A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and Captain America: Civil War.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
Note 1: I know it's been a while since this story was updated, but it couldn't be helped. Not only is my muse a fickle little scamp, my family has been experiencing a great deal of emotional turmoil that may not get better any time soon. Such is RL.
Note 2: This story is being revamped. Some scenes will be removed completely. Others will be changed to better conform to the MCU movies. Also, parts 2 and 3 will be eliminated and the chapters posted all under one title.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 29
Dooney's Apartment
Lower Manhattan
Clint let himself into the apartment, tossed his bag in a chair and went to the kitchen for a bottle of beer. "Hardison? You awake? I'm bunking on the sofa for a few days." There was no answer. Thinking she was asleep, he tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. Empty. The door to the master bedroom was open, and Clint walked toward it, listening for sounds of sleeping or the water running in case she was in the shower.
"Hardison?" The room was empty, the bed neatly made. Illuminated by the lamp on the bedside table, he found two notes. One was addressed to him, just a sheet of paper with a few words on it. The second was in a sealed envelope with Dooney's name neatly printed on the front. Because she wasn't there and her belongings were gone, Clint guessed that the note to Dooney explained her absence. He carried the envelope to the living room and set it by the front door to take with him the next time he went to Stark Tower.
His stomach grumbled. A noisy reminder that he hadn't eaten since morning. He made himself a sandwich, and carried it and the beer to the living room sofa, and turned on the television. Scrolling through Netflix, he found a movie he hadn't seen and settled in to watch.
Stark Tower
Lying in bed, Dooney stared at the ceiling. Banner had come in after his shower, dressed head to foot in a white suit that made him look like a rabbit without ears. He took blood, saliva and hair samples, and with an apologetic smile, handed him a bottle with a blue top. At first, Dooney had balked. What could they possibly need that for? Once Banner explained, he was okay with it. Now he was waiting for the doctors to come in and get started.
The disembodied voice they called Jarvis had a meal brought to him by an unknown person who pushed the food through a slot under the window. That was a couple of hours ago. Dooney didn't like being on display, but it was better than the alternative. And he could close the curtains anytime he wanted though that didn't stop the cameras from watching. He supposed he could ask for some alone time.
On the table to his left sat a remote that put the most technologically forward universal remote on the market to shame. According to Banner, it did everything but cook, clean and gas up your car. He grabbed it and turned on the sci-fi channel. Until recently, he'd harbored a dislike for science fiction, fantasy, horror or films and television that dealt with the supernatural, but lately, he'd changed that opinion. And though he told himself it was a personal choice, that wasn't true. But admitting that a woman he'd only met a few weeks ago had so much influence over him was more than he could deal with at the moment. Yes, he was in denial, but then who wasn't at one time or another?
Settling on a series about a man descended from a line of guardians charged with keeping balance between humanity and the mythological creatures of the world, Dooney rested the remote on his stomach and laced his hands behind his head.
A few minutes into the fourth episode, the chime announced someone at the door. Dooney click the television off and sat up. "Come in."
Banner entered through the airlock accompanied by Cho holding an IV bag and a syringe. "We're ready to begin, Mr. Nelson. The first injection can be given intravenously, with the rest administered via an IV. The nurse will be in to get you started."
Cho looped a tourniquet around Dooney's bicep and cleansed the inside of the elbow. "This may hurt a little." Holding the syringe in her right hand, she pushed the needle into his vein and pressed the plunger. "These first few injections are designed to render specific genetic expressions dormant. After that, we'll perform more tests. If all goes well, then we'll insert the necessary components to tell your body to destroy the leukemia. If not, we'll move on to the destruction of your immune system then remake it with the corrections."
"Side effects?"
Holding the tablet and making notes, Banner glanced at him and back to the screen. "We're not completely certain. You could experience headaches, nausea, dizziness, drowsiness, hallucinations, reduced or increased appetite, dry mouth, muscle cramps… You get the idea. If you experience any unusual symptoms, have Jarvis contact one of us immediately."
Dooney nodded, one hand rubbing his belly. "Will do. Say, any way I can get another snack? I'm a bit peckish."
"Of course. Jarvis?" The doctors left, their heads together, speaking in whispers.
"What would you care for, Mr. Nelson?"
It still unnerved him, talking to the ceiling, but he was beginning to like it as well. "Something sweet and not too heavy, and a glass of wine to go with it."
"Alcohol is contraindicated during your course of treatment, sir."
Taking the denial in stride, Dooney reached for the remote and flicked on the television. "Milk then. The real thing. Not that soy or lactose free crap."
"As you wish."
Vermont
Natasha sat up with a start, splashing water over the sides of the tub onto the floor. The water had cooled, chilling her skin. She pulled the plug, and pushed to her feet, reaching for the fluffy bath towel hanging on the rod beside the tub. She blotted the moisture from her face before wrapping it around her.
Stepping over the side, she took another towel from the hamper and spread it on the floor to soak up the mess. Two of the candles had gone out. She blew out the rest, picked up the wine bottle and carried it to the kitchen. For a moment, she was tempted to finish it off. Instead, she used a wine stopper to close it up and put it away.
A floorboard creaked, and a weapon appeared in her hands. The sound wasn't repeated, but Natasha didn't relax even after she'd checked every room, except the one where Barnes slept.
At the desk, she set the weapon within easy reach to perform a systems check. The alarms had been set. She hadn't done it before her bath. That left Barnes, but how could he know the code? Per protocol, she'd changed it the day they arrived, and hadn't shared the code with her companion.
She tapped a few commands, bringing up the logs. Her code had been used to lock everything down. The thought of rousting Barnes out of bed for an explanation briefly flickered through her consciousness. Shaking her head, she decided morning was soon enough to confront him, and find out how he got the code.
Natasha was about to head to bed when another sound intruded, the scuff of a foot on the carpet behind her. In a flash, the Makarov, was back in Natasha's hand. She spun around to confront the intruder, coming face to face with Barnes. As she turned, the towel snagged on a partially open drawer, and dropped to her feet.
His eyes widened, and he immediately faced the other direction, seemingly embarrassed. A stray breeze hit her still damp skin, making her shiver. She engaged the weapon's safety and set it on the desk. With an internal smirk, she retrieved the towel and covered herself again. "You can turn around now. I'm decent."
Hesitantly, he glanced over his shoulder then turned, keeping his eyes on her face, and not speaking.
"This is not the first time you've seen a woman naked."
Barnes tilted his head as if listening to voices only he could hear. Natasha had seen him do it on many occasions, when trying to remember. "I-I don't…"
The pain in his expression dampened the small amount of humor in her tone. He was in pain, and here she was teasing him. "Never mind. Get some sleep."
With a short nod, he stepped aside to let her pass, trailing her to the hallway where he waited until she'd gone into her room and closed the door. She listened until she heard his door shut, slightly taken aback when the lock clicked. He couldn't be afraid, not of her. Or was he afraid for her? He was troubled by chaotic thoughts that haunted him day and night. Natasha knew what it was like to question not only yourself, but everyone around you. In that way, she and Barnes were alike. Neither of them had examined their orders or their perceptions until challenged by another. For her, it had been Clint. For Barnes, it was Steve.
Choosing to leave the debate for another time, Natasha tossed the towel over a chair and put on her pajamas. Standing in front of the mirror, she ran a brush through her hair. The ends of the back and sides were still wet. It would be frizzy in the morning, but she didn't care. She lay down under the covers, switched out the light and rolled onto her side to look out the window.
Midnight
Stark Tower
With Bruce out of the lab, it fell to Helen to do the next in a series of exams on their patient. She gathered her hair into a ponytail, wrapped it around and secured it with a pin before climbing into her cleanroom suit. At the door, she activated the intercom. "Mr. Nelson?"
"Yeah?"
The curtains were closed so she couldn't see him. He sounded distracted, and sleepy. Jarvis was monitoring his vitals, but she preferred to see for herself. "May I come in?"
"Would it matter if I said no?"
"Not really."
She heard a long sigh and the crinkle of the mattress as he moved. "Then be my guest."
Flipping up the suit's hood, she closed the seal and entered the airlock. After a chemical bath designed to eliminate any germs on the suit's surface, she opened the inner door and stepped into the room. "This experiment is being done at your request. Someone has to check on you every few hours, Mr. Nelson. Why wouldn't you cooperate?"
His eyebrows climbed up his forehead in irritation. "Wasn't me that asked for it. Barton's the one with the big ideas."
Helen looked at him then back to the computer's records of the last few hours. "You came here willingly, and you do want to live, correct?"
Another sigh and a nod. "Yeah. I just didn't realize I'd be cooped up in a room the whole time."
"I know you're bored and not a little frustrated. Probably feeling claustrophobic as well…"
He lay down and laced his hands behind his head. "That's puttin' it mildly. This really gonna take a full month?"
Helen nodded as she took out a small flashlight to check his pupil reactions. "Give or take. Could be as little as two weeks. It all depends on how well you respond to the treatment." She made notes on the screen next to the bed. "Is there somewhere you have to be?"
His shrug was meant to be nonchalant, but she could see the underlying seriousness in his eyes. "Yes and no."
Dooney didn't elaborate so she left it alone. Taking out a giant cotton swab, she held it out. "Open." She rubbed the soft end over the inside of his cheek and closed the cover to preserve the specimen. "That's it for now. We may need to take blood again tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Nelson. Jarvis will notify Dr. Banner or myself if you have any questions or experience unusual symptoms."
"Okay, doc."
Out in the hall, Helen removed the hood on her way to the store room, her blood pounding with excitement. Dooney had responded so well to the first two injections, it might not be necessary to obliterate his immune system. The lab would have the results ready in just a few hours. In the interim, she would have a meal and catch up on work. She wanted to wake Bruce, to share her eagerness for the results so far. But after working tirelessly on this project with her, he deserved some time off.
~~O~~
Dooney sat up and watched Cho leave without a word of encouragement or support, making him feel like nothing more than an interesting test subject. Banner had more experience with live patients, that much was certain.
And Cho was right. He did want to live, get married, have kids and grow old with the woman he loved with all his heart. Maybe that was Kiba. Maybe it wasn't. He wanted the chance to find out once this crap was over and he was healthy again.
Suddenly tired, Dooney lay back down and went to sleep. Hours later, he awoke when Banner came in with another injection. He waited until the doctor had gone to get up and go into the bathroom. After taking care of business, he washed his hands and splashed water on his face to try to wake up, but it didn't help. Holding onto whatever was handy, he made it back to the bed and lay down again. Cool air from the vent made him shiver. He pulled the sheet and blanket up to his neck and closed his eyes, wishing that it was all over.
Brooklyn
Noon
Lying on his stomach, face pushed into the pillow, Steve felt a tickle along his right side. It stopped, and he was about to go to back to sleep when he felt it again. This time, a little lower, close to his hip. It kept going, trailing up his side to his ribs where it dug in.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned while his brain worked through its morning restart. Looking around, he noticed that he was on a bed instead of the floor where he usually slept. In front of him was a bedside table with a Victorian style lamp, a thick novel, and a cell phone that wasn't his. The tickle stopped and his heart finally pumped enough oxygenated blood to his brain for him to bring up memories of the previous night.
Rising up on his elbows, he looked around and found Maria propped against the headboard with a pillow behind her back, knees and the sheet drawn up to her chest, forearms on her knees. Her dark hair was sleep tousled, fluffing out around her head, and she was smiling the way she had after introducing him to third base. Like she'd found the answer to a deep dark mystery that had been eluding her.
Turning onto his side, Steve propped his head up with his left hand and returned her smile. "Morning."
She rolled her eyes. "Thought you were gonna sleep all day."
Steve held out his hand and she took it. "Only if I can sleep with you." He tugged, and she slid down, rolling onto her side facing him, her fingers brushing through his hair. Her leg came up and over, hooking behind his thigh and pulling them tightly against each other, the contact reigniting the heat. She kissed him, and he returned it as he turned onto his back taking her with him so she was looking down at him. His hands skimmed along her ribs, the dip in her waist and the curve of her hips, stopping to caress the outside of her thighs.
Maria sighed, and he did as well, and before long, they were awash in a sea of desire so deep Steve thought his feet would never touch bottom again. Then, he was flying, and Maria was right there with him, giving and taking, both equal partners in the most passionate of dances.
She leaned forward, bringing her left leg over, dropping it between his thighs, and lay down so that she was draped over him. Their chests pushed against each other as their breathing slowly returned to normal. One hand lay in the middle of her back.
Then, her stomach growled like a jungle cat stalking its prey. Maria lifted her head, looking into his eyes, and they both laughed. Steve kissed her and held her tight. "Let's feed that thing before it goes hunting."
For an answer, Maria snuggled deeper into his embrace, her head on his shoulder, and sighed, a long wavering sound that could've been mistaken for a moan of pleasure. And maybe it was. They would have to do this a few more times for him to be sure. At least that's what he told himself.
"In a minute. Mmm. You make a fantastic mattress."
"And you are an incredible…" he raised her hand and kissed the knuckles, "…blanket."
A few minutes later, Maria climbed over him, onto the floor. She tried to keep hold of the sheet, but Steve wouldn't let go. Over her shoulder, she mock glared at him, and walked to the door, flashing him a smile, inviting him to follow her.
He threw off the sheet and gave chase, catching up to her at the bathroom door. Soon, they were in the shower together, the spray cascading over their sweat slicked bodies.
~~O~~
Sitting propped against the headboard, Maria watched Steve sleep. For a man who had never made love to a woman before, he certainly knew what he wanted to give her and ask for himself. He'd played her like a violin, coaxing a tune from her body that sent her soaring into the clouds like no man had before. Their merging had been frenzied the first time, both of them hungry for something they'd only tasted.
Rolling her eyes at the cliché, Maria decided Steve had slept long enough. Extending her foot, she poked him with her toes in that slightly ticklish spot on his side. He stirred, but didn't wake up. She did it again, harder, moving her foot up to his ribs and digging her toes in.
He rolled over and reached out to her, his eyes going dark like clouds just before a storm when their bodies glided against each other, the friction only slightly allayed by the thin layer of sweat from the night before.
Hunger burned bright, and before long, they were dancing to a tune older than time. Steve worked magic on her body and soul, lighting her up, making her feel weightless while burning from the inside out.
There was so much she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him that it had been years since she'd allowed a man to get this close, physically, and especially emotionally. That he'd managed to manipulate her so well she vibrated, and that she was so close to the edge, all it would take was a brief touch at just the right moment to send her into freefall. Then they moved together, and she lost all sense of time and space.
Afterward, she lay over him, unable to make her limbs obey her commands. Then, her stomach growled, piercing the veil of arousal that had begun once more. Steve laughed and she did too.
Maria was more than hungry. She felt as if she hadn't eaten in days instead of hours. Most likely due to her increased metabolism from the transfusion. Food, usually an afterthought, had worked its way to the top of her daily To-Do list.
She wanted to stay just like this, but also knew that if they didn't get up soon, they'd likely stay right here for the rest of the day. However, life waited for them just outside the walls of the brownstone, and it was time to get back to it.
Sliding off Steve and the bed, just for a moment, she felt self-conscious about letting him see her naked in the light of day. But when he wouldn't let go of the sheet, she thought, Oh, what the hell?
With a grin, she went to the door, crooking her finger. Steve leapt out of bed, catching up to her at the bathroom door. Without a word, Steve squirted shampoo into his hand and worked it through her hair, massaging the scalp, making it tingle. At his urging, she rinsed, letting the water flow over her shoulders. He applied the conditioner, and while that worked, he lathered her body with shower gel using her favorite citrus basil blend. When done, his arms briefly encircled her waist.
Then, she turned the tables on him, lathering his chest and arms, working her way down his torso. She moved behind him to wash his shoulders, back, and legs. As soon as she began touching him, he closed his eyes, and sighed. When she finished, he looked over his shoulder at her with such an overwhelming depth of emotion that she could only stare back.
Steve urged her under the water to rinse the conditioner from her hair and soapy residue from her skin. Then, he held the curtain out of the way, taking her hand as she stepped over the side onto the bathmat.
His body was silhouetted through the white shower curtain as he washed and rinsed his hair while she dried, and wrapped her hair in a towel and another around body. He turned off the water and pushed the curtain aside, taking the towel she held out. With a smile, she brazenly watched him rub the terrycloth over his wet body then wrap it around his waist.
They stepped out into the hall, coming face to face with Barton, who looked like a deer in headlights at seeing them coming out of the bathroom together. "I left my…" was all Barton was able to get out at first. His eyes went wide with shock. "It's not import… Why don't l just…"
Maria snickered and went into her room, pulling Steve behind her. He gathered his clothes, and snagged her around the waist for one last passionate kiss. Then, his bare feet thundered down the hall and the stairs, followed by the slamming of the den door.
Vermont
Every day since they arrived at the cabin, James watched Natasha cook, even helped, usually at dinner time, and sometimes in the morning when she made omelets. To him, the omelets tasted like scrambled eggs with partially cooked vegetables and cheese. He didn't want to insult her, so he ate whatever she put in front of him.
He glanced at the clock. It was past twelve and she still hadn't come out of her room for the fourth day in a row. And each day he waited for her to come out to make their meals. Down inside, he felt that was wrong. If today turned out the same as the others, Natasha should be showing herself in the next fifteen minutes, and he wanted her to know how much he appreciated all she'd done for him.
In the kitchen, James took the towel she wore around her waist while cooking, hesitating just a moment before tucking it into the waist of his pants like an apron. He opened the refrigerator to examine the contents, wondering what Natasha would want to eat. Something simple would probably be best.
Taking a pot from under the counter, James set it on the stove. He poured in the soup leftover from the day before, and turned on the flame. There wasn't enough to satisfy both their hungers, so he took out the sliced meat and cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and bread. Then he remembered she'd liked to have coffee immediately upon waking. The coffeemaker was ready to use. He turned it on. By the time the sandwiches were built, the soup was hot and the coffee made. However, Natasha had yet to show herself.
James turned down the heat and stirred the soup again, then brought out bowls and spoons, and cups for the coffee. He filled the bowls and set them on the table with the sandwiches, and poured the coffee. The floor creaked, and when he turned around, Natasha was just closing the bathroom door. She came out a few minutes later, hair neatly arranged, and fully dressed. She looked as beautiful as always, though there was a lingering air of tiredness around her eyes. Others might not notice, but he did. Seeing him watching her, she put on a smile that rang false.
"You're really making progress, Barnes, making lunch and coffee." She sipped from the cup and set it on the table. "Thank you. I didn't sleep well last night. Or the night before."
"Or the two nights before that? I can hear." James picked up the spoon and stirred his soup. "What's the Red Room?"
A shadow crossed over her features. Anger? Shame? Guilt? Some combination of all three? Whatever it was, offering to have her tell him about it hadn't been a good idea. Perhaps when he was ready to talk about his past, once he remembered, she would as well.
"Sorry I asked."
Natasha waved away his apology. "Don't be. It's my problem. Not yours."
James wanted to tell her that her problems were his as long as they were together, and that he was here whenever she wanted or needed someone who would listen. But then, she would ask him to do the same, and he wasn't ready to speak aloud the fears and horrors of his life as the Asset. Not yet, though maybe one day soon. Until then, he would just be here with her, and not press her to talk about anything she didn't want to. The same as what she did for him.
Natasha finished her coffee and the soup, ate half of the sandwich and pushed back from the table. "Think I'll sit outside for a while." She refilled her cup and left by the front door.
She didn't invite him to join her, and when the door closed, James stared at it for a few seconds before clearing the table. He washed the dishes and cleaned the stove, counter and table.
Going to the front window, he peeked through the curtain, but Natasha wasn't on the porch, just her cup sitting on the railing. He had a strong urge to go after her, to make sure she was safe, and let that impulse guide his actions. He made a full circuit of the outside of the building, then went into the shed behind it, but didn't find her.
Returning to the porch, James scanned the horizon left to right and back again. His instincts told him to find Natasha and bring her back, but logic reared its head, telling him to give her time to come back on her own.
James sat down on the top step, hands clasped between his knees. He would wait exactly two hours before going after her.
Brooklyn
Maria pulled on her workout pants, intending to go for a run later, her eyes falling on the rumpled bedclothes that bore the imprint of two bodies instead of one. Smirking to herself, she recalled the moment she opened the door and Steve was standing there about to knock. He looked at her and they knew the time was right.
Now, in the dull light of a cloudy day, Maria knew what she only suspected: she loved Steve. Not having had experience with the emotion, she had denied her feelings for weeks, passing them off as a strong desire, a craving for something beyond the stress relief of casual sex. But that wasn't it because she loved everything about him, the full package, not just his body.
Their intimate moments had gone like clockwork, as if Steve knew what he was doing, had done it all before. During their first encounters, he'd been tentative, unsure of himself, unwilling to take liberties beyond kissing. Their time in the movie theater, he'd been surprised at the things she'd done for him. And when it came time to reciprocate, he'd acquitted himself marvelously, with no direction from her beyond providing encouragement. But last night-she rolled her eyes-it had been a whole new ballgame. He'd clearly done research, and it made her feel special that he would go to so much trouble for her.
Pulling a t-shirt on over her sports bra, Maria's thoughts were redirected when the scent of food cooking made her stomach growl again. She quickly put on her socks and running shoes, tied her hair into a ponytail, and ran down the stairs, arriving just as Steve was dropping a burger on a bun.
Maria took a few moments to watch his economical movements, sure and unhurried. He picked up the plates and turned, smiling at seeing her leaning in the doorway, adding a shrug. "Hope you don't mind leftovers. I figured you were too hungry to wait for something more elaborate."
She passed him to pick up the glasses of iced tea already poured, and followed him to the window seat. He waited for her to sit then took the other end facing her. "This is fine."
They spent the rest of the meal alternating looking at each other when they thought the other wasn't, and staring out the window, and not once did his smile waver. Maria knew that Steve was wondering what to say, and to tell the truth, she had the same problem. But for her, it was different. She had always avoided the morning after awkwardness by not staying the night.
In a few weeks, all this superness, the strength, hearing, and so forth, would all be gone and she'd be back to herself. Not that she minded, though she wondered what would happen when she and Steve made love once she was back to normal. She knew he wouldn't purposely hurt her. She also didn't want him holding back so much that he didn't get everything he deserved out of this relationship.
The last of the tea slid down Maria's throat. She wiped her mouth, dropped the napkin on the empty plate, and turned to look out the window.
Vermont
The end of James' self-imposed timeline, Natasha appeared at the edge of the clearing carrying a handful of colorful blossoms. She bent her head to inhale their fragrance then looked up at the sky. His eyes followed hers as the drone of an engine passed nearby. A small plane moved against the backdrop of a sky mostly covered by clouds that didn't look friendly.
Far away, lightning flashed on the side of the mountains, and rain began to fall, moving in their direction. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves on the trees and bending the blades of grass.
James descended the steps as Natasha reached him, tilting her head back to keep eye contact. This time, when the lightning flashed, thunder could be heard rolling over the land. They went inside, Natasha acting as if nothing odd had occurred as they went into the kitchen to start dinner.
Outside, rain pattered on the roof.
TBC
