her stomach on the center of her mattress, papers and clippings surrounding her as she types away on her laptop. He grins at the sight of her, dressed in a heather grey robe, open wide and revealing the set of lingerie she'd donned for the day— scalloped black lace and blue accents. She'd been too busy to change out of them and find herself some pajamas. She's perfect, every thing he'd never known he'd wanted, but God knows he wants her.

"You're home?" Christina greets, without actually looking up from whatever she's typing on her laptop. Winter offers her an affirmative grunt, removing his fatigues before joining her on the bed. She makes quick work of her mess, tidying the wedding plans and putting away her laptop. The bed creaks when he slips in beside her, pulling her firmly up against his solid body with his flesh-and-bone arm. The blonde giggles as he nuzzles the curve of her neck, drinking in fruit and pomegranate with an content hum against her skin.

Watching her heavy eyelids, Winter peaks the corner of her mouth before reaching around to turn her chin. "Tired?" He questions, kissing her square on the mouth. A little content moan leaves her throat, fingers coming back to curl in his hair. They pull apart after a moment and Christina rolls to face him properly, "It's been a long month. I'm so busy with work and my friend's wedding," His girl begins to explain and the Soldier feels a little guilty. He'd kept her rather busy too, "And me," Winter adds.

The twenty-seven year old down right chortles, peaking his mouth again, "Well you are always wearing me out, babe." Teases the petite seductress, giving him that playful grin. A smirk works it's way onto the assassin's mouth and he finds himself shaking his head, "That so, doll?" Christina nods, shifting onto her knees and moving to straddle him. "It is,"

As she settles on his hips, Winter yanks her down over him, hungry for another kiss but gives pause at the sudden weary look on her face. Freezing, he watches her steady herself. Her palms flatten on his chest and her eyebrows furrow. For a moment a million thoughts run through his mind before her eyes open and pretty cerulean irises land on him sheepishly. "Sorry," begs the blonde, leaning in and pressing her forehead against his, "Got queasy there for a sec."

Winter is thankful that's all it was, after all he could sometimes get ahead of himself. Christina is soft, fragile thing and occasionally he's rougher with his metal hand than he means to be. Hands coming up to soft trace the hem of her panties, the Asset brushes his noses against hers. "Motion sick?" He questions softly, all gentle caresses and lingering touch. His lover hums in agreement, timid kisses brushing his mouth. He accepts them readily until she pulls back for air.

"Then rest," the Winter Soldier advises, but it has Christina shaking her head softly. "Want you." And, he'd be damned if he didn't give the girl what she wants. Hell, if she wanted him to light the world on fire he'd do it without a second thought. Nodding along, he wraps his arms around her reassuringly, "We'll go slow."

As slow goes, Winter takes his sweet time kissing her. He pushes her robe open further, pushes down the cups of her bra and reveals her breasts. Painting her chest with hickies and cover her nipples with his warm mouth, the assassin has Christina coming apart under his gentle caresses. He nudges off her panties, throwing them over his shoulder and then he's lifting her up slowly. Leaning back to work down his boxer-briefs and spreading his knees, he takes his hefty length in hand and helping her to sink down him. The heat of her all comsumming, strangling tight around his cock, his thighs cupping her ass as she settles on him down to the hilt.

"Fuck," Winter pants into her skin, holding her close. Little uncontrollable moans leaving his sinful mouth as he's fully seated in her, bottoming out before he even starts to properly fuck her. He watches her face, sees every emotion flickering over it, before he holds her steady above him, her knees planted on either side of his hips. Fucking up into her tight, suffocating heat, the Soldier groans and tries to reign in his starving enthusiasm. Giving his girl a cautionary glance, Winter chokes down his furious need. He'd promised to take it slow.

Christina whines when he turns them over, she'd wanted to be on top, but thinks better of it. For days now she'd been feeling odd, overworked, and essentially running on fumes. For weeks she's felt worn and fatigued, nauseated, and moody, but blames it all on her packed schedule and a lack of concern for her own well being. Settling her carefully on her back, Winter is mindful of her equilibrium, making sure not to jostle her too much as he settles between her thighs and eases back inside of her.

"Winter, please," whines Christina, reaching up to cup his cheeks. The assassin kisses her again, covers her mouth with his before picking up a steady pace. His hands come up to mirror his lovers, cupping her jaw and tilting her face to better kiss her. "I know, dorogaya. I know," He murmurs, reveling in the way she goes lax and melts beneath him. Groaning as he feels her walls pulse around his cock, so sweet and sensitive, he nuzzles his face into her neck and fucks into her. He tries to maintain a restrained pace, forcing himself not to pound into her.

Boneless beneath him, Christina can do nothing more than mewl, clinging to Winter's shoulders as she lies back and takes every inch of him thrust for thrust. He listens to her whining in his ear, murmuring little urges and encouragements. The Asset feels himself swelling with emotion, longs to tell her how much he needs her, how much he missed her. Words like love heavy on his tongue as he stares down at the beautiful woman falling to pieces beneath him.

Eye contact turns the Winter Soldier into a soft vulnerable thing. There is nothing about Christina Pierce that he isn't amazed by every time he lays eyes on her, that he isn't thankful for every time they're together; there is nothing about her that he doesn't love. And, god knows that's what it is— if he could the feel the emotion, he knows he'd only feel it for her. Winter watches her with hooded eyes, gaze all hungry and lust ridden.

Fucking her is Winter's favorite thing, he loves the tight heat of her, the way she clings to his shoulders and tugs his hair, her way she sighs against mouth, kisses him with her petal lips. Christina is a flower, by any other name she's still as sweet, all tenderness and love. And, only Winter can make her bloom.

Slamming into orgasm like a freight train on a collision course of doom, the blonde cries out as her lover fucks through it. It's all so good, the feel of him, all big and rough, trembling hands clasping for purchase — bruising fingers sinking in her skin and burying deep in the core of her— making a home where she can't ever erase him. Winter follows her over the edge faster than he'd expected to, but he knows it'd been her eyes— blazing cerulean gems all brimming with admiration and warmth pulling him along with the feel the warm, tender, fondness. He will never understand the nature of endearment, of sentiment, but he knows he'd give everything to continue feeling this way with her.

After all Christina is warm and real. Not a memory or a dream, but a tangible thing that is soft and yielding and true, something he can touch. And, touch he does. Fucking through his climax and clinging with bruising necessity, filling her up to the brim and then collapsing atop her. Winter can feel the tension leaving him, becomes little more than lax bones and skin. He feels her pulling him closer, skin warm and sweet pressed against his.

Tangled up in each other, the pair begin to sink into the tranquil daze of slumber, tired eyes fighting the tantalizing seduction of rest. The weight of the past month rolls off Christina's shoulders, curled with her lover, the aftermath of thorough fucking and the ache of spent adrenaline sinking deep into their bones. Come daylight all the bitter will return with a vengence for them both— the stress, the guilt— but the prospect of being able to face it together is both promising and reassuring.

In the background the TV drones quietly, filling the empty space left by the silence— panting aside. A late night broadcast plays over the TV, footage of the Battle of New York flashing across the television screen, "The world is so strange these days," Mutters the spent blonde, kissing the top of Winter's head. The assassin chuckles, burying his face in her neck greedily, "I don't fucking care about any of it," He tells her, "As long as I'm with you."

But, he isn't for long. August draws on and Hydra makes the decision that the Winter Soldier will return to major operations in Russia. Christina cries for days afterwards. She hadn't even been able to see him off, those bastards. But, she holds it together well enough, despite being sick as a dog and busy out of her mind. Work is as work always is, draining on the conscious and taxing on the soul. She doesn't have the time to stress on that though, what with her with very persistent stomach flu and Deja's big day rounding the bend.

Her best friend's wedding is the single most terrifying and beautiful process that the blonde has ever endured. Their wedding experience is a mix of Deja's western traditions and Aarav's Indian roots. It's a whirlwind three day process divided into three parts: pre-wedding, main, and post-wedding. On day one Christina joins Rumlow for their routine jog, showers at the Triskelion gym before picking up breakfast and going to wake up the bride-to-be.

She's able to wrangle her best friend into the shower while preparing everything Deja might need and double checking their itinerary as she eats breakfast. Afterwards they climb into the car, the bride stuffing her face with food as Christina drives them to the salon to get started on hair, makeup, and nails. They spent all day on the pre-wedding details, which includes all the preparations and a party the night before where each side of the family can meet each other, dance and have fun. Someone called a Pandit conducts a prayer with family members to provide the couple with a happily married life.

Day two is ceremony day, which includes some Indian traditions and some American traditions. Come 4:30 that afternoon Christina falls in line with the other bridesmaids for the on coming wedding procession. For the past half hour guests have been settling in at the Heurich House garden where Deja's ceremony is being held. The wedding begins and the bridesmaids file out, Adam and Christina going last, as Best Man and Maid of Honor.

After Deja's lead out on her father's arm, a vision in white in her lace bodice wedding gown, the ceremony flies by. Before she knows it they're all filing into the conservatory for the wedding reception. A lovely five hour celebration that makes Christina more sick that it does excited. At first it's sweet bride and groom's first dance, the father-daughter, all the traditional line up before they open the floor for everyone to party. Eventually the rowdy crowd, the blaring music, and thumping bass give her a tension headache so vicious she has to take a seat in the dining room.

That's when the smell of the Mediterranean stuffed chicken gets to her. Christina had chosen avocado pomegranate crostinis and mushroom ragout penne as her dinner selection so the sudden onslaught on cooked chicken has her near retching. She's out of her seat, across the room, and around the corner before anyone can even ask her what's the matter. Skidding to her knees in her burgundy chiffon gown, the blonde beelines to the nearest toilet stall and slams into the tile floor, vomiting straight into the porcelain bowl. That night there's no one to hold her hair, so she's grateful for the pretty, twisted updo Deja had demanded all the bridesmaids have. And, as she's heaving and gagging only inches over the toilet water, the realization hits the twenty-seven year old like a train.

As Christina pads back and fourth in her bathroom anxiously, she tries to think over the last several months. It's gotta be stomach flu or something, a very determined virus perhaps. For nearly four weeks she's been moody, sore, and queasy. But, that doesn't necessarily mean what she thinks it might mean. She could very well just be sick. It could very well be a bug, or food poisoning, anything.

Why hadn't she expected this? Or prepared for this? Sure, condoms were something they would use on occasion— given they had one available and they weren't in too big a hurry. The concern was always present, she'd taken morning after pills like a kid popping candy, but she supposes they hadn't ever had the time to really think about it. A part of her wonders if Winter can even have children? They hadn't sterilized him? Maybe they'd thought that considering the only time he's ever left unsupervised is either in cryo, on stand by, or on missions it wouldn't be necessary.

Eventually the timer on Christina's cell phone rings, tearing her away from her endless pacing, burning tread marks into the tile. She plops down on the toilet seat, twitchy and anxious as she picks up the little white stick in search of the answer she already knows. Of course, it's right on the money.

Dropping her head into her waiting palms, she rubs her hands down her face and exhales shakily. Setting the plastic applicator down in the pile of similar used devices her counter top. Christina glances at the collection, a slew of plus signs and single words staring back at her. Two syllables, eight letters. One road to her new future or the end of her life. Pregnant. "Fuck."

Russian Translations:
*dorogaya (дорогая) — darling, sweetheart, dear
*solnyshka moyo (Солнышко моё) — my sunshine

The poem in the summary is titled "End of Winter" by Louise Glück and I thought it was perfect for this. We've come to the end of part one of the "Of Arils (and Other Forbidden Fruit)" series, the second installment "Pomegranate Kin" will be coming with in the next week or so.

How many of you saw this cliff hanger coming? How do you feel about it? Are you curious enough to continue reading part two? Are we liking this direction I'm taking or do we have reservations? What would we like to see of part two? The beginning is very concrete atm but after our pair is reunited I have a ton of wiggle room as nothing is set in stone for that part as of right now. So what are we hoping for our couples future?

Let me know your thoughts! Constructive commentary really feeds my writing! Thanks to those of you who've commented and as always, thank you all kindly for reading and sticking it out with me for this long. Sincerely, Rachel.