Author's Notes: So sorry I took so long. I really thought I could keep with the monthly updates this time but apparently juggling work and school (and the bit of social life my introverted ass can handle) can drain a person. I think I promised the beginning of Winter Iron? Can't remember. But I'm damn sure I promised this chapter would be a gift to my Captain Hill readers. I hope no one gets disappointed. Anyway, it's 1:35am here and I have to be up by 5 so... I hope I'm still making sense lol. Happy reading!

Btw, no beta here so all mistakes are mine.

Just before Natasha leaves for SHIELD, she stops by Steve's apartment and asks the speak with Bucky privately. At first, Steve hesitates. He trusts Natasha to have his back on the field, sure, but personal matters are different. Bucky manages to convince him, however.

"Go find Hill. You've been yapping on and on about how she probably hasn't stopped working without Milkshake to distract her." At the mention of his name, the cat toddles in, weaving figure eights around Bucky's ankles. "I'll take care of him."

When the door clicks shut behind Steve, Bucky feels the tension threatening to tighten his muscles until they all snap. So he scoops the cat up and cradles him in the crook of his arm, letting him bump his furry head on his chest. He looks up to find Natasha staring pointedly at the image he and the cat make. "He, uh…calms me. At least Hill thinks so." Natasha tilts her head in agreement but doesn't answer, only observes. "You know," Bucky finally says.

"I do."

"How?"

"Does it matter?" Natasha asks, having no desire to admit how she and Maria ended up eavesdropping four days ago after being alerted by JARVIS. She watches Bucky's shoulders slump when he sighs. "How are you holding up?"

Bucky takes a seat on the couch, setting the cat on his lap, feeling him purr as he absently pets him. "Shouldn't you be asking him?" Natasha remains silent until he gives in. "I'm fine. Could do with a lot less hovering from Steve but I know he's being a punk 'cause he cares."

Natasha studies him until she's satisfied he's telling what he believes is the truth – because he isn't fine but he'll get there. "He's right, you know?"

"With the hovering?"

She shakes her head. "He said you were a victim in this too and he's right."

Bucky sighs, "That isn't fair to him or the rest of the other victims."

"And you're not being fair to yourself," Natasha counters, still calm despite the tension brought on by the topic itself. "Your actions weren't a conscious decision on your part. Mine were," she pauses, meeting Bucky's wide-eyed gaze head on because he knows what she was even if he seems to have forgotten. "But I'm learning to forgive myself because I eventually understood that while mine were conscious acts, I didn't have the knowledge at the time to realize I could've chosen otherwise. I was raised as a Black Widow and I've got red in my ledger, James. Now I'm making up for it. You could too."

"How?" Bucky rasps. "How can I do that when the words are still here?" His index finger digs into his temple in his frustration.

"You're safe for now. Take that time to decide your penance before someone else decides for you. Take your life back; live it however you want to." She walks toward him, a hand reaching over to squeeze his shoulder before turning to leave. "If you can't choose anything else, at least choose to live."

When she reaches for the door, he calls out, "How is he?" Natasha merely raises an eyebrow at him. Lately, he's been spending more time with the genius than any of the other Avengers due to the regularly scheduled check-ups for his arm. "I know I see him a lot but," he pauses. "I don't know him as well as the rest of you do."

Natasha's head leans a little to the side, a small yet kind smile curving her lips. "He's warmed up to you faster than he did with us," she answers. "Take that however you will."

And with that, she's gone, leaving Bucky with a lapful of cat and a head full of questions.

- x -

Every check-up and upgrade for the arm, Bucky comes in an hour early to watch Tony work and to play with the bots who, after their initial introduction, have all decided that they adored him and it tugs at something in Tony's chest. His bots are like his children, his creations, and he's proud of all of them, even if sometimes he likes (affectionately) putting a DUNCE hat on DUM-E. The others have all been friendly with his bots when they stay over but none of them have taken the time to actually play with them.

"So…" Bucky suddenly asks as he turns away from the bots and leans his elbows on the work table. "Do you have a flying car?" Tony's head snaps up at the question and gives Bucky a blank stare that makes the latter want to scratch at his nape. "The night before I was deployed, I took Steve and some girls out to the Stark Expo because it bragged about the world's first flying car," he says in explanation. "But Howard was full o' shit. It was off the ground for all of four seconds before it crashed," he scoffs and Tony blinks but otherwise keeps the wide-eyed stare firmly on Bucky. "So do you?" Bucky asks again, noticing the tiny twitch on one of Tony's eyes. "What, somethin' wrong with my face?"

"No, you're beautiful," comes Tony's immediate answer. What? Then he blinks, clearing his throat at the slight blush he could feel creeping up his neck. "I'm Iron Man. I fly a suit of armor and fight to ensure world security on a regular basis. And you're asking about flying cars?" He masks his slip with arrogance and feigned offense.

"No, I know. And believe me, Doll, that's mighty impressive. Your suits take my breath away, especially when you're in them. And DUM-E and U and Butterfingers and man, JARVIS…" Bucky shakes his head, a small smile gracing his lips. "Every little thing you've created is fucking awesome. But I've always wanted to fly and I can't exactly ride you."

Tony blinks. And when Bucky realizes what he'd just said, he blinks as well, the blush coloring his cheeks matching Tony's. And out of nowhere, Bucky feels a smirk spreading across his features as he lowers his voice and drawls, "Not that I don't want to. I'm sure it'd feel as amazing as watching you but I didn't think you were…available."

Tony's eyes widen minutely but Bucky notices anyway and lowers his gaze, watching the other man's throat bob as he swallows. Tony clears his throat a lot more forcefully than he normally would. Flirting is like second nature to the genius, even on his worst days, but the supersoldier sitting across from him seems to be affecting him in a way that no other man ever had. So he changes the topic.

"Your arm is in pristine condition. No need to worry."

"I know," Bucky says, or maybe rasps is the better description. "Just…routine check-up." To see you.

"Of course," Tony nods. And although something in his head doesn't want him to, Tony speaks anyway. "These routine check-ups don't need to continue unless you feel something unusual. Or until I come up with a better design." He feels his stomach drop for some reason and seeing Bucky's face fall, he hurriedly adds, "But you're welcome here. Anytime. The bots enjoy your company." So do I.

Bucky's warm smile crinkles his eyes as he gazes intently at the other man. "The feeling is mutual," he says, keeping his gaze steady as he pets DUM-E's outstretched arm. "Especially this guy." DUM-E's pleased whirring makes both men chuckle.

"Oh, Buttercup," he says, the nickname absently escaping him. "You only say that 'cause he hasn't needlessly sprayed you with fire extinguisher."

"I wouldn't mind." Tony raises an eyebrow at that. "The others stay here while you work sometimes but DUM-E only ever does that to you." At this, Tony's head tilts, unsure of where Bucky was going with this. "So if he does it to me too, that has to mean I'm special." Bucky finishes his explanation with a lopsided grin that does things to Tony's stomach.

"That's…" Tony blinks and wonders at the other man, a slow, uncertain smile brightening up his features. "That's one way of looking at it."

"Sir," JARVIS tentatively breaks the growing tension that, for once, isn't alarming. "I apologize for the interruption but Ms. Potts is on the line."

Tony clears his throat. "Patch her through, J."

Pepper's upper half appears on a holoscreen, showing the others that she's on a private plane back from Japan. "Hi, Tony."

"Hey, Pep. Miss me?" Bucky watches as Tony's face lights up with an easy, affectionate smile and mentally kicks himself because he was right; Tony wasn't available.

Pepper's eyes roll but the wide smile on her lips softens the blow when her sarcastic tone comes. "Every day, Tony. Every. Day." She fails to notice the other occupant of the workshop until the man clears his throat. "Oh, hi, Sergeant Barnes," she greets, her smile still on her face but Tony notices how tense her posture had suddenly gotten. "I didn't realize you were there. How have you been?"

"I'm swell, Ma'am. Uh, Ms. Potts," he corrects, remembering that women nowadays have a particular aversion to that title. Was it an age thing? He wasn't sure. "You?"

"I'm great," she glances at Tony. Apart from the way he's watching both her and Bucky so closely, his body language tells her he's relaxed. So she turns her gaze back to Bucky and extends a friendly hand, so to speak. "Call me Pepper if that's fine with you?"

He nods with a small smile. "James then, Pepper." At Pepper's affirmative response, he points his thumb vaguely behind him. "I'm gonna… So you can…" He gestures to Tony, to Pepper on the holoscreen, and around the workshop in general. "Excuse me." He turns to leave and pauses just before he exits the sliding doors when Tony catches his attention.

"Hey, Skywalker…" He trails off, waiting for Bucky to realize he'd been addressed. When Bucky gives him a blank stare, he gets sidetracked. "Oh my god, you have to watch Star Wars. You just have to! All of it, even the ones whose existence I refuse to acknowledge."

Bucky tilts his head before his lips curl up. "We'll make a day of it."

Tony looks at him strangely, wondering how the 'you' became a 'we' but agrees anyway. "And about that other thing?" He gestures wildly with a flutter of hands and fingers yet somehow Bucky manages to catch his drift. "I'll see what I can do."

Bucky's eyes widen in surprise before they narrow in confusion. He has a feeling that this man doesn't do anything half-assed. So if he says he'll see what he can do, that means he'll make it happen. So with a toothy grin, he nods.

- x -

"How are things on your end?"

"They're fine, Tasha. May, Amador, and Carter are good to go, as expected, and they're already helping. We'll get through the rest in less than a week," comes Clint's voice from the other end of the line. "Yours?"

She hesitates for a second before answering, "Fine." And that's more than enough of a tell for Clint.

"I'll be up top in 10," he says just before the line cuts.

Natasha slides in beside Clint nine minutes later. They're in the vents just below the rooftop – Clint's favorite place where he claims he can see everything without being seen. He nudges her shoulder with his and keeps the contact as he smiles at her. He doesn't say a word, however, just waits her out.

"What if you found out I wasn't…" She trails off, wary of eyes and ears everywhere. "'Good to go'?" She asks, using his particular phrasing from earlier.

Clint looks at her, tempted to pinch her nose to show her how absurd her question was but her posture and expression force him to take her seriously. "I already know you are," he says lightly but with no less conviction.

"Yeah, but what if?" She insists. "Would you take me out?"

"I trust you with my life, Tasha." He bends down to catch her gaze. "I'd give mine for yours, you know that. And more importantly, I trust you with my family. If I had to…" He looks away briefly and licks his dry lips. "If I absolutely had to, I would. But not without giving you an out. I did it before. Before I even knew you." He turns back to her, steel gaze cutting through her very core. "What makes you think I wouldn't do it again now that I do?"

She looks away at that, unable to look into his eyes any further as she whispers, "You're compromised."

He nudges her again and presses a lingering kiss on her temple as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. "So are you."

She doesn't say anything, just lays her head on his shoulder and takes comfort and strength from the person she loves more than anyone else in this world.

- x -

"You have Bucky cat-sitting?"

"He finds Milkshake therapeutic."

"Does he know the origin of that name?" He only gets an almost playful glare in response. "Good," he nods. He hadn't been able to keep the dark, possessive tone from coloring his voice, earning himself a raised eyebrow and a towel in the face. "Sorry."

With her back turned to him as she pours them both some coffee, she lightly answers, "No, you're not."

"No," he grins at the surprising levity with which she approached his caveman tendencies and it's taking everything in him not to swoop in from behind and wrap his arms around her. "I'm not."

She rolls her eyes as she slides a steaming mug down the counter towards him and takes the seat beside him. They still have that standing agreement of keeping things chaste and almost painfully platonic but when they're alone, she relaxes and allows their interactions to be warm and friendly. She turns to face him. "So what's bothering you?"

"That obvious?" He asks almost shyly as he leans an elbow on the counter to face her fully. At her look, he chuckles. "Of course it is."

She shrugs. "Maybe to me." And that's all the possessiveness he'll get from her. Because if you ask anyone else, he wasn't that obvious but he was to her. She drops a hand on his knee. "Are you okay?"

This, right here, is why he doesn't understand how anyone could call her cold. "Nothing's wrong but," he pauses and from his words, she knows it's not urgent but it's important. "Why did Bucky come to you? Why does he come to Natasha? Hell, even Tony." The question he really means to ask is left unspoken. Why not me?

"I can't speak for him or even presume to know him well enough but I suspect it's because it's more difficult for him to figure out how to be when it comes to you."

Just as Maria expected, Steve's brows furrow and says a bit defensively, "He can just be himself."

"Can he?" She asks, genuinely curious instead of accusatory, and Steve deflates. "Out of all the people here, you're the only one who has expectations – from him, about him, for him. It's not wrong," she immediately adds upon seeing his frown. "It's normal. You knew him, Steve, so it's normal to hold on to who he was. But that's probably what makes it harder for him to approach you."

"What about Natasha? She knew him too."

She nods. "She did, but she knew all about the darkness. You knew him before…everything. I'm sure he doesn't blame you. He's probably scared, more than anything."

"Of what?"

She glances down, her answer somehow resonating within her, before she looks back up at him. "Of disappointing you."

He shakes his head. "He never could." Maria tilts her head, gauging whether he's working through it all or he's simply putting his pal on a pedestal. "I know what he did, he came clean. But like I said, it wasn't him. He had no choice so none of that was his fault."

Maria studies him for a little while before finally responding. "I know it's not easy, but you can't expect him to be the same man he was before. That doesn't mean the best friend you knew isn't in there somewhere because he is. He's just…changed. Like you have. At your very core, you're still the kid who couldn't get a ticket to the war but that's not all that you are anymore."

"And it's probably harder for him," he finishes for her. "But the thing is, even knowing all that, even with all the darkness that haunts him now, he's my…" He trains his tortured gaze on Maria's and she almost gasps at the raw pain in them. "He's Bucky."

Maria doesn't even try to give him empty promises of how everything will be back to normal. She just reaches over, placing her hand over his in comfort. "He has all these memories that are so...fragmented and they're keeping him from settling into who he wants to be now. But he will, eventually."

He nods solemnly and turns his hand palm up to squeeze hers, giving her a soft smile. "And you'll help him?"

"I don't think it's my help he wants," she mumbles around the smile she's biting back. "But if he needs it, then sure." When she turns back to him, his smile is still there but his eyes are glazed with something she'd grown familiar with during their time in Wheaton, something she's sure is reflected in her own darkening orbs.

Desire. Or what a part of her still rational mind calls 'dangerous territory'. She clears her throat, "You should go."

He should. But he doesn't make a move, not even to break their eye contact. And she doesn't seem awfully eager to make him leave either. Especially not after the words that come out when he opens his mouth.

"What if I need you?" He asks, lacing his fingers through hers and effectively holding her gaze captive as he brings their twined hands up to place a lingering kiss at the back of hers.

Her lips part slightly, involuntarily, yet her gaze remains steady on him as she feels her pulse quicken. Her mind races a mile a minute with questions she knows she wouldn't be able to answer truthfully: how they got here, how a simple kiss on her hand had liquid heat pooling south, how he managed to douse barely glowing embers with enough fuel to set a forest on fire.

"What if I…" He twists their hands to place a feather-light kiss on her wrist, his gaze focused on hers as he feels the pounding of her heart through her veins. "Want you?"

She swallows and realizes that she has never felt so parched. "You have me." Her palm cups his cheek, her thumb grazing his lips. "Always."

When they meet, it's like the room, the tower, the world falls away and nothing else matters except for the way they feel for each other, with each other. It's familiar – lips, teeth, tongue – yet so extraordinary – need, desire, emotion.

She reaches inside his sweatpants, intent on making him feel good, but she merely gets two strokes in before he catches her wrist and traps it behind her.

"No," he growls.

She shakes her head, her gaze intent on his. "This is about you."

"Then let me."

She nearly gasps, almost breathless at how low his voice has become and at the intensity of his gaze. There is something to be said here, about how he asks for her permission, about how she relinquishes all control with a single nod, about how his pleasure is based on hers.

"God, I've missed you," he whispers, his breath ghosting over the heated skin of her neck. "I've missed how you smell." He kisses her temple, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. "I've missed how you sound." He sucks in her earlobe as his hand wanders up, his thumb flicking her pert nipple through her sleep shirt, eliciting a strangled moan. "I've missed how you taste." His tongue laves from the spot behind her ear down her jaw and neck, biting at the juncture of her neck and shoulders and a thrill races up and down his spine at her keening cry of pleasure. "I've missed how you feel." His other hand has moved down her back, cupping her ass and pulling her right against his crotch. She gasps at the sudden friction and her back arches.

"Apart from your hands, I don't want you to hold anything back," he tells her as he stands with her plastered to his body, carrying her to her bedroom. "I want to hear you, Maria. I want to feel you." He gently sets her down on her bed, hovering over her, pinning both her hands above her head. His eyes devour her, committing the image she creates into his memory. "And I want you to keep on coming." And with that, he drives down, plunging his tongue deep within her.

She keeps her hands where he leaves them, moving them only to grip the headboard. She fights against each and every one of her instincts urging her to reclaim her power and control. She knows she can, easily. But that's not what this is about. This is about what he wants and what he wants is to pleasure her.

When she comes down from her high, she hears him say, "One." And her eyes snap open and looks down at him, watching her from between her thighs. If he's counting…

She takes pride in herself for not blacking out. Yet. But she loses count at some point, when she could barely breathe, let alone keep her eyes open. He has his cock inside her for the first time since they started this. "I don't think I can, Steve," she mumbles, still coherent despite the breathlessness.

"Yes, you can. I know you can, with me," he coaxes, his hands gently squeezing – one on her hip and the other on the knee he has up by his shoulder.

She hums, "No, just you."

"No, we'll do it," he pants, feeling his own imminent release. "Together. Just one more time." And as if a light bulb flickered on in his mind, he leans down close, his thumb pressing between their bodies as he whispers, "Come for me, baby."

When he pulls back, his eyes meet her glazed ones, wide, wild, and dark. They both fight to keep watching the other as that familiar plunge takes over them. He thinks, as he watches her writhing beneath him, that even in this surrender, the fight and fire in her eyes ablaze, transporting him into a sanctuary he never wishes to leave.

Later, when they're both finally finished and thoroughly sated, Maria lies curled into his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Steve has his palm splayed between her shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair. That he'd taken comfort from her body when she'd asked for time. That he needed her.

Maria, with what little strength she has left after hours of love-making, lifts her head to look into his eyes. "No, Steve, don't."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, you wore me out," she chuckles and finds his other hand, fingers intertwined. And he can't say for sure in the dim lighting but is that a blush? "I could've stopped you at any time but I didn't… I let you." She looks at him long enough to make sure he understands before she leans in for a chaste yet lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth. She lays her head back on his shoulder, feeling his hold on her tighten like he wants every inch of her skin to touch his and never let go. And to her surprise, she yields, snuggling closer.

In the end, it wasn't just about her. It was, because she's never been so out of control before, almost to the point of begging. And he revels in the knowledge that he made her that way. But it was also about him taking control, going after what he wants, and finding that single, intense release. And just as sleep claims them, the last thought on their minds is how to deal with what tonight has revealed to them.

Her pleasure is his.

He seems to have surrendered to her completely. Normally, that would have had her running for the hills. However, she finds herself feeling…content – anything more, she refuses to acknowledge. Despite how terrifying it is to have that kind of power over someone, she revels in it because she knows him. There is no one in this universe that she trusts wholeheartedly apart from him. She only needs to trust herself with him.

Tonight was the first step towards that. So tonight, Maria Hill sleeps with a smile on her face.

A/N: Gaaaaaah. Satisfying, yes? No? Let me know? And also, if anyone wants to expand that last scene, feel free to do so. (Please do so? I feel like I cheated myself and everyone else by glossing over the counting but I cannot for the life of me write explicit smut well, I'm sorry.) Just...tag me or something if you actually end up using any part of it.

Kind words and/or constructive criticism are always welcome! Or if you feel like you need to vent, go for it. Thanks for always being so understanding. Enjoy your day xox