The walkway that circled around the tower's landing pad was almost entirely made of glass, including the floor, which offered an unobstructed view straight down eighty floors to the ground below. At any moment it seemed in danger of vanishing entirely, leaving only air behind.
Beatrice crossed her arms over the railing, her attention only half-focused on a group of construction workers on the roof of a shorter building across the street, their bright orange vests the only spot of color among the gray sea of concrete. Her mind, however, was somewhere else entirely. She had escaped out here to be free of the Avengers' bickering about the scepter and its origins, none of which she had any idea how to answer. All she knew was that her visceral reaction to it had left her shaken to her core, unable to get the vision out of her mind. It had seemed even more real than what she saw in the Norn Stone. Thor had suggested it was somehow connected to the Tesseract, and the residual effects left inside Beatrice after Hydra's experimentation on her had caused the extreme reaction. Frankly, though, she didn't care how similar they were or what had caused the vision—all she could think about was what she had seen and what it meant. Bucky's face appeared in her mind again: her Bucky, her husband, a man who had never seen the horrors of war. Their children—Elena and George. But had it come at the cost of Steve's life?
What was she willing to live without for what she truly wanted? At least here and now, both men were alive and safe. But if Bucky was only a ghost of his former self, and Steve willingly threw his life on the line every day, was it really worth it?
She straightened up and ran her hands through her hair in frustration, as if she could somehow pull the thoughts out of her head. She felt so useless, sitting around Avengers Tower while Bucky could be anywhere in the world. She had spent the weeks since her return to New York moping around Central Park feeling sorry for herself. Yes, she knew that if anyone could help her find Bucky, it would be Tony Stark, but she wanted to help, too.
Perhaps that was why she had been so determined to chase after Crossbones, to feel as if she was in control of something, no matter how dangerous it was. She had at least been useful during the war, even if she wasn't actively fighting. Now her options were severely limited.
But God, he had read her letters! This man, this Hydra agent, who had known Bucky as the Winter Soldier, who might have even given him orders—he had read private letters between her, Bucky, and Steve, and could use that knowledge against any one of them with disastrous results. He already knew Beatrice would be willing to do anything to get them back. He could destroy them. He could hand them in to the government, which would not only throw Beatrice under a spotlight, but would also expose everything Bucky had done and perhaps even trigger a worldwide search for him that even he wouldn't be able to escape. It could even destroy Steve's reputation and, by extension, Captain America's. What would that do to the Avengers? Rumlow had already proven he would go to extreme lengths to exact revenge on Steve. He had enough resources to break into Avengers Tower, a location Beatrice had been told was one of the most secure in the world. If she wasn't safe here, she wasn't safe anywhere. And neither was Bucky.
"Admiring the view?"
Beatrice turned away from the edge, her hair blowing in the wind from being up so high, pushing it out of her face to see Tony Stark himself approaching her. His eyes were hidden by a pair of very large, very dark sunglasses.
She had no idea what his expression was, or whether his carefully practiced tone was serious or sarcastic, so she settled for the safest answer. "It's something, all right," she said, glancing down at Manhattan spread below them, its streets and buildings and people—so many people—all seeming to move to New York's own steady heartbeat. In all her traveling, Beatrice had never encountered any other place like it—like home.
Tony stopped next to her, his hands on the railing, staring to the south. The skyscrapers were reflected in the darkened lens of his glasses. "There used to be two more towers there," he remarked after a moment, nodding in the direction of the financial district. "Little history lesson for you."
Beatrice bit her lip and shifted uneasily from side to side. "I know," she replied. "Steve told me."
"Rogers?" Tony asked incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up. "Wait, that actually doesn't surprise me. He probably took it personally."
"Personally?" she echoed.
"Uh, I don't know if you've noticed, but the man's called Captain America," Tony scoffed. "Not to mention his hero complex is the size of Maine."
Beatrice exhaled softly, dropping her gaze. "Even Steve can't save everybody. As much as he wants to."
Tony suddenly rounded on her, his finger pointed to her chest. "How many soldiers did you save?"
Instead of backing away, Beatrice stood her ground and regarded him unflinchingly. "Not enough," she said evenly.
"I was here," Tony said flatly, smacking his hand on the railing. The fight suddenly seemed to go out of him. "Right here in this spot, and I watched the towers fall, and I thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse. That I'd witnessed the closest approximation of hell I'd get to see—in this lifetime, anyway."
"Sometimes the greatest threat to humanity is other humans," Beatrice said quietly, thinking of what the Allies had done to end the war.
"Wrong," her companion said darkly. He wasn't looking at her anymore. "Fast-forward eleven years, and aliens started raining down on us. Look, I'd love for you to be right, Trixie, but you're not. The truth is—look, I swore that I would never feel that helpless again. And I'll do whatever I can to stop it from happening, whether the threat comes from here or up there."
It was a long while before Beatrice spoke again. "Have you succeeded?" she asked hesitantly, lifting her eyes to his. Was he trying to apologize, albeit in a very roundabout way, for Rumlow breaking into the tower?
Tony's mouth hardened into a thin line. "I will," he said flatly, and abruptly strode away from her. Beatrice watched him leave, opening her mouth to protest—to question—but nothing came out. The wind whipped around her again, stronger than ever, and she tightened her grip on the railing, her knuckles turning white. A feeling of dread had settled in the pit of her stomach for reasons she couldn't quite explain.
Far below her, the wail of a siren pierced the crowded streets.
Music pulsed dully from the floor above her; the low rumble of chatter, the clinking of wine glasses, occasionally interrupted by a shriek of laughter, provided the background ambience as Beatrice shifted nervously in front of the elevator, wary at the prospect of mingling in such a large crowd. Tony had insisted on her attending the victory party he was throwing that night in honor of the Avengers destroying the last Hydra base and finding the scepter. All of his rich and famous friends would be there, from high-ranking politicians to stars of films Beatrice had never heard of, much less seen. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she was going just to please Steve, who clearly looked forward to these events as much as she did. Beatrice gave him a sideways glance as the elevator doors slid open and he gently ushered her inside first. He still wore the striking blue shirt he'd had on earlier, and Beatrice guessed he hadn't been the one to pick out his surprisingly modern jeans. Again, she couldn't help but notice how well the ensemble suited him. He looked curiously over at her, noticing her stare, and she quickly turned away, adjusting the gray shawl around her shoulders and unsure herself why her face suddenly felt warm. It's just Steve, she told herself firmly, but the butterflies in her stomach told a different story.
He held out his arm to her, a half-smile on his face, and Beatrice stared dumbly at it for a moment before realizing his intent and circling her own arm through his, returning the grin. She felt safer, better somehow with Steve beside her. As if she could face more than she could if she was alone.
"Ready?" he asked. He sounded as serious as if he was going into battle. Beatrice couldn't help but stifle a giggle.
"Lead the way, Captain," she teased, and felt his silent laughter.
When they emerged out onto the party deck, to her utmost relief, few people turned their heads. The lounge was alive with all manner of men and women, some drinking at the bar, others dancing to a live band playing in the corner, some lounging on the scattered chairs and couches, others admiring the view from the windows. Beatrice was suddenly grateful she had changed into a simple forest-green wrap dress and a warm shawl. Several days after arriving at the tower, her closet had been filled with simple, modest clothing that was exactly her size. While it wasn't exactly what she was used to, it was far more to her taste than most of the clothes she saw people wearing this century. She still hadn't quite gotten used to the idea of wearing long pants every day.
"Captain!"
Steve immediately turned to the voice, as if the title was a reflex to him now, as much a part of him as his own name. Beatrice tightened her grip on his arm as if it was a lifeline, peering around his broad frame to see who had noticed them. An old man was hobbling toward them with his cane heavily striking the ground; his glasses, like Tony's, were tinted so she couldn't see his eyes. His white hair was nearly parted and he wore a faded bomber jacket similar to one Steve owned.
"Lieutenant," Steve greeted, raising his other arm to offer the man a salute. Beatrice allowed herself to relax slightly. "I hoped I'd see you here. Are you enjoying the festivities?" His tone was dry as he gestured to the scene around them.
"Oh, very much," the man replied, resting both of his hands on the handle of his cane. "I'll say that Stark really knows how to throw a party, but I'd hoped the drinks would be a little bit stronger. They just don't mix 'em like they used to."
Steve laughed. "I'm sure Thor can help you with that. Beatrice," he said, indicating her at his side, "This is Lieutenant Stanley Lieber. The Commandos and I fought alongside his unit at Omaha Beach. Lieutenant, this is Beatrice Hartley, a close friend of mine." He didn't mention that she was nearly as old as him, and for that Beatrice was grateful.
"It's an honor to meet you, sir," she said, reaching out to shake his gnarled hand and watching him curiously. The name didn't ring any bells, but then again she had come across thousands of men during her time in Europe. It was entirely possible she, or one of her fellow nurses, could be the reason he was standing here today. A long-buried sense of pride began to rise in her chest, mixed with a heavy dose of nostalgia and sadness.
"Any friend of the Captain's is a friend of mine," Lieber said, lowering his glasses just enough to give her a sly wink. He paused, and she could have sworn she saw recognition flicker in his eyes. "Say, you look strangely familiar. My mind's not as sharp as it used to be, but I swear you look like a girl I once met during the war."
"I get that a lot," Beatrice said, completely straight-faced, while Steve hid a smile.
The two men began to reminisce about their time in the war, trading stories of foxholes and ambushes. Beatrice couldn't relate to this sort of conversation, never actually having been in battle, and so turned her attention to the other guests, searching for other familiar faces. She spotted Bruce and Clint, who looked to be fully recovered, sharing drinks with a pair of senators, and Thor had taken over the bar. Tony was, unsurprisingly, entertaining a group of women who were hanging on to his every word. Natasha was nowhere to be seen.
A flash of bright red caught the corner of Beatrice's eye, and her gaze was instantly drawn to it. A woman in a striking red dress was leaning against the pool table, in conversation with a distinguished-looking gentleman who was talking animatedly. Beatrice gave a small start and quietly unwound her arm from Steve's before slinking across the room to Maria Hill. She must have left her hair down to hide the bruises on her neck from Crossbones' attack.
Hill turned as Beatrice approached, and though the other woman was paler than usual, she looked pleased to see her. "Beatrice!" she exclaimed, and reached out to draw her closer to the table, an arm around her shoulders. Beatrice wondered how many drinks she'd had. "I was hoping you would show up."
"Agent Hill," Beatrice stammered in reply, completely flabbergasted. "I thought you were still injured."
"Oh, believe me, I am," Hill told her with a dry laugh. "But I've been worse, and I wasn't going to let Rumlow ruin this party for me. Not when I spent half a day picking out this dress."
Beatrice could do nothing but blink stupidly in reply. Was Hill legitimately so accustomed to danger that she was able to shrug off a potentially fatal situation as if it was a daily occurrence? She didn't think she would ever be able to sound so nonchalant.
While she struggled to wrap her mind around the concept, Hill turned to her companion. "This is Colonel James Rhodes," she said; Beatrice took the man's proffered hand, still slightly stunned.
He flashed a wide, charming smile that made her feel instantly at ease. "Also known as War Machine. You might have heard of me."
"Tony's best friend?" Beatrice guessed. Rhodes grinned and took a sip of his drink.
"Unfortunately. His reputation tends to precede him. He'd tell you my job is to clean up his messes, but I only stick around for the entertainment."
"What about Pepper?" she questioned.
Rhodes laughed.
"Pepper, clean up Tony's messes? She'd make him scrub every floor in this place on his hands and knees while she watched. And he'd gladly do it for her."
While he regaled Beatrice and Hill with a tale involving the couple's most recent Christmas and a gigantic stuffed rabbit, she barely noticed two more people had joined them. It was only when she heard a familiar laugh that she whirled around and saw Sam Wilson, grinning from ear to ear.
"Sam!" she exclaimed in delight, glad to see another friendly face. "What are you doing here?"
"Steve invited me," he replied, shaking his head in disbelief as he ignored her extended hand to pull her in for a hug instead. "I couldn't pass up the chance to attend one of Tony Stark's famous parties."
While Hill introduced him to Rhodes, Beatrice had no choice but to turn to Natasha, who was standing at his side. She wore a short black dress that flared out at the waist and her lips were an even brighter red than usual; her pale skin seemed almost to glow in the dim light. She casually twirled a drink in one hand.
"I wasn't sure Steve would be able to talk you into being here tonight," she remarked to Beatrice, her green gaze glittering as she met the shorter woman's eyes. "He's not exactly Casanova."
"No kidding," Beatrice said dryly, thinking of his numerous fumbling attempts to flirt with Peggy Carter.
"He is a good kisser, though," Natasha muttered, almost grudgingly. The flicker of a grin crossed her face at Beatrice's dumbstruck expression. "Relax, it was a life-or-death situation. We were being followed and I needed to create a distraction." She placed her drink on the table and surveyed Beatrice's attire. "Anyway, what made you decide to show up? I admit I would've lost that bet."
"I was…curious about twenty-first century parties," Beatrice admitted, suddenly uncomfortable under her stare. Her mind was still reeling from the idea of Steve kissing her niece. An unpleasant emotion began to churn in her stomach, but she quickly forced it back down.
Natasha raised one eyebrow. "And?"
Beatrice shrugged, casting a glance at the relatively calm atmosphere surrounding them. She almost longed for a drink herself. "So far, nothing too different. The music and clothes have changed, but that's about it. Not as much dancing." Suddenly feeling suffocated by the overwhelming awkwardness that she was sure was radiating from her, Beatrice scrambled for something else, something meaningful, to say. "Agent Barton seems...much better."
The red-haired woman nodded and took a sip from her drink. "He was only out for a couple of hours. Doctor Cho was able to see him as soon as we got back here."
"Doctor Cho?"
"She's a friend of Stark's, a Korean geneticist." Natasha indicated a slim, dark-haired woman sitting on a nearby couch talking to Bruce. "She specializes in cellular regeneration."
"What's that?" Beatrice asked curiously.
"No idea," Natasha said with a shrug, deftly reaching across Sam to pour herself another drink from a nearby bottle. "You'll have to ask her."
Now that her attempts at conversation had fizzled out entirely, Beatrice was left with no choice but to speak her mind to the only other person who knew everything about her family. "Listen, Natasha…I'm sure Steve told you that Rumlow took the letters you gave me," she began hesitantly.
The spy's face changed at once; a blank mask replaced her politely interested expression so quickly it was difficult to believe it had changed at all. "Let's go over here, shall we?" Natasha asked smoothly, loud enough so the others could deduce they didn't want to be disturbed, and led Beatrice away from the group without waiting for an answer. There was an unoccupied spot near the alcove under one of the windows, and Natasha stopped beside it, her back to the window so she could look out into the room. The spire of the Chrysler Building across the street looked strangely otherworldly behind her, bathed in neon light. The music had softened to the more even, soothing tempo of jazz. Beatrice cast around for Steve in desperation, but he was joking with Thor and a larger group of veterans.
"Henry wanted you to give them to me, didn't he?" she asked, figuring Natasha would prefer being spoken to directly rather than skirting around the matter any longer.
Natasha's expression didn't change. "Yes."
"How am I supposed to tell him that they're gone?" Beatrice asked in dismay, fighting to keep her voice down. "He kept them safe for years and now, because I was stupid enough to think I could go after Rumlow—"
"So don't tell him," Natasha said bluntly. "He understands the need for secrets, Beatrice."
It was one of the only times she had said her name out loud, and Beatrice fought to hide the surprise that crossed her face, though she was certain Natasha saw it anyway. "But Henry is my brother," she tried to protest.
"And he's my father," Natasha said decisively. Seeing Beatrice's expression, she sighed almost imperceptibly and shook her head. Her earrings danced around her face, catching the light so that they looked like sparkling diamonds. "Look, I've known him for ten years. He would probably try and hunt down Rumlow by himself. And speaking as someone who used to work with Rumlow, I can tell you he couldn't care less about the letters. He'll just use them as a means of getting you to do what he wants. As unreliable as he can be, Stark will eventually find him."
Beatrice couldn't help it: the retort burst out of her mouth in a tone far more bitter than she'd intended. "Like he found Bucky, you mean?"
She wasn't sure how she expected Natasha to react, but the other woman just regarded her coolly and raised her drink to her lips before calmly saying, "If I were you, I would be wondering why Barnes even went to Switzerland in the first place."
Beatrice excused herself from the party just as the first guests were beginning to leave, citing a need to sleep off her headache. In truth, she was still exhausted from her encounter with Crossbones, though it was more mental than physical. Steve had invited her to the afterparty, which would only include the Avengers plus Hill, Rhodes, and the Korean doctor, Helen Cho, but Beatrice politely declined. In truth, she just wanted time alone with her thoughts, time to process all that had happened since JARVIS was disabled. For as vast as the tower was, it was rare to find yourself alone.
But when she returned to her suite, she found that she didn't even have the energy to change out of her dress. Steve had left his leather jacket lying across the chaise longue, and after ridiculously glancing behind her, as if anyone else would see her, Beatrice slipped her arms into it. It was far too large and hung awkwardly off her, but it provided warmth in the suddenly cold bedroom. She finally slumped cross-legged on the chaise longue, hugging the pillow to her chest and staring at her reflection in the dark television screen mounted on the wall opposite. Her eyelids were heavy with a dull tiredness, but every time she closed them the only things she saw were two children running around a grassy park and Bucky's breath warm on her skin.
Almost absent-mindedly, instinctively, Beatrice extended her hand to the lamp beside her, curling her fingers toward her in an attempt at a pulling motion. Its base tilted slightly in her direction but didn't move.
Intrigued by this new discovery, Beatrice channelled all of the Tesseract's energy into her fingers, scattering it out into the air surrounding her before directing it to the lamp. Its bulb suddenly flickered on and it came flying toward a surprised Beatrice, who stared down at it in her hands as if she didn't quite believe what she had just seen was real. At times the hum of energy that constantly pulsed in the back of her eyes was distracting and unpleasant, but now it felt warm, like a helpful friend or a pet she'd finally learned to control.
She turned her attention to the nightstand itself and was almost disappointed when she came across resistance. But it's heavier, she told herself before trying again—imagining what she had done to the lamppost in Hell's Kitchen the last time she'd used her powers—her hand began to shake—
And then an ear-splitting crash from above her broke the spell, and Beatrice was jolted back to reality, her arm still stretching out, inches from the top of the nightstand. She paused in surprise and concern, and flinched when it happened again, this time accompanied by the shattering of glass and a thump like something heavy had been thrown to the floor. She jumped to her feet, alarmed.
At the same moment, her cell phone vibrated with an urgent buzz. Beatrice immediately leapt away from it, as if it was about to explode, before realizing that someone had just tried to get in contact with her. She took a hesitant step forward to read the message flashing on the screen, one which was accompanied by Steve's name:
Stay where you are.
The new and improved cover for this story was made by my partner-in-crime Kate (saltroses). She's also made an amazing playlist for Beatrice! You can listen to it on YouTube—just add "playlist?list=PLeYjVZGAZGYATfo1mmel2P33EJvW5f7md" to the URL (since FFN doesn't allow links).
Again, thank you so much for sticking with me through fifty chapters! Expect some Bucky very soon.
