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 28
Stark Tower
Helen used her code to unlock the isolation room, amid protests from Barton and his friend, talking over each other, demanding an explanation. Bruce could see how Dooney might not get a scientist's brand of humor, but Barton knew better. He silenced them with a chopping motion, and blessed silence fell. "What Dr. Cho meant is we may have to, in a sense, kill your immune system in order to rebuild it."
Dooney had stopped in the act of taking off his shirt. Breathing a sigh of relief, he finished the job and sat down to take off his shoes and socks. "Had me scared there for a second, doc. I'm already gonna die. Don't wanna speed up the process."
The sound of throat clearing came from Bruce's right. Dooney glared at Barton and Barton looked back.
Helen came up next to the archer, her eyebrows drawn together over her nose. "Please don't upset my patient, Agent Barton. His state of mind will factor into his recovery."
"You're the one…" Barton broke off, apparently rethinking what he was going to say in front of Helen. Bruce felt a tsunami of resentment and outrage coming off the agent in the confined space of the hallway. Showing more restraint than he ever had in the past, Barton shot a glare at Helen, turned and stalked out of sight. "I'll be back."
Dooney rapped on the window to get their attention and gave them an apologetic shrug on Barton's behalf. "Ignore him, Dr. Cho." To Bruce, he said, "What about Big Brother?"
"No need to worry, Mr. Nelson," Helen broke in. "We won't start recording until the actual testing begins. One question: who is your next of kin?"
He chuckled and nodded in the direction Clint had gone. "That would be the man you just pissed off, darlin'."
"Oh." She entered the info into her tablet. "Once testing is complete, we'll want to begin the injections immediately. You haven't eaten anything today, have you? The blood work has to be fasting."
"No. In fact, everything I ate for dinner last night made a return appearance, much to my embarrassment." Bruce could see that Helen didn't understand the man's discomfiture, and was about to say so when Dooney saved him the trouble. "No man wants to puke in front of a beautiful woman, even if she is his… um, lady friend."
The man's demeanor reminded Bruce of Barton when they first met, before Loki had taken over his mind. He was a little more laidback then. And though he'd made great strides in the last two years, a spark of deep seated anger still showed itself now and then with good reason.
"We'll get started as soon has he's showered and dressed," Helen told Bruce as they returned to the lab. "From what I've observed so far, he'll be a contentious patient at best. If he's anything like Agent Barton, he won't like being restricted to iso."
"He'll just have to deal with it. If his immune system has to be deconstructed, he won't have a defense mechanism against everyday airborne bacteria and viruses. Also, we'll have the psychologist come in twice a week beginning Saturday. In the meantime, one of us can talk to him, find out his hobbies, what he likes to read, movies and television he likes to watch, and make certain he has plenty to keep him busy."
"Dr. Cho, the lab has informed me that they are ready for Mr. Nelson's specimens."
Most people looked up at the ceiling when speaking to Jarvis, but Helen kept her head down over her tablet. Bruce had tried it, but even though he couldn't make eye contact, he searched it out anyway.
"Thank you, Jarvis. Tell them I'll do the exam myself as well as procuring the samples for testing."
Alarms went off in Bruce's head. Helen hadn't dealt with live patients in some time, and may not know or remember what it's like to request certain samples from a man. "You better let me handle that, Helen."
She stared at him with those russet brown eyes, blinked twice, and nodded. "I'll give the computer modeling one last check in case refinements are necessary."
Relieved, Bruce went into his office to make a few notes and wait on Dooney's call. That call came within minutes via Jarvis. "Dr. Banner, Mr. Nelson has advised that he's ready to begin."
Under his breath, Bruce muttered, "Oh joy."
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"Nothing." Heaving himself out of the chair, Bruce headed back to the isolation area.
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Sheriff's Office
After one last check in the rear view mirror. Kiba straightened her name tag, gave her badge another quick shine, breathed deeply a few times and got out of the car she purchased just the day before with funds that had been put into her account from an anonymous source. She'd called Steve, and got the feeling he knew where the money had come from, but couldn't, or wouldn't, say. Hill had been on the call too, and her advice was to take the money and run. And so Kiba did, all the way to South Dakota.
Kiba had returned to Dooney's apartment to find him gone, with just a note telling her he'd be "away" for a while, and that she was welcome to stay. It made her decision to take the position with the sheriff's department easier. She too left a note letting him know why she was leaving without giving details. With his connections, Dooney would be able to find her easy enough, if he wanted to. The decision was up to him.
On the way into the station, Kiba slapped a dark brown cap on her head. Four other deputies, all male, were sitting at desks, hard at work. Two were on the computer, one was making coffee, and the third was on the phone. On the way from the motel, she stopped at a donut shop for a box of pastries as an offering to her new co-workers. Holding the box in front of her, she smiled. "Mornin', boys. I brought goodies."
The guy on the phone waved her over. She opened the box and let him take one, which he did without missing a beat in his conversation. "I understand what you're saying, Caleb. But like I told you last time and the time before that, we don't handle that sort of emergency… Because we're cops, not veterinarians. If your prize bull won't mate with the new heifers, call Doc Morgan… Then he's probably out at the old Anderson place getting to know the new owners… Good-bye, Caleb."
Frank Boyston had broad shoulders, a buzz cut, a scar on his right cheek, and a gold wedding band on his left hand. His expression said he'd passed exasperation and was headed for the next level up. To Kiba, the man was lucky that's all Caleb called about. If the worst problem this town had was a gay bull, then Kiba was in the right place.
The other deputy's names were Will Davenport, a brown-haired man in his late thirties, over six feet, lean and strong, and Rick Alvarez, Hispanic, young, ambitious, and single. He'd made no secret of the fact that he wanted to be the first Hispanic sheriff in Sioux Falls.
When Kiba came for her interview, Rick hit on her relentlessly until Sheriff Mills shut him down. She didn't know what Mills said to the man, but it must've worked because the unwanted attention stopped. She hadn't really needed the sheriff's help. If Alvarez had been a problem instead of an annoyance, Kiba would've handled it on her own. On the upside, she didn't have to, as long as he didn't harbor a grudge for the sheriff's interference and take it out on her. They did have to work together after all.
There were other deputies that Kiba hadn't met yet as they were out in the field or worked graveyard. Their photos were posted on the bulletin board so she at least had names and faces. Vince Franco, Hal Simon, Kevin Broderick, Julie Michelson, Elyze Collier, Bobby Leblanc, Sherri Gilbert, Harry Fisher, Mohammad Bishwas, David Cohen, Margaret Sato, and Tommy Reyes. Kiba looked forward to getting to know all of them.
Unlike most law enforcement offices, this one didn't have a dispatcher. Everyone, except Mills, took a turn. Once Kiba knew her way around, she expected to have her name added to the rotation. Kiba set the pastries next to the coffee station and knocked on Mills' office.
"Come in."
Mills looked up from her computer with a smile. She stood to shake hands. "You made it. Have a seat. Find a place to live?"
"Not yet. It'll have to be soon though. Can't live at the motel forever."
"I'll have a word with the owner. She'll give you a break until you find something." The sheriff sat down and picked up a file folder. "I've made the changes to your paperwork. It just needs your signature."
"Thanks, Sheriff. I decided just last week to go back to my maiden name." Kiba signed where indicated and added a copy of the court documents showing that her name had been legally changed from Kiba Sparks Hardison to Kiba Arwen Sparks again. "It'll take some getting used to."
The bland smile Mills had worn since Kiba entered her office faded somewhat. "Your husband died?"
"Yes. We were only married for six months when he was killed in an avalanche in Aspen. Didn't find his body until the following spring. He survived two tours in Iraq only to be killed while on vacation."
"Rough." Pushing back from the desk, Mills stood and Kiba did as well, following the sheriff out to the bullpen. She waved to Davenport and he joined them. "I'm putting you with Davenport until you get to know the area."
Mills returned to her office and closed the door. Kiba was average height for a woman, yet Davenport towered over her. They'd make quite a pair walking down the street. A set of keys dangled in front of her face. "Come on, rookie. Time to make the rounds."
"You want me to drive?" she called out as she hustled to keep up.
Davenport climbed in the passenger side, pushed the seat all the way back and put on his seat belt. "Learn by doing, Sparks." Kiba buckled her seat belt and started the Ranger Rover. Her partner pointed over his shoulder. "Head east on Main Street. We'll cruise on over to Java Hut before making our rounds. I'm buying."
Kiba snorted. "Of course you are." She drove down the street a few blocks, turned into the Java Hut parking lot and shut off the engine. The space next to the coffee shop was boarded up. The faded sign said Rose Avenue Diner. It would be a great place for a bookstore. However, the industry was taking a beating. At one time, Kiba had thought about opening a combination bookstore and coffee shop, but that dream died when her mother got sick. Her father had died three years before in a car accident. The life insurance money had gone to pay Mom's medical expenses leaving nothing for college, her motivation for enlisting in the Army.
Davenport held the door and followed her in. The shop was less than half full, the customers either reading a book or typing away on their laptops.
An attractive African-American woman had just finished ringing up an order when she noticed them. She waved and the affectionate smile was for Davenport. "Cam, honey, I'd like you to meet our new deputy, Kiba Sparks. Sparks, Camilla Barlow is the owner of this here fine establishment. She's also my beautiful wife."
The women shook hands. "Please call me Cam, Deputy Sparks."
Kiba liked Cam immediately. She was friendly, outgoing and very obviously in love with her husband. "Call me Kiba."
"Deal. So, what can I get for two of Sioux Falls' finest? On the house."
Davenport leaned on the counter. "The usual for me. Sparks?"
"The same." The deputies emerged into the morning sun, each with a cardboard cup in their hand. Kiba took a sip while looking at Davenport from the corner of her eye. "Never would've pegged you as a latte man."
He opened the passenger door and got in. "I like them. So sue me."
The cruiser's engine revved and Kiba turned on the radio. "At least one thing in common." She pulled into traffic going east. "Where're we headed?"
"Past the high school. Kids won't stay in class during the school year. Summer comes around, and they're constantly breaking in. On the way, I'll get you caught up on the who's who of Sioux Falls. Maybe even show you where some of the bodies are buried. Figuratively speaking, of course."
The dash computer beeped to let her know to make a right at the next light. Kiba flipped on the signal and made the turn. "Can't wait."
Vermont
Ever since the dream, Natasha couldn't get the Red Room out of her mind. It invaded her consciousness without warning, causing her to snap at Barnes for no reason. He seemed to understand and didn't take offense when given the cold shoulder or was hit with a scathing insult in English or Russian.
Her waking dreams centered on the ballet lessons. Of repeating the same moves over and over until they were perfect according to Madam B's exacting standards. One such occasion involved hours of pirouettes and jeté en avant grand, with arabesques inserted at random moments. By the time the matron was satisfied, Natasha's legs were so sore she could barely walk, and she was too exhausted to eat. She crawled into bed, still in her white leotard, and went right to sleep.
Endeavoring to quell the disruption to the poise and composure she normally enjoyed, Natasha moved the furniture and rugs against the walls and turned on music to which she'd once danced. Feet and hands in first position, she waited for her cue, mentally counting the beats.
And then… she began to dance.
~~O~~
After their morning walk, James had gone into his room to read. Immersing himself in another world, giving his mind something else to occupy it seemed the only way to keep his demons from taking over in unguarded moments.
An unknown amount of time later, he'd come outside when cool air had hit him in the face, and a sudden feeling of being trapped in a small, enclosed space, ice in his hair and his skin came over him. The claustrophobia lessened somewhat under the late afternoon sky as the sun dropped behind the canopy of trees. The spinning wheels inside his head slowed, but didn't stop completely.
Moving into the starting position, James began the Tai Chi routine they performed each morning. He stopped halfway through Stand Up and Hit Tiger when music came through the open window, drawing him in. It was nothing like what they'd listened to in the time Natasha and he had been in this place. The melody ebbed and flowed around him as he climbed the steps to the porch.
Through the window he could see Natasha moving gracefully about the room, her movements delicate and flowing, what he thought of as sensual. His gaze was transfixed on her movements, wanting to be in there with her, not watching from the outside. She spun on one foot, leaped and pranced around the room, at times with her eyes closed, enraptured.
Eventually, the end came with her on the floor, head bent and arms crossed over her chest. The music faded away, the final note hanging in the air like the last rays of the sun. Slowly, Natasha's head came up, her eyes locking with his. She smiled and James knew she knew he'd been watching, and thinking thoughts that had no place here.
Natasha didn't appear to be angry with him. On the contrary, the impression he got was one of satisfaction that she'd managed to captivate him so thoroughly. He should've been apologetic for his actions, but he wasn't.
This event reminded him of a time when he'd danced with someone. Looking down at his hands, he could almost feel the curve of the woman's waist and hip, warm against his palms and fingers, and the texture of her clothing as they moved together, always touching, if only their hands. A melody echoed inside his head, as if he were hearing it from far away, the words nearly obscured by time and distance.
Closing his eyes, James concentrated, and soon, he could hear brassy metallic notes overlaid with piano, drums and even violins, and the words became clear. His head moved in time to the music.
The tune screeched to stop at the sound of the door opening. James blinked himself to the present and found Natasha standing in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, and all her weight on her left foot, the other hand on her waist. It thrust her hip out to the side and his fingers twitched as he wondered what it would be like to hold her in his arms. He'd done so when they were running from the hospital explosion, but that had been necessary to ensure survival. Now, he wanted to do it for a much more personal reason. One side of her mouth turned upward, and again, it seemed as if she were reading his mind.
"A voyeurism conviction carries a maximum sentence of ten years. Really want to risk jail time by peeking in windows, Barnes?"
James thought over her remarks and came to the conclusion that she was teasing him. But what his response should be, he wasn't certain. He thought about a film they watched a few nights ago-Natasha called it a romcom, a romantic comedy-and how the male lead had reacted to similar banter from the female lead. Something playful, accompanied by a charming smile seemed appropriate. Crossing his arms, he smiled and said, "Totally worth it."
His remark startled a laugh out of Natasha as he intended. "Listen to you, gettin' all flirty." She turned and went back inside. "Not bad. Let's start dinner so I can take a long hot bubble bath with candles, a good book and a bottle of wine."
James followed Natasha into the kitchen. He seldom initiated conversation, but today was different. "What are we making?"
"Something Russian, maybe." She looked at him over her shoulder. "Unless it brings up bad memories."
He shook his head, and took down the cutting boards just as he did every day. "When I was awake, I was only given liquid to drink. I don't know what was in it."
If she was surprised that he shared a memory with her, she didn't show it as she carried an armful of vegetables to the counter. James caught several potatoes that fell from her grasp and set them on the counter. She passed him a knife. "Chop the leeks and onion, peel and dice the potatoes, and slice the carrots and mushrooms."
"What will you be doing?"
"Making dessert. It's a surprise." Pausing in his chopping, James looked over at Natasha, and she gave him a sheepish grin. "Fine. It's a surprise because I haven't decided what to make yet."
Amazed that he actually felt amusement at their conversation, James returned to preparing the food.
~~O~~
While the soup was simmering, Natasha went into the bathroom with candles, placing them around the room, and laying the fire starter on the counter with the novel she was reading. The wine was "breathing" on the dining room table. If Barnes wanted a glass with dinner, she would have one as well, and drink what was left during her bath.
She used the remote to choose music for dinner, settling on a selection of instrumental tunes from the forties with soothing melodies that wouldn't interfere with conversation. Now that Barnes was speaking up occasionally, even bantering, she wanted to keep it going, keep giving the boundaries a gentle push until he felt ready to rejoin society.
Any communication with the outside world was done through texting or email that was routed through an anonymous server. Each day, she received at least one email from Steve. Clint had been texting her numerous times a day. However, the last few days, he'd only sent one or two texts that gave her the impression something was going on he wanted to tell her about yet didn't. Being out of touch had its advantages and its disadvantages. Being out of the loop in the real world was one of them. She went into her room just to be alone for a few minutes.
Returning to the kitchen to check on dinner, Natasha was stunned to see Barnes at the stove stirring the pot. He'd also set the table and poured them each a glass of wine. Backing up, she opened and closed the bedroom door so he would hear her coming in case he hadn't wanted to be seen.
Sure enough, when she peeked around the corner, Barnes was standing in the front doorway as if he'd been there all along. With an internal smile, Natasha turned the stove off and removed the pot from the burner. The ladle and two bowls were on the counter to the right of the stove. She filled the bowls, and when she turned to put them on the table, Barnes was there. Not many people could sneak up on her, and it bothered her just a little that he'd done it.
Barnes took the bowls and set them on the table. Instead of sitting down as he usually did, he waited for her to sit before doing so. Sometimes Natasha had to remind him to put the napkin in his lap, but not tonight. It made her wonder what he was thinking.
Every night since arriving, they ate in silence. Natasha wanted tonight to be different. Barnes had already shown that he wasn't as tightly wound as he had been. She sipped her wine, slanting her eyes to the side only to find him watching her. The glass was returned to its place at her two o'clock and she picked up the spoon. "So, Barnes. When's your birthday?"
Using his spoon to stir the soup, he looked down at his bowl. "Don't remember."
The flat tone of his voice made her throat ache for all the things he'd lost, his entire life before HYDRA. "You will. Someday."
"How?"
He was sitting to her left, and she reached out to touch him on the hand. His head came up at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away. "We'll work it out together."
After a moment's thought, Barnes's shoulders relaxed just a bit. He nodded, and went back to eating. A few minutes later, he took a long sip of the wine and set the glass down, surprising her again by asking, "When is yours?"
"Not for a while yet. November 22nd." A strange look came into his eyes telling her that he thought the date was familiar. Using her fork to spear a bite of salad, Natasha waved the food in the air. "Thanksgiving is celebrated around that time. Makes for some odd birthday parties." She chewed the bite of salad and sipped more of the wine before continuing. "In Russia, traditional birthday meals involve fish and Pirozhkis, and pies instead of cake. Until I came to America, I hadn't celebrated my birthday for many years. After joining SHIELD, Clint insisted we do so every year. He makes a chocolate ganache cake that tastes like you've died and gone to chocolate heaven."
"Clint?"
Natasha felt herself smiling affectionately. "Clint Barton. My best friend."
"Not your…"
"Lover? No. Nothing like that. He was sent to kill me." She glanced up to see his reaction, a slight tightening around the eyes and mouth. "Instead, Clint offered friendship and a chance to work for the good guys." Her smile became sad. "At least we used to be the good guys. HYDRA sent our rep through the shredder." Snatching up her glass, she drained the last of the wine, her appetite gone. She pushed back from the table and grabbed the dark green bottle. The label was black and maroon with an arrow at the top, the logo of her favorite wine made by Forbidden Peak Vineyards. "I'm taking a bath. We'll have dessert later."
In the bathroom, Natasha poured a generous amount of foaming bath salts into the water, making it bubble. She refilled her glass and set both the glass and bottle within easy reach of the tub next to the book. She used the fire starter to light the candles, switched out the light and got undressed. The water was so hot, the mirror had already begun to steam up before she stepped into the tub. A long sigh of pleasure echoed in the tiled room as she lowered her body into the water. Though she planned to read her novel, she left it alone for now.
Closing her eyes, she picked up the glass and took a sip, letting it slide down her throat, imagining she were anywhere else. Even Budapest would be a better choice. She didn't blame Barnes. It wasn't his fault that all hell had broken loose in D.C. And it was her idea to come to a place where he could just be whomever he was until he became the person he wanted to be.
Moving her hands through the water created small ripples that danced and floated over her bare skin, relaxing the muscles and calming her mind. Soon, her eyelids became heavy. She finished the wine and set the glass out of the way, and closed her eyes.
Brooklyn
Santino lounged against the fireplace, Wilson had taken Clint's place in the window seat, one foot up and the other on the floor, and Hill next to Rogers on the sofa, engrossed in the story he was telling.
"…That's pretty much it. Hardison is staying at Dooney's for now, and I'll be back and forth from Banner's lab. Might just crash on Dooney's sofa."
Clint leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, waiting for someone to say something. Rogers looked from one to the other, none of them seeming to have an opinion.
Shifting back in his seat, Rogers came to a decision. "The rent's paid up through the end of the month, if anyone wants to stay. Otherwise, head on out and we'll keep you informed."
Pushing off the wall, Clint crossed his arms. "Works for me. By the way, Hill, I've offered Santino a job with SHIELD. Hasn't given me an answer yet."
Rogers, Sam and Hill all looked at the ex-Marine waiting for him to speak. Santino met each set of eyes, took a deep breath and let it out. Then, he smiled. "When do I start?"
Though her expression stayed blank, Hill's eyes sparkled the way they did when she was enormously pleased about something. Getting to her feet, she stuck out her hand. "Welcome to SHIELD, Probationary Agent Santino. Wilson, see to it he gets to the interim training facility no later than Monday."
Sam flipped a mocking salute at Hill. "Yes, ma'am. Um, where's that again? The Triskelion's toast."
Clint took out his phone and beamed information to Sam's phone. "There's a temporary brick and mortar facility in Quantico. I just sent you the address."
"Got it. Let's hit the road, Santino. We need to make a stop at the Cave on the way."
"The Cave?" Santino inquired with a frown.
Rogers crossed his arms and grinned. "SHIELD gives all their bases ridiculous names. In this case, it's descriptive."
The two men ran up the stairs two at a time, their voices echoing in the hall until their doors closed behind them.
Clint turned to Rogers and Hill. Something had changed in the last few days to go by the way they were looking at each other. If Clint had to guess, he'd say they still hadn't gotten around to the pelvic polka. By mutual unspoken agreement, none of them brought up the condom water balloon incident, for which Clint was thankful.
Rogers' smile faded somewhat. "I'm going to hang around for a few days in case Natasha calls. Since we don't know where she's taken Bucky, Brooklyn is as good a place to as any other."
Hill nudged his arm. "I'll stay too. Keep you company."
"That's not necessary, Maria. I'll be fine alone."
Fighting an eye roll, Clint wanted to tell them to get down to it, but sensed his advice would not be welcome. "Then I'm out o' here."
As he climbed up to the second floor, Clint heard a strange sound. A few seconds later, he heard it again. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he listened, and when he heard it the third time, he finally figured out what it was. Hill was laughing, not out of politeness as was her habit. This was the real thing. Uninhibited and spontaneous. Grinning, Clint continued up to the attic. Rogers was good for her, and he wished them the best.
Later That Night
Sitting in the den, Steve listened to the building creaking with age and the wind. He also heard Maria moving around as she performed a set of floor exercises. Soon, that stopped and the water came on in the shower across the hall. He'd already taken a shower and now sat on the sofa in his pajama pants and t-shirt, attempting to finish the novel he'd been reading since they arrived. Listening to the water run filled him with thoughts he no longer deemed inappropriate, and Maria was always the focus of those thoughts, interrupting his concentration.
The shower stopped, and a few minutes later, Maria's footsteps crossed the hall to her room. The door closed, and the creak and squeak of the bedsprings followed. Steve went back to reading until his attention was once again diverted by more creaking. Maria was restless tonight, and he wondered if she was thinking about him the way he thought about her nearly every waking moment, and sometimes while sleeping.
Just this morning, he admitted to himself that he loved her, and each time he started to tell her, the moment never seemed right. Maybe now that they were truly alone, he would be able to verbalize his feelings. One of the things holding him back was the unknown. Did she feel the same? Maria was hard to read at the best of times, though she seldom kept anyone in the dark about her opinions and thoughts, except where her emotions were concerned. Well, tonight he would find out.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he strode purposefully to Maria's door. With his hand raised to knock, his confidence deserted him as he was beset by what ifs. Still, he had to know. But before he could follow through with the knock, the door opened and Maria stood in the doorway wearing just a t-shirt. He only had a moment to recognize that it was his shirt, the one he'd given her to wear the night they got caught in the rain.
Steve smiled. She answered with one of her own, and suddenly they were in each other's arms. With his hands on her waist, and without their mouths losing contact, he walked Maria backward into the room, and kicked the door shut with his foot.
TBC