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 31
Standing in the kitchen, holding Natasha in his arms, James wondered why he felt the need to comfort her this way. In the weeks since he'd broken free of HYDRA's hold, he had not held a woman for anything other than necessity, to save a life. With Tracie, he had felt warmth where their bodies touched, but little else.
With Natasha it was different. There were times when a glance or smile from across the room would stir something within him that was not at all what he expected, especially with the two of them alone so far from other people. But the sight of her, no matter how she was dressed, pulled him in her direction. Her natural scent had that effect as well. This close to her, James inhaled her fragrance. Natasha's natural aroma was clean and soft, like a blanket fresh from the dryer on a cold night.
She exerted pressure against his chest, and James took that as a signal that she wanted to be released. He took a step back letting his arms fall away. Their eyes found each other, hers unreadable, and a darker shade of green than he was used to seeing. Turning back to what she'd been doing, she picked up the knife to finish slicing the tomato, adding it to the sandwiches. Spicy mustard came next, then the top slice of bread. She cut the sandwiches, and James returned to the salads he'd been making.
Behind him, plates thumped on the table, followed by Natasha filling her cup and another with coffee. She placed one at each setting, then the chair scraped over the wood floor as she sat down. James joined her, placing the salad bowls in easy reach.
They ate in silence for so long that James wondered if he'd done something wrong. Occasionally, Natasha would cast a glance in his direction, holding the look for a moment. Then, she'd go back to eating. He took his cue from her and stayed quiet.
When she finished eating, Natasha carried her dishes to the sink, and came back for his, placing them all in the sink she filled with hot, soapy water. From the cupboard, she took down two plates, and went to the refrigerator, coming back with a square, flat box. Over her shoulder, she cautioned, "No peeking."
James went to the other room to check the fire. He used the poker to stir the embers making it flare brighter and give off more warmth. The ding of the microwave drew his attention, and soon, Natasha joined him carrying a tray. She set it on the low table in front of the sofa, and waited for him to sit before handing over a small plate and a cup. On the plate was a wedge of… he didn't know what it was. It had bread-like covering on the top and bottom with reddish sauce and round objects that looked like fruit between them. A scoop of white ice cream sat on top, partially melted from the heat of the food. The unfamiliar smell made his mouth water.
He looked over at Natasha, and she smiled. "Cherry pie à la mode. Try it."
He cut off a piece of the pie, taking some of the ice cream with it. The combination of flavors, tart and sweet, hot and cold at the same time exploded on his tongue. He took another bite and another. He would've continued eating, but Natasha stopped him by grabbing the wrist holding the fork. "Slow down! You'll make yourself sick."
Nodding, James set the fork on the plate to pick up the cup. "I like it."
"I can tell." Natasha moved back the opposite end of the sofa, picked up her plate and took a bite while watching him. She didn't blink, and it made him uneasy. Finally, she looked into the fire again. "Thank you. For what you did before."
James cut another bite of the pie and scooped it onto the fork. "You're welcome."
"Why did you do it?"
His motivation was easy to explain. "You appeared to need it." She pressed her lips together, and James felt like he'd made a mistake. "Did I do something wrong?"
Her smile reappeared, though forced. "No. Not at all."
The tense atmosphere eased and James went back to his pie and ice cream. When finished, he stacked the cups and plates on the tray, and carried them to the kitchen where he put them in the sink with the other dishes. Natasha didn't join him, so he washed the dishes on his own, stacking them in the rack to dry. Then he wiped down the counter and table.
He returned to other room, and found Natasha asleep, curled tightly in the corner of the sofa, one hand under the pillow and the other pushed up against her chin. Thinking she may be cold, he went into her room for the blanket that hung over the foot of the bed and used it to cover her, tucking it around her neck. She frowned in her sleep, but didn't move or wake.
James stirred the embers once more, added another log, watched Natasha sleep for a few minutes, then went into his room, but didn't close the door so he could hear if she called out during the night.
~~O~~
When Barnes left the room, Natasha opened her eyes. She hadn't been asleep, merely pretending to see what he would do. It made her feel cared for that he felt the need to check on her when she was sleeping, though she'd rather he didn't come into her room. She didn't make an issue of it, not wanting to discourage him from this resurging compassion for another. If he had no feelings one way or the other for the rest of the human race, he wouldn't have saved her at the hospital. The HYDRA squad chasing them would only be a memory, and he wouldn't have spoken about the Rabbi or Dugan with a small spark of affection and worry that he might've caused problems for them.
Tomorrow, they would drive into town for supplies, food and clothes. She debated over her earlier decision to let him drive, and now thought it wouldn't be a good idea. At least not yet. Take it one step at a time, one day at a time, and eventually, he would be able to live on his own, and not worry that he might kill someone by accident. Maybe he'd even find love.
Natasha heard his muffled footsteps returning to the living room, and closed her eyes, forcing herself not to react when he adjusted the blanket over her and poked the fire again. The sounds of him moving around the room stopped, and soon, she was asleep for real.
~~O~~
Morning came, and James awakened to the smell of coffee and something familiar. French toast? He scrambled out of bed and rushed through a shower. In the mirror, he noticed that his hair had grown out since it had been cut until it was nearly the length it had been the day he dragged Steve out of the river. Keeping in mind what Tracie told him about shaving, he made the decision to let it go another day. Touching his cheek with his fingers, he wondered what Natasha thought of this look or if she favored men who were clean shaven. Fast on the heels of that came another thought: Why do I care which she prefers?
He dressed and joined Natasha at the table. Most of the time, he let her initiate conversation. However, he had the feeling that he wasn't the kind of man to let others lead the way. Digging into his memories, he pulled out an appropriate greeting. "Good morning."
Natasha set a cup of coffee in front of him with a smile. "Knew the smell of food would get you out of bed." She returned with a plate of French toast. The syrup was already on the table. The smell of the food made his stomach growl, and though he wanted to dig right in, his mind told him to wait for Natasha to join him.
She brought another plate and a cup for herself, pulled out the chair and sat down. When she started eating, he did as well. Several times he caught her watching him, and wanted to ask why, but didn't.
"What do you remember from being a child, Barnes?" James wasn't certain he understood the question, and just shrugged. "When you ate with your family, did you pray before the meal?"
He chewed and swallowed before responding. "Don't remember."
"Have you researched your family? Found out what happened to them?" Again, he shrugged. He'd saved the information in his computer and it had all been lost when Natasha destroyed it. He could look it up again, if he wanted to, but wasn't sure he did. As if she could read his mind, one side of her mouth turned up in a smile. "I uploaded the info on your laptop to a Cloud account before I fried it."
"Cloud?" In his mind, he pictured puffy clouds floating through the sky with books and photos stacked on them.
"It's an Internet hosting service designed to host user files. Users upload files that can then be accessed over the Internet from different mobile devices." His blank look made her chuckle. "Sorry. You know how to use a computer so I thought you had a handle on the tech. Think of it as a trunk or a box where were you keep all your important documents, photos, books, whatever, that you can take with you wherever you go. All you need is a way to open it anywhere, not just at home. In this case, the box is a smart phone, laptop, tablet, or other Internet-capable device."
He nodded as if he understood, and she accepted with a smile. "You up for a little adventure? It won't involve skunks."
The humor of Natasha's question and statement didn't escape James, and he found himself smiling back.
Natasha finished her coffee, and before she could stand, James did, taking their plates and cups to the sink. He filled it with hot soapy water, and washed the dishes. After drying his hands, he returned to the bedroom for his jacket and gloves. Natasha was already wearing a jacket, one with a hood pulled up over her head. "It's raining again, but we need food and clothes so we're going shopping."
James followed her to the car, going around to the passenger side and getting in. Natasha got in herself, put on her seatbelt, and he belatedly did the same.
The road out was muddy, but not enough to get stuck. In a while, it joined another road made of gravel. That one led them to another that was paved. By then, the rain had stopped, and the sun shone down making everything glisten.
They drove for a long time until they came to the same store they stopped at on the way to the cabin. Getting out, James counted the vehicles in the parking lot, mentally adding up the probable number of people inside the building, and not liking answer. If something went wrong, if he felt threatened, would he be able to control his instincts without harming anyone?
"Yo, Barnes. Daylight's burning. Let's go." Natasha shoved a cart in his direction. "You push. If you see something you want, sing out."
From the expression on her face, James was certain she didn't mean he should literally sing. Taking his gloves out, he started to cover his metal hand when Natasha stopped him. "Don't. No one will notice, and if they do, they'll think you were injured in the war."
"I was."
Again that half smile. "Just don't tell them it was World War II."
Outside the entrance, James stopped when a thought occurred to him. "Have been others?"
"World wars? No. Wars in general? Yes." Relieved, James followed Natasha into the store, hearing her say under her breath, "There was also an alien invasion a couple years back." She looked at him through those long, dark lashes, and grinned. "We kicked their asses!"
Brooklyn
When Maria opened her eyes, the room was dark and she was alone. The rain was still falling, though not as hard. At the edge of her hearing she could hear the play-by-play of a baseball game on the television downstairs.
Flicking on the light, she caught sight of the open closet where Steve's clothes hung next to hers, looking as if they belonged there, which was ridiculous. Wasn't it?
A tiny sliver of panic begged to be noticed, and when Maria acknowledged its existence, it grew, whispering in her ear that she and Steve were moving too fast. That they needed more time before deciding if they should live together. She blamed this afternoon's lapse in judgment on the after effects of their night of passion. The sex had been fantastic, and she let it overshadow her common sense. Something she'd never done before.
The rational part of her brain justified their sleeping arrangements as a practical solution in their current situation. But would he take it as a commitment? A sign that she wanted to get married? Have kids? Get a mortgage? Dogs? Cats?
Tossing the covers aside, Maria gathered her clothes and went across the hall to get dressed, all the while wondering how she could get out of the house without speaking to Steve. She needed to be alone, to think, and she couldn't do that knowing he was downstairs.
Back in her room, she'd just finished tying her shoelaces when her cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. She scowled at the display: Robert Hill. With an angry poke, she sent the call to voice mail. She got as far as the door when the phone vibrated again. This time indicating she'd received a text from the same number. Just two words: Call me.
Maria hadn't spoken to her father in years, and suddenly received a phone call and a text on the same day? She didn't know what was going on, and didn't want to know. As a child, the man had swung back and forth between ignoring and berating her, often slipping in a biting comment reinforcing his resentment that she'd lived while her mother had died when she was born.
Now she really had to get away. To run off the anger and bitterness she'd worked so hard to bury over the years. Taking the stairs slowly, stepping over that one that creaked, she made it to the bottom without drawing Steve's attention. Crossing through the kitchen to the back door, she carefully let herself out. The rain had seldom been a deterrent to her runs, so she put up the hood of her jacket. The gate squeaked so she jumped over, relieved that she still had the increased strength from the transfusion. If the doctor's timetable was accurate, she wouldn't have it much longer. Time to make the most of it.
Maria jogged over to Linden Avenue and turned left, surpassing her usual speed, passing through the fifties, forties, and into the thirties without becoming winded. Turning right on New York Avenue, she passed Kings County Medical Center and kept going to Atlantic Avenue. About this point, her mind and body loosened up and she was able to relegate the emotions her father's call invoked behind the wall built over a lifetime of living with a man devoid of emotion.
It did nothing to change the ambivalent feelings about her and Steve. Though it had been her idea, the sex and sleeping in the same room, she still felt they were moving too fast. Would he understand if she asked him to move back to the den, while still having sex with her? Probably not.
Head down, her shoes slapping the wet pavement in a steady rhythm, Maria came to a park at North Conduit Avenue, not paying attention to where she was going until a man stepped in front of her. His leer was almost a physical thing as his eyes moved down to her feet and back up, lingering on her chest. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out all alone at night?"
Rolling her eyes, Maria made to go around, more than a little annoyed when he moved to stop her. "Out of my way," she bit out.
The shuffle of feet behind her meant the creep had back-up. Good. Then this would be a fair fight. She counted three others, to go by their harsh breathing and the stench of sweat mixed with beer and spices from a recent meal. A quick glance over her shoulder and back to the first guy confirmed her assessment. Four men, twenties, saggy pants, over-priced sneakers, ball caps, one wearing it backwards, probably carrying switchblades, and at least one packing heat. But that was just a guess.
The first guy, olive completion, possibly of Italian descent, nodded, and his friends spread out to surround her. "No need to be so rude, babe. We just wanna get to know ya better. Maybe party a little."
Keeping her voice even, without emotion, Maria readied herself for a fight. To throw them off, she smiled and switched to Russian. "Vy dokazatel'stvo, chto Bog yest' chuvstvo yumora."
His look of confusion made her want to laugh, but she didn't. She'd save that for a time when she needed a pick-me-up.
"Speak English, bitch!" His hands clenched into fists, ready to press what he perceived as an advantage.
Then, Maria stepped forward until they were less than two feet apart and she could see herself reflected in his dark eyes, widened with just a sliver of fear. Carefully enunciating each word, she told him again, "I'm only going to say this one more time. Get out of my way."
His right hand reached into his back pocket, coming up with a switchblade. The ease with which he held it spoke of experience. "You're coming with us!"
Taking a step back, arms hanging loosely at her side, Maria let a smirk take over, knowing it would further enrage her adversary. He nodded, and two of his pals grabbed her arms. She let the smirk slide away. "Guess we're doing this the hard way."
~~O~~
During the commercial, Steve went for another beer. He'd been watching games for hours, and Maria still hadn't come down. Changing direction, he climbed to the second floor. Though she had invited him to stay in her room, he still knocked. "Maria?"
He turned the knob, slowly easing the door open, ready to close it again if she was still sleeping. The bedside lamp was on and the room was empty. Steve made a quick search of the upstairs, without finding her. Standing in the hall, he dialed her phone, hearing an answering buzz as it vibrated on the dresser. The caller ID showed his face smiling out at him. He ended the call before it went to voice mail. The blue light was already blinking to indicate she had a message. He didn't want to invade her privacy, but had to know where she'd gone, and the phone might provide a clue.
There were four missed calls. One from Coulson, two from an unknown number, and one from Robert Hill. She also had several texts, though he didn't read them, all from Robert Hill. Steve's curiosity turned to concern. Why did she leave without telling him where she was going, or at least that she was going out?
Annoyed, he went down to the first floor and returned to watching the baseball game while listening for Maria. At the top of the ninth inning, the front door opened. Steve jumped up to greet her, staring at her soggy, disheveled appearance, and the marks on her knuckles.
She smiled as if they'd run into each other on the street. "Hey. What's up?"
"That's my question, Maria. Where did you go?" Steve was careful to keep his tone even and not accusatory.
"For a run to clear my head." He held up her hand, indicating the scrapes. She waved away his concern as she went into the downstairs bathroom. The soaked hoodie came off and was hung over the shower rod. "It's nothing."
Leaning in the doorway, watching her wash her hands, Steve couldn't help wondering if this had anything to do with them finally sleeping together. "You sneak out of the house for a run and come back looking like you've been in a fight. It doesn't look like nothing."
Maria dried her hands, and patted his cheek as she squeezed past and headed upstairs. "A couple of guys messed with the wrong girl. They won't be bothering anyone for a while." He heard the shower come on and off, and a few minutes later, she came back down in her pajamas. "What's for dinner? I'm starving."
Seeing that he wasn't going to get more than a vague response, Steve left her alone and went back to his game. Maria joined him a few minutes later with a sandwich and a huge serving of potato salad. "Who's playing, and what's the score?"
~~O~~
The game ended, and Steve shut off the television, hoping that Maria was ready to talk. She carried her plate to the kitchen and came back to lean in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching him with an unblinking stare that had unsettled more than one subordinate.
He walked over to stand in front of her, taking note of her defensive posture. "Is something wrong?"
Her eyebrows drew together over her nose. "No. Why?"
"When you didn't come down, I went looking for you. You have missed calls and texts." For the first time since Steve had known her, she looked guilty. She dropped her eyes to the floor and showed him her back. He wanted to take her in his arms, but the stiffness in her posture told him it wouldn't be a good idea. "I wouldn't read them. Not without your permission."
She huffed at him. "Can we please not do this?"
"Do you regret what happened last night and today?"
Maria cast a quick glance over her shoulder. "No."
"Want me to move back to the den?"
Again, her shoulders and spine stiffened. Then, "No."
There was a chance that Maria would reject any form of physical contact, but Steve had to try. He lightly gripped her right shoulder, urging her to face him, and he was encouraged when she offered little resistance. "Who is Robert Hill?"
She turned her head, and Steve gently forced her to look at him again. "My father."
"Why are you avoiding him?" At her questioning stare, he explained, "I saw the missed calls and texts. Won't he worry if he doesn't hear back?"
A derisive snort came out, and she smiled without humor. "We've only spoken once since my sophomore year of college. Why would I want to talk to him now?"
Even though he had only a few pieces of the puzzle that made up Maria Hill, Steve filled in the blank spaces and saw the full picture. He didn't like what he was seeing. "He blames you for your mother's death."
Again, Maria turned away, and he knew it was to hide a show of emotion. "That winter, the temperature dropped to negative forty-five with wind chills in the negative fifties. After a week of blizzard conditions, the grid couldn't take the strain. All of Chicago was blacked out, and though the hospital had emergency generators, it still wasn't enough. She died less than a day after I was born.
"Later, that cat was the one high point in my childhood, and she died while I was away at college. He didn't even have the decency to call and tell me. I found out when I went home for summer break." She avoided his touch as she walked around him to go sit in the window seat, staring out at the rain. "I moved into off-campus student housing, and we've only spoken once since."
"That was what, ten, fifteen years ago? You obviously don't have the same phone." She shrugged. "So why is he in your contact list?"
Steve had known from the beginning that getting under her defenses wouldn't be easy, but he'd done it. Now, she was pushing him out again, and he wouldn't let that happen. He sat on the end of the window seat and pulled her onto his lap, holding her close, refusing to let go even when she tried to get away. She hit him, pushed at his chest and punched him on the shoulder, and he trapped her arms to make her stop. Eventually, she gave up and just accepted the inevitable.
After a while, she fell asleep. Steve carried her upstairs to her bed. He removed her slippers and pulled the covers up to her neck. Then he changed into pajamas and crawled in with her, staying as far from her as he could, providing support without physical contact. Just as he was about to go to sleep, Maria patted the bed until she found him. He took that as a sign, and cuddled into her back, dropping a brief kiss on her neck.
~~O~~
In the morning, neither one mentioned the night before. After breakfast, he helped Maria pack and drove her to a private airport so she could fly out for a meeting with Coulson, leaving Steve alone in the huge brownstone. He texted Natasha, wording his demand for her location as diplomatically as possible. Her response was the same as before: We're making progress, but he's still not ready. Talk to you soon.
The end of the month was coming up, and Steve didn't see any reason to stay in Brooklyn. He packed his belongings, shoved them in the trunk of the car, and cruised by the realtor's office to drop off the keys. She wasn't in the office so he gave them to the receptionist along with his phone number and email address so she could send him a bill for any damages.
Soon, he was on I-95 headed for the SHIELD training facility. Around Philly, he saw a billboard advertising vintage WWII memorabilia. He pulled off the highway and followed the signs to the store.
Dooney's Apartment
A Week Later
"Ow! Crap!" Clint came out of Dooney's walk-in closet carrying a duffle bag, an armful of clothes and a box, rubbing the top of his head. The duffle bag had snagged on the box, knocking it onto Clint's head. The manufacturer's mark showed it to be made of koa wood, the second most common tree on the Hawaiian Islands. Its high polish reflected the light off the reddish brown striations making it look nearly new. There was no lock, just a snap closure came loose when it fell.
He finished packing the clothes and personal items Dooney requested, zipped the bag, and set it aside to look at the koa box. Opening it would be an invasion of his friend's privacy, but Clint had broken it. The least he could do was fix it, and to do that, he had to remove the contents.
Inside, Clint found the usual items, a small stack of letters tied with a white ribbon yellowed with age, photos, a locket, a set of gold wedding bands, newspaper clippings, a lock of blonde hair secured with a blue ribbon, a ceramic Christmas ornament with Dooney's given name and the date of his birth, August 8, 1973. That meant Dooney was forty-one, four years older than he admitted to, and five years older than Laura.
Clint put everything aside to examine the closure on his way into the home office for tools. It only took a few minutes to make the repairs, and hopefully, his friend wouldn't know the difference.
As he was replacing the items in the order he removed them, a white envelope that had gotten stuck to the others fell to the floor.
Duane, to be opened on your 30th birthday. Love, Mom.
Obviously, his friend hadn't opened the letter, and though he didn't know the contents, Clint understood Dooney's reluctance. If he'd received such a letter, the last link between him and his mother, it would still be unopened, because doing so would, essentially, sever that link. Once again, thinking of his mother reminded him of the conversation he and Dooney'd had about favorite songs.
Shaking his head, Clint replaced the items in the box. At the last moment, he decided to keep the letter out, adding it to the duffle bag. He didn't want to force Dooney to do something he didn't want, but he needed the push of an older "sibling".
From what he could get out of Banner, Dooney was responding well to the treatment so far. Cho either didn't feel comfortable voicing an opinion without further study, or she just wouldn't tell him. Every time they met, he wanted to tell her to get over whatever bug she had up her ass. The source of her animosity was clear, and he could've told her why he turned down her offers of dinner and drinks, but she wasn't in the loop for a reason. The number of people who knew about Laura, Cooper and Lila were few, and it had to stay that way to keep them safe.
Every day he thought about all he'd told Loki while under his influence. Not once had the demi-god asked him if he had family. Only about those subjects that would help him achieve his goal of dominating Earth. He wanted to know more about Banner, and Clint had told him the truth. They'd never met, so he knew little about the physicist that couldn't be found online.
Selvig, however, knew Banner personally, and he'd answered all of Loki's questions and more. Loki had used that knowledge to incite Banner to transform into the Hulk as a distraction for his escape. Clint had been the one to suggest blowing up one of the engines as a means to keep the crew too busy keeping the helicarrier in the air, relegating Loki and his actions would become a lower priority.
What Loki hadn't counted on was Natasha's determination to save him. If their fight had gone just a little differently, Natasha would be dead, and Clint would be in prison for the rest of his life. And not just any prison. SHIELD had a special facility for certain types of criminals. Of course, she might've killed him, but Clint didn't think it a strong possibility. Natasha would've let him go rather than have to watch his wife and kids mourn his death.
Clint replaced the box in the closet, picked up the duffle bag and let himself out of the apartment. Just three days ago, Banner and Cho started the next series of injections, the ones that would do the work of curing Dooney, giving him his life back. They asked him not to visit for a while just in case there were complications.
Clint had taken the chance to make a quick visit home to give Laura a report in person and spend some time with the kids. He also took a turn through the fields to check up on the crops and get a rundown on the last few weeks from the foreman. In that time, he managed to get the pick-up running so he could transport the supplies he needed for the new renovation project. When he told Laura his idea, she'd given him that look, the one that made him feel like a naughty schoolboy, and not in the fun way. But in the end, she agreed. She always did. It was a testament to her more than him.
Then this morning, Dooney called, sounding stronger than he had since the day he told Clint he was terminal. The clothes he'd been wearing when Clint took him to the lab had been disposed of. Why Cho felt the need, no one, not even Banner, knew. Dooney asked for clothes, his favorite novel, a first edition he'd been reading as long as Clint had known him, and a photo of his mother.
Clint also included the letter from his mom and a photo of Dooney with Kiba that had been taken without his or her knowledge on one of the days they'd all been at the brownstone. Even Clint could tell his friend was highly attracted to the former Army EOD, and Laura agreed. Her half-brother had never looked at a woman the way he looked at Kiba. The note Kiba left for Clint hadn't said where she'd gone. Just asked him to give her note to Dooney. He'd done so, leaving before he had to see the look of disappointment that was sure to follow. If he really wanted to know where she'd gone, Clint could've easily gotten the info from one of his contacts, or even Jarvis. However, it was none of his business.
He pulled up in front of Stark Tower, gave the Hummer keys to the valet, and headed for the lab, hoping his brother-in-law wouldn't hate him.
TBC
Vy dokazatel'stvo, chto Bog yest' chuvstvo yumora = You're proof that God has a sense of humor