And You Will Know Me Still

by theicemenace

What happened after the events of "Captain America: Winter Soldier"? Some chapters will be noted at the beginning, if they contain more mature themes, though not necessarily of an intimate nature.

21. Chapter 21

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 21

James released Natasha and took a step back, flashing an apologetic glance as she rubbed to restore circulation. The skin was red and bruised. She didn't care, but the distress for the pain he caused came across the small gulf between them.

The jewelry counter had a basket of bracelets and wristbands in all colors and styles. She chose a black leather with metal accents that was just wide enough to cover the bruises. She held it up with a smile. "See? Good as new."

James had hardly spoken a word since they'd escaped from the strike team. The whole situation concerned her. Not for her sake. She could deal with anything life threw at her. But if they ran into one of the many gangs that called New York and its boroughs, there could be casualties.

There was no doubt in her mind that he was suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Steve had gone through a milder form of it when he'd first rejoined the world. The difference between then and now was James hadn't volunteered for the experiments. All she could do for the time being was to let him know that she had his back, no matter what.

At the register, Natasha set her clothes on the counter. James placed his with them. "We'd like to donate these items please."

The cashier set the clothing in a basket on the floor then rang up their purchases which Natasha paid for with cash.

Out on the sidewalk, she passed James a pair of sunglasses and a knit cap. She put the glasses on and pulled the hoodie over her head. Again, James followed her lead. They turned left out of the store and started walking, moving around the city at random. Natasha had put a call out to several contacts. They just had to wait for one to call back.

Natasha steered them through a residential neighborhood made of old, but well-kept apartment buildings. Before long, she realized that James wasn't with her anymore. Turning in a circle, she caught a glimpse of him entering one of the buildings as a man came out. Jogging across the street and up the steps, she was a split second too late to catch the door.

She pressed the buzzer for each apartment until a male answered. "Hey baby. It's me."

Most hung up on her. Then, one guy, young, to go by his voice, said, "You're early. Come on up."

In the faded and cramped lobby, Natasha went to the elevator and found it on the first floor. No help in telling her on what floor James was on, if he'd even taken the lift. She would say no, because he would feel trapped. And if someone else got on, he could feel threatened, especially if the other person was male.

Saving the basement for last, a quick check was made of the first floor, but he was nowhere in sight. The same for two, three and four. On the fifth floor, she heard a woman's voice speaking in a soothing voice accented by her obvious Hispanic background.

~~O~~

A whisper of familiarity came over James as he followed Natasha down a street crammed on both sides with old apartment buildings. He forgot about his companion when the front of one mid-block seemed to call out to him.

He ran across the street to read the names on the mailboxes. None were familiar. He tried the door, but it was locked. Breaking it would bring unwanted attention, but he didn't see any other way to get inside until a man came out and held the door for him. In the lobby, he took in the cramped sitting area filled with old and sagging furniture and worn carpet. Everything was clean. Just old.

Letting his instincts guide him, he climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. In the hallway, he looked at each door as he passed, coming to a stop in front of 5J near the end of the right hallway. The sounds around him faded, and in his mind he saw a young man, smiling and joking on the outside, yet scared on the inside. In one hand was a key and in the other, a set of enlistment papers, stamped in the lower right corner with 1A: available and fit for military service.

Dizziness urged James to lean against the wall next to the door. He slid down to sit on the floor, pulling off the knit cap. The door opened and James heard an accented female voice.

"Oh, mijo. What's wrong? You don't look so good."

He looked up at her, not knowing why he was here. All he could tell her was the truth. "I… I don't know."

She crouched next to him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and his cheek. "You don't have a fever. Have you been drinking? Using drugs?"

"No."

The woman brushed the hair from his forehead. "Come inside, mijo. I'll get you something to drink."

She helped him stand, but before they could enter the apartment, Natasha was there. "Here you are, James." To the woman, she said, "I'm sorry he disturbed you. Mi hermano forgot to take his medication this morning."

"Dios mío! He's not dangerous, is he?" The woman sounded more scared than her expression would indicate.

Natasha switched to Spanish. "No, Señora. He was in an accident and sometimes forgets he's supposed to stay with me when we go out." Taking his hand, Natasha urged him to come with her. "Come along, hermanito."

James let Natasha lead him back out to the street. He tried to sit on the front steps, but she was strong, and wouldn't allow it. "Not here." She found a bench near a food cart and got them both a bottle of water. "What happened?"

How could he explain the sense of having been there before? It wasn't déjà vu, exactly. The memory seemed more than just a fleeting thought. "I think I used to live there."

James took a sip of water, and Natasha looked at him with concern. "Something wrong?"

"What happened to my parents? My sisters and brother?"

She looked down then slowly brought her eyes up to meet his. "They all died a long time ago. I'm sorry." They started walking again, and soon they came upon a small building near a playground. "Go splash water on your face. It'll help."

Releasing his hand, she gave him a gentle push in the direction of the bathroom. At the door, he turned to look at her. Natasha had to be reading his mind because she smiled. "I'll won't leave without you. Promise."

Strangely hesitant to be away from her, James went into the bathroom. He used the facilities and washed his hands. Taking off his jacket and cap, he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and splashed water over his face, letting it run down his neck. It was cold and seemed to help. He must've been gone longer than it seemed because Natasha knocked on the door. "You okay, Barnes? Need help?"

"I'm fine." Even over the cacophony of city sounds, James could hear her pacing. One boot had a slight squeak that most people wouldn't notice until it was pointed out. But then, he wasn't most people. He wasn't even sure he was still human.

Using paper towels, he dried his face and hands. Though it was getting warmer, James put on his jacket, leaving off the cap which he shoved in a pocket. The sunglasses Natasha insisted he wear went into the other pocket as he exited the bathroom. She'd taken off her sunglasses and pushed the hood back, exposing her hair to the sun. It glinted off the red strands making them shimmer with alternating shades of the red with golden highlights. He had a bizarre, almost irresistible impulse to touch her hair, to feel it fall through his fingers. He resisted, mitigating the action to a mere twitch of the shoulder.

They turned as one at hearing a boy call out, "Hey look! It's Captain America!"

Across the park, Steve and the woman with the dark hair were running toward them. A sense of alarm rushed through him, then Natasha and he were running down the street.

Before long, they approached a set of stairs leading underground. "The subway!" Natasha changed direction and he followed.

As luck would have it, a train was just pulling into the station. They jumped the turnstiles and bound onto the train. The door closed, leaving James with the vision of Steve's mask of frustration. As they disappeared into the tunnel, the woman reached Steve's side, panting hard. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him. Once more, a brief moment of memory came back to him. This one of an attractive dark haired woman in a red dress ignoring him in favor of Steve. James wondered what had become of her as Natasha took his hand once more, leading him to a seat next to an older woman holding a cane and glaring suspiciously at a group of three young men wearing saggy pants. The young men ignored everyone around them, preferring to keep their eyes glued to the devices in their hands.

~~O~~

Steve descended the subway stairs in a single bound, heading unerringly for the platform. He jumped the turnstiles and cut left, skidding to a stop as the train's doors closed in his face. With a shrug, Natasha held up her phone. A moment later, he received a text: He's not ready to come in yet.

He tapped out a quick response. Why? Where are you going?

The phone beep again. Please trust me, Steve. Will keep in touch.

Maria caught up with him, panting hard. Her knees wobbled and he steadied her with an arm around her shoulders, letting her lean on him until she could stand on her own. Then, just before the train disappeared into the tunnel, Bucky's eyes met his. This time, there was the glimmer of recognition.

Still panting, Maria touched his chest. "I'm sorry."

His chest expanded where they touched as he drew in a deep breath and let it out. "He knew me, Maria. I could see it in his eyes. Why is he running?"

She exerted pressure until he released her to sit on one of the benches. "Wish I had the answer. You could catch up with them at the next station. Go. I'll be fine."

Dropping into the seat next to her, he took her hand. And when she looked up, he smiled. "He's with Natasha. I have to trust she knows what she's doing and wait for her to contact us."

Maria's breathing evened out finally. She squeezed his hand and quipped, "I need a drink."

He stood, using their joined hands to help her up. "You're in luck then, because I'm buying. What's your pleasure?"

One eyebrow inched up her forehead, joined by a smirk. "That is a loaded question."

"What would you like to drink?"

"Beer or wine would be ideal, but I'll settle for tea."

On ground level, Steve searched out a food truck and bought them each a cold bottle of tea. They walked back toward the diner where they left the car, drinking and thinking. When the bottles were empty, Steve threw them in a recycle bin and reclaimed Maria's hand. "Since we're playing a waiting game now, how about dinner tonight? Just us."

She flashed him an enticing smile. "Won't the rest of the team feel left out?"

"Probably," he deadpanned. "They'll get over it."

Her small, strong hands grabbed the sides of his jacket, and pulled him down, stopping within a hair of their lips touching. "Then tonight, you're all mine."

And then she kissed him right there on the streets of Brooklyn.

~~O~~

At each stop, Natasha expected to see Steve waiting. When it didn't happen, she breathed a sigh of relief until the next stop, and the next. She still had her phone and wondered why he hadn't tried to call since their near miss. Clint had called numerous times, sometimes leaving an angry message demanding to know where she'd gone and for her to get her ass back to the brownstone ASAP. Others, he just hung up when it went to voice mail. When they saw each other again, she'd get an earful, but didn't care. She never cared what others thought. Not even her best friend.

Slanting her eyes to the left, she mulled over her reasons behind helping James stay free rather than taking him in. Like James, she'd been trained to kill without a second thought to the pain she caused the families of the deceased. In her case, she'd been conditioned at one time to believe that she had once been a prima ballerina, celebrated around the world while aficionados of the dance clamored for her attention.

Then there was her marriage and the death of her "husband", all memories implanted by the Red Room at the direction of Petrovitch and Madam B in order to control her, channel her emotions into a revenge killing of those she was told were responsible. Natasha had broken free of the conditioning as had James. Right now, she was the best qualified to help him deal with the shame and regret for actions committed while under the control of another. Maybe they could help each other.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're not ready." On more than a few occasions, Natasha had taken his hand to make certain they stayed together. This time, it was to comfort herself as much as him. He didn't return the grip. Just looked at their hands touching. In her line of work, patience wasn't just a virtue, it was a requirement. It could take weeks or even months to complete a mission. The wrong word in the wrong ear at the wrong time could spell disaster for everyone, especially innocent civilians. And patience is what she needed now. She'd already earned his trust though she didn't know how, considering their previous encounters. Their escape from the hospital and the fact that she'd come alone probably had a lot to do with it. "Dugan's gone."

Head tilted forward, James's fingers curled around hers though he didn't say anything. Leaning down so she could see his face, Natasha waited for him to look at her, and finally he did. "I can get us to D.C. if you'd like to pay your respects."

There was a long pause in which Natasha got the idea that Barnes was debating with himself. Then, he shook his head slowly. "He died because he helped me. Going back would put his family in danger, if they aren't already."

Injecting a note of sympathy into her voice, Natasha assured him, "He was old, Barnes. It was just a matter of time. The official cause of death is on record. We'll stop at the library and look it up."

As if he'd just noticed they were holding hands, Barnes released her and pulled away. Natasha took the hint and let him be. Still, they got off at the next stop and walked the six blocks to the library where they signed up for a library card and reserved a computer. There was a wait, so they went into the stacks for something to read. She made her choice quickly, however, Barnes couldn't decide. Motioning for him to come with her, she scanned the shelves until she found what she was looking for. He read the title without expression and followed her to the sitting area.

~~O~~

The walk back to the car was uneventful except for the truck that was preparing to tow it when they arrived. Steve, usually calm and levelheaded, had gotten into an argument with the driver that nearly came to blows. Maria stepped in to separate them, sending Steve inside to get her an iced tea.

Putting on a sweet smile, Maria approached the driver, a thirtyish man with the name Troy stitched on the front of his uniform shirt. "Troy, I'm sure you understand that we hadn't planned on leaving the car here this long."

"It doesn't make any difference to me, ma'am. I get paid to haul 'em, not to guess at the motives of the violators."

"We don't want you to lose money. However, I'm asking you to please not take the car." She looked around and leaned close, giving the impression that she was sharing a secret, and she was. "Do you know who he is?"

Troy got down on the ground to hook the winch under the front of the car to drag it onto the flatbed. "He could be the friggin' pope and I'd still have to do my job."

"That's Captain America."

That got Troy's interest. "My son has all his action figures. Even went as Captain America for Halloween. You got proof, lady, 'cause he didn't look anything like him."

Just before Steve went into the restaurant, Maria had lifted his keys. She used them now to open the trunk. And there, in all its glory, lay the infamous red, white and blue shield. "I could get you an autograph, but we're on a case so no photos. For your son, of course."

Troy's eyes lit up. "That'd be great! Ethan."

Steve came out just as Maria closed the trunk. While she went to talk to him, Troy unhooked the winch. She looked over her shoulder and back. "I need a favor."

"Anything."

She explained and Steve was only too happy to comply, if it meant his car wouldn't be towed. He took out a photo of himself from the glove compartment. They were publicity photos that Stark had insisted the Avengers needed. Barton steadfastly refused, and Maria agreed with his reasons. And in true Stark fashion, he'd hired a stand-in for the photo shoot. Barton was pissed, but not as much as he might've been because the actor hired only vaguely resembled the archer. His friends weren't fooled, though the public bought the photos by the thousands, even after the recent HYDRA trouble.

With Steve's attention diverted listening to Troy's stories about his son and his obsession with the super-soldier, Maria dug the bottle of pain meds out of the trunk, dumped four into her hand and swallowed them with the tea. Each time she changed the bandage, it looked worse. The whole area was swollen and red. Soon, she'd have no choice but to have it checked by a professional. But she didn't want to miss out on this mission, so she kept the pain to herself.

The infection had been caused by the initial injury and nothing Sullivan had done when he'd stitched her up. Some germs were just too stubborn to be killed in the conventional way. The doctor would probably issue a script for antibiotics, bed rest, limited use of the hand and at least one return visit. Too much time away from their search at the moment.

The pill bottle was returned to its hiding place and she took the shotgun seat just as Steve joined her. Maria passed him the keys, and his look of reprimand was met without apology for picking his pocket. "Where're we going on our date?"

"Someplace casual. My wardrobe is limited."

"Same here." Her phone came out. She powered it up and began a search. "Casual dining, dancing, big band music." she scrolled the selections of restaurants until she found one that would do. "What about The Old Haunt in Manhattan?"

"Sounds perfect." Steve used the remote to open the garage and pulled inside. By the time it closed, they'd stowed their weapons in the trunk and followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen. Mixed in with the coffee smell was that of chicken cooking. There was a large pot on the stove covered with a lid.

Loud music assaulted their ears, and they were greeted to a strange sight. Sam, Kiba and Santino were dancing in the living room with Dooney cheering them on. Clint danced in the kitchen doorway using a wooden spoon for a microphone as he lip-synced to the song Do Wah Diddy.

Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh yeah
Do wah diddy diddy, dum diddy do, we're singin'
Do wah diddy diddy, dum diddy do
Do wah diddy diddy, dum diddy do.

The song ended, and Steve wise-cracked, "Call an ambulance, Commander Hill. Our teammates are having seizures."

With mock sadness, she answered, "It's too late, Captain Rogers. I'll call the morgue."

Somehow, even with a towel around his waist as an apron, barefoot and wearing shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, Clint managed to swagger. "You go for the jugular, don't you, Hill?"

From his seat on the sofa, Dooney called out, "Is that jugular or the juggler, circus boy?"

Clint's patented mock scowl was aimed at his friend. "You know, somewhere out there is a tree, tirelessly producing oxygen so you can breathe, Duane. You owe it an apology."

Dooney opened his mouth, glanced at Kiba and changed his mind about what he was going to say. "As we say in the south, Barton, bless your heart."

Before the name calling and insults could escalate, Steve and Maria came into the living room. Without being asked, Kiba turned off the music and went to sit on the sofa next to Dooney. Santino and Sam found seats, and Clint lounged in the kitchen doorway.

"What's the word, Cap?" Sam prompted. "You find our boy?"

"More importantly, where's Nat?" was Clint's contribution.

Standing beside him, Maria held her left wrist in her right hand, rubbing the palm with her thumb and flexing the fingers. Santino jumped up from his chair and motioned for her to take it, and she did so without complaint, which wasn't like her. For the most part, Maria waved off such courtesies. That she didn't now made him wonder if she regretted their actions at the theater. He'd enjoyed himself, and he knew for a fact that she had as well. It would've been difficult to miss considering the position they'd been in at the time. Putting those thoughts away for another time, Steve answered Sam's question. "Yes, and no. Nat's with Bucky. We caught up to them at a park."

"What were you doing in a park? Thought you were covering the hospital and construction site, Rogers." Clint's tone was accusatory, and he was right. They'd ignored their responsibilities for a few minutes of self-indulgence. But Steve didn't feel the least bit guilty, especially since it worked out well.

Maria responded before Steve could think of a good lie. "Following a lead. We spotted Romanoff near the bathrooms. She saw us and they took off."

Steve picked up the narrative. "Lost them at the subway." He didn't see any reason to worry them with Natasha's message. Later, he would take Clint aside and give him a heads-up. Steve's jacket came off as he crossed to the den door. "I'm taking a run. Anyone want to join me?"

Kiba and Santino showed more eagerness than the invitation warranted. If they were hoping to pump him for information, they'd come away frustrated. Sam laughed, and Steve shot him a mock glare. "What?"

"Just thinking about our first run. That's how I got involved in that D.C. crap."

Steve opened the door to the den, ignoring Sam's comment. "Fifteen minutes in the alley."

Before the door closed, Maria was there, letting the back of her hand touch his. If their situation were normal, he wouldn't care if his friends knew that he and Maria were whatever they were to each other. Clint could be relentless, and for now, he wanted to keep the teasing at a minimum.

With her voice low, she whispered, "I'm getting a nap. What time for dinner?"

Run, shower, change. "Seven?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Steve saw they were alone. Leaning down, he brushed a soft kiss over her lips and smiled.

She met his smile with a smirk. "I'll be wearing something special tonight."

"Do I get a hint?"

Leaning close again, she put her mouth next to his ear. "Victoria's Secret."

~~O~~

The door to the den closed behind Steve as Dooney joined Clint in the kitchen, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "He's a terrible liar."

Clint snorted. "He comes clean eventually." He took the lid off the pot on the stove and gave it a stir. "What's it gonna be? Chemo? Radiation?"

One shoulder went up and down then Dooney opened the 'fridge and took out a bottle of water. "That's what Monday's about. The doc'll do some tests and we'll go over the options."

Though he didn't want the answer, a little voice whispered in his ear to ask the next question. "It can be cured, right?"

"When I first got the diagnosis, the doc said 50-50." He drank down some of the water and leaned his hips against the counter. "Didn't like the odds so I told him to shove it. Then I had a talk with a certain someone. She made a compelling argument for staying alive. Sure she's never studied to be a lawyer?"

Clint snorted. "Pleading the fifth." The pot was recovered and the heat turned down. "Want someone to go with you?"

"Who? You? We've spent so much time together lately people are beginning to talk."

This time, Clint smiled and gestured at himself. "Hey, you could do worse."

Just taking a drink, Dooney choked. Covering his mouth, he coughed until his airway was clear again. "I can do better too." He glanced over his shoulder and back. "I'd ask Kiba, but it's a little early in our relationship for that. We haven't even been on a date yet."

"What makes you think she'll go anywhere with you?" Just for a second, Clint felt bad for indulging in a battle of friendly insults with his friend. Old habits die hard.

"Gimme a break, Barton. Trying to keep a positive attitude here. And before you ask, no, I didn't tell her. How can I when there's always someone around?"

Going to the 'fridge, Clint took out salad ingredients. From one of the lower cabinets, he took out two cutting boards and laid them on the counter. He added a sharp knife to each and placed the vegetables between them after a thorough washing, assuming Dooney wouldn't mind helping out.

Dooney picked up the knife, plucked a cucumber from the pile and got to work while Clint did the same with bell peppers. "So take her out for coffee or a beer or go for a walk. She also has a room and no roommate. And there's my favorite alone place: the roof. Careful what you say in front of Balthazar and his gang though. They love to gossip."

"Dude, still giving names to inanimate objects?"

"This from a guy who named his Hummer Stella."

The cucumbers went into the salad bowl already filled with mixed greens. "Stella was my mom's name. Raised me alone after my dad left. Taught me to be independent. Not sure she'd approve of my current vocation."

"How'd she…"

"August 16, 1987, Northwest Airlines Flight 255. Crashed on take-off from the Detroit airport. She was coming back from a business trip." Clint was immediately sorry he'd asked, and started to say so, cut off by his friend taking an heirloom tomato from the bowl and carving out the stem. "Kiba reminds me of her a little. Tough on the outside with a layer of vulnerability underneath."

The smile Clint had managed to keep in place faded. "Here's some unsolicited advice: Don't wait too long. Cap had a chance and lost it."

The knife stopped in mid cut, Dooney turning to look at him. "Are you tellin' me that Rogers is…"

Clint pointed the knife at him, adding a look of warning. "You did not hear me say that our esteemed leader is a ninety-five year old virgin."

"Fine. You didn't say it. So what is your point?"

"Don't let fear of the unknown keep you from finding joy."

~~O~~

Kiba, Steve and Santino came in through the kitchen door and grabbed water bottles from the 'fridge. She came up beside Steve watching Dooney and Barton playing a video game, calling out insults and instructions to each other good naturedly. She liked Dooney. He was funny, smart, compassionate, though he tried to hide it, and attracted to her as much as she was to him. Yet, for some reason, he seemed reluctant to do more than flirt. She heard Steve take a long drink and recap the bottle.

"Kiba, what's Victoria's Secret?"

His question confirmed the inexperience she'd only suspected until now. "It's women's lingerie."

"Unmentionables?"

Chuckling lightly, Kiba motioned him over to the computer, brought it out of power saver mode and tapped the keyboard. "Oh, Steve. These are not your mother's unmentionables."

She leaned to the side so Steve could see the photos of scantily clad women in sexy bras, panties, bathing suits and more that covered less.

He gulped, the skin on his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. His voice was hushed, almost dazed. "Oh. Um, women really wear those?"

"It's a billion dollar business. Most women buy them to feel sexy, enhance their figure, to feel like they're getting away with something naughty. Others do it to rekindle an old flame… or to ignite a new one."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve turned to go into the den. Kiba jumped up to catch him, keeping her voice low. "Word of advice: if she tells you up front that she's wearing erotic underclothes, then she has more in mind for the evening than just dinner and a movie. She wants you to think about what she may be hiding under her business suit or jeans and t-shirt. Not just today, but every day."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The door shut behind Steve so fast, it startled a laugh out of Kiba. Shaking her head, she climbed up to the second floor to shower and change for dinner. Whatever Barton was making smelled great.

~~O~~

The a/c rattled as it shut off, waking Maria. Covered with just a sheet, and even with the room as cold as it would go, she felt warm. Throwing the covers aside, she gathered her clothes and went across the hall to the bathroom.

She hung the clothes on the back of the door and her dopp kit thumped onto the counter. She opened the kit and took out antibiotic cream, gauze squares, rolled gauze and tape. Scissors cut the bandage on her left hand and she carefully peeled the gauze away.

The area around the stitches was red and swollen, and when she touched it, cloudy fluid seeped out. "Ow! Shit. I don't have time for this."

The bottle of peroxide was almost empty. Maria used what was left on the wound. It bubbled and stung. She let it work for a minute or so then turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, ignoring the obvious infection. Yet that little voice inside whispered dire warnings, reminding her of Madripoor and her partner for that mission, Connor Lyric. He'd sustained an injury that had seemed minor at the time, but it became so badly infected that he'd had to have his leg amputated below the knee. The only upside was that he'd used it as an excuse to retire so he could spend more time with his family.

The shower shut off, and Maria stepped onto the fluffy bathmat, using one corner of a towel to gently pat the area of her wound dry. By the time she'd dried, replaced the bandage and got dressed, it was almost time to leave for the restaurant.

As she crossed the hall to her room, Maria was about to put her hair into its usual ponytail then she remembered that Steve liked it down. She tossed the hair tie on the dresser, brushed it out, put her shoes on, added the usual concealed weapons and pronounced herself ready for her first official date with Captain America.

TBC