Disclaimer: I've got a bum leg but no rights to Marvel. That's a bummer. (BUdumTSSSHHHH)
.29.
She woke breathing stars, caught in the glimmering cobwebs of a dream, and for a moment she could still see the lights – drifting glitter twined between eddies of spinning galaxies. She blinked, catching glances of inverted light, and her lashes brushed away the dream.
It broke her heart.
The stars had been so quiet. No voices. No headaches. No memories. Just silence. Peace.
But she wouldn't fall asleep again, and even if she did, she'd never recapture that dream. Sitting up, she tossed the covers aside, trying to banish her melancholy.
Noonday sun glowed through the blackout curtains – turning the outside world into a faint shadow-puppet theater. Office workers buzzed about in a lunch break frenzy. Tourists squealed and pointed and took pictures of all the things they didn't have time to stop and appreciate. Hal groaned and rubbed her temples. Why did she have to wake up so early?
She exchanged greetings with Jarvis, dressed for another day in the tower, and padded to the kitchen. The routine comforted her even as her mind went numb. Her default mode. Unless she was defending her right to exist with Stark, she found it best to keep her thoughts quiet. The noise could just pass through that way. A stranger's impressions and emotions couldn't tangle with hers if she kept her mind blank. It was a trick people like Pepper and Stark unconsciously utilized in her presence. They either thought everything all at once, trying to think against her, or they just relaxed and thought very little at all.
Headaches still bloomed in a constant succession behind her eyes, and continuing her personal development proved all but impossible. But until she could escape the eternal buzz of New York City, she had little choice. So she read, and she cooked. And that was all, really. She only drew in the darkest hours of the night, when the buzz fell to a whisper. Such hours were precious and few. Even when regular businesses closed, nightclubs and Broadway plays kept the taxis running.
In the kitchen, she pulled on an apron. Pepper was trying to develop Hal's personal style, which meant introducing new, colorful, and expensive things to Hal's closet which Hal then felt obligated to wear. The apron protected Pepper's investment. Hal wanted to complain. After all, she loved the comfort of literally hiding in her baggy sweatshirts, but she discovered she liked skirts and dresses that flared when she spun. And she liked the color red. She couldn't understand herself. Twirling in a pretty dress drew attention. Red drew attention. It could be a dangerous preference if she had to go on the run.
But maybe she wouldn't. How could she hide from Stark's electronic eyes? Even if he couldn't find her, Pepper would never allow her to just disappear again. For better or worse, their acquaintance had changed Hal's life.
She attempted another soufflé.
It went straight from the oven to the sink, and Hal all but ripped off her apron as she stormed into the adjoining sitting room.
She marched straight to the window. Pressed her face to the glass. Her reflection met her eyes, and behind them, Hal could see nearly all New York. A grey day spread before her, and although the surrounding towers did their best to wink and gleam, the dull light left everything dull. Muted.
Closing her eyes, she battled to gather her thoughts. A grey day. What did she think about that? Hadn't it been sunny earlier? That had been – what – an hour ago? So that would mean…
Tony Stark's frustration preceded him, and Hal felt a migraine building as he approached.
No point hiding. They'd been through – she hoped – the worst of their interactions. The tension was still there, but they'd laid it out in the open, where their mutual fears had the best chance of growing into something productive. Besides, it wasn't her name pinging around his brain – Steve Rogers was sitting in a private lounge two floors up.
The door opened behind Hal, but she didn't bother looking back to acknowledge her host.
"Storm's coming," she said
"Figured." Stark came half way across the room and stopped, casting about for a distraction. An excuse. Something to do with his hands. "The weatherman said to leave the umbrella at home, so I made sure to get the bread and milk."
She twisted against the glass, smiling. Just a little. And even though Stark couldn't see her face, he must have read the shift in her posture, because the sharpest edge of his angst was blunted with satisfaction. For a man so obsessed with power, he found a comforting level of gratification from the ability to make people smile. Hal could appreciate that, and she enjoyed the tiny high his games gave her.
"Are you gonna tell me what's got your feathers ruffled?" she asked.
"Or you could, you know, just read my mind." He talked with his hands, having come up short in his search for a diversion.
"Yes." She pushed away from the window and gave him a consoling grimace. "But I feel rude if I don't ask."
He frowned at her, flashes of green roaring through his brain.
"You really can't help it, can you? You're Hulked out all the time."
Hal glanced back at the window, feeling the crowd's thoughts rising like shot gun spray. "It's never quiet."
"I know the feeling."
"No, you don't." It hurt. It wasn't funny. He shouldn't tease. But Hal regretted her tone.
Stark, to his credit, didn't take it personally. Instead, he ducked away from the subject with an incredible amount of tact and addressed the reason he'd come to find her.
"You have a visitor."
Hal smiled again, inspired by his earlier snark. "I know."
He rolled his eyes, but the nerves were still there. He paced, gesturing. "You don't have to talk to anybody. Personally, I think it's a horrible idea. You can't even handle a soufflé."
The lingering smoke in the kitchen proved his point.
Hal shrugged. "Like you could do better. I actually have an opinion if you want to hear it."
He gave up his pacing and fell in an overstuffed chair. "Shoot."
Worrying her bottom lip, Hal crept into the chair opposite her host, folding her legs up while being mindful of her skirt. Needing to be mindful of clothes still felt weird. Keeping her hair combed felt strange. Styling it felt a little less strange, but Hal struggled to rationalize the daily habits other people considered commonplace. No one should care what her hair looked like, but when Pepper taught her how to braid, the woman's face shone like Hal had suddenly learned to walk. And fashion – when Hal expressed her preferences, Pepper insisted on a private fashion show, introducing Hal to make-up, grossly impractical shoes, and more hairstyles Pepper said "made" the outfits.
Pepper claimed Hal was finding herself.
Stark, however, had entirely different expectations. It was time Hal met them.
She wriggled, keeping her knees pressed together. All the times she'd rehearsed this speech, and now she couldn't remember how to begin.
"I think – Before I…"
Stark waited, eyebrows lifted in silent critique.
Hal rallied. "When we had our talk in the kitchen, you told me I had to know. I am my own responsibility, and if I don't make my own choices, I'll always be one step away from falling in with the wrong crowd."
"I think I said something like that."
"I couldn't tell you what I stood for."
"And you can now?"
"I've known for a while now. I've just been waiting for the right opportunity."
Stark laughed. "I think you're the opportunity here, Hal."
"True," she admitted, "but that just means the opportunity is mutual. You see, the advantage of sleep deprivation and raging headaches is the amount of time I'm forced to face the reality of my situation. I can't stop listening. I feel everything, all the time. My–talent? – isn't like your suit. You can step out and be Tony Stark. I can't step away. Like you said, I'm Hulked out all the time. It's unrealistic to expect others to just forget about that part of me. So I need to embrace it. And I need to use it."
"Are you asking for a job?"
"No. I'm offering one."
"Do continue."
Hal sat up and let her feet swing to the floor. She leaned into her words. "I'm new to everything. I know how to take down an armed assailant, but I can't walk through a crowd without floundering like a tabby on catnip. Still, in the right situation, I could be very useful. I'd need help. I'd need direction. I only know about five people. You have connections. You know how to get me into the right situations with the kinds of people we can trust."
Stark tapped the arm of his chair, thinking. "So… you want to freelance, and you want me to be your pimp?"
"More or less."
His hand twitched, reaching for an invisible shot glass, and Stark glared at his fingers for their betrayal. "This could get really complicated, you know."
"It's already complicated. I know."
"Touché." He popped out of his chair. "In that case, your first client is in the penthouse conference room. I need to make some arrangements… Have a good chat."
"Wait!" Surprise propelled Hal out of her chair. Stark stopped, half-turned and lifted an expectant eyebrow. "Just like that?"
He shrugged. "Just like that."
Instinct pulled Hal deeper into Stark's mind, past the gnawing concern over the visitor and into the chaos of his fears and expectations. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and Hal physically winced as she tried to pull back. But of course, Stark had noticed. Stumbling back, she all but fell into her seat.
One moment of understanding, of progress, ruined. She'd said he couldn't trust her. She really couldn't blame him. She couldn't even trust herself not to invade his privacy.
She didn't dare meet his eyes.
"I meant what I said."
It wasn't a joke. Not even facetious. Tony Stark could, on the rare occasion, be entirely serious. And that was what finally made Hal look up.
He didn't glare.
He didn't smile.
He just met her eyes and let the wary softness of his expression lure her back into the conversation. When he knew he had her, he continued.
"When I said you were the opportunity – that's true. You could do terrible things. I have." He hesitated, and Hal felt his caution. "Not many people get a second chance, and usually you have to go through hell to get one. Pepper thinks you're broken, that you are something we can fix. The more I see you, though, the more potential I see. You don't just have a second chance, like I got. You have a clean slate. You can be anything, anyone, you want. We can make that happen."
Hal liked the idea. Stark was only wrong about one thing. Her 'clean slate' had some truly awful fire damage.
Forcing herself to maintain eye contact, she smiled. "You said 'We.' Sounds like we're partners already."
"Only in crime." Stark made to leave for the second time. "So, ready to see Cap?"
Hal shook her head. "Actually – not yet. I think I'd rather talk to him on the phone. Put some distance between us."
Nodding, Stark stepped into the elevator. "I'll see what I can do."
He didn't call her on the fear behind her bravado, on her careful avoidance of the memories in the man's mind. Memories of a stranger with her face, and the history of the man she first knew in her dreams.
He didn't say a word.
But Hal heard it anyway.
Drifting, her eyes found the window, clinging the shadow of red her dress's reflection cast over the city.
A/N: I have a lot of excuses. Some are quite awesome, like convention-romping and being put in charge of awesome things for NEXT YEAR'S conventions (I could gush for hours, do not start). Some are not so awesome, like physical therapy and family drama. The relevant drama, however, is writing related. I'm entering a new phase as a writer/editor/creative person, which means I have a lot more opportunities AND a lot more responsibilities. There are things I need to do right now, and until I find the right balance, my fic life needs to go on hold. My muse, strangely enough, agreed with me, because all the planning I did effectively went to shit when my muse demanded I spend more time on other projects, and I came back to find some major flaws in the pacing of my former outline.
So this is the last chapter. I tried to give it an open ending that will satisfy.
However, if there are still readers out there, I am UBER willing to do a sequel. Hal and Bucky still have a lot of story ahead of them, and I have already started drafting scenes for a sequel. The catch is that I will not publish until I have finished the story, or at least finished enough of my other projects to give an active fic the regular updates AWESOME READERS LIKE YOU DESERVE. This means the story will go on hiatus for several months.
THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR REVIEWS, FAVORITES, AND FOLLOWS! If you have any hopes/dreams/suggestions for the sequel, please feel free to drop a review.
You all rock my socks, and I can't thank you enough for going on this adventure with me.
Replies to Anons:
Inkwriter: Thank you so much for the review! It was a lot more serious than I originally intended, too, but I'm so happy you liked it! It is definitely one of her longer dialogues, especially with someone other than James. She has a very strange dynamic with Tony, but I think their characters could be very beneficial to each other if their development continues along its current path. I actually chose Hal's culinary kryptonite as a Doctor Who reference. I'm a complete nerd, so when I can give other fandoms I nod, I jump all over the opportunity. Thanks again for all your reviews! I really hope you've enjoyed the fic!
