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 34
Stark Tower
"He's been like that for how long?" Standing outside Dooney's room, Clint watched him sleeping, Cho at his side, her fingers flying over the tablet in her hand as she made notes.
"More than twelve hours. He hadn't slept in well over twenty-four hours, claimed he wasn't tired. According to Jarvis, he fell asleep watching a video." Cho turned away, leading Clint down the hallway toward the lab. He hadn't seen Banner yet today, and Cho hadn't mentioned him. "In that time, he consumed a total of five thousand two-hundred sixty-three calories. Apparently, with no ill effects."
Clint waved at the window, and his friend behind it. "How can you say no ill effects if he's been sleeping for so long?"
She turned the tablet so he could see the screen, scrolling through graphs and charts that went over Clint's head, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of saying so.
"As you can see, his vital signs have remained within the norm for his demographic profile. We believe that his body has simply been readjusting itself as the healing process advances. That being said, if he doesn't wake up on his own in the next hour or so, we'll wake him ourselves."
Somewhat mollified, Clint nodded. "Fine. I'll head down to the lounge and have a few words with Stark while we wait."
"Good." Cho's voice had that distracted tone people with an inflated intellect used around someone they considered beneath them. Not as annoyed as he should be, Clint headed for the lifts.
One arrived just as he reached it, and Banner came out, a pen clamped in his teeth and his head down over a tablet, almost colliding with Clint. He removed the pen so he could talk. "Sorry, Agent Barton. Have you seen Dr. Cho?"
Clint aimed a thumb over his shoulder. "In your office."
"Thanks."
He watched Banner cross the crowded lab without running into anything, as if by instinct. "Scientists are weird."
Inside the lift, he pressed the button for the lounge, and the door closed.
Clint had been wanting to talk to Stark about having SI make some of his specialized arrow tips. The billionaire was playing a solitary game of pool. They ate and talked over a couple of glasses of iced tea and Stark eventually agreed to help. Clint promised to get him the specs the next day, and those for tips he couldn't make on his own or wanted Stark's opinion on. Then, he returned to the lab to check on Dooney.
Clint went in search of Cho and Banner. He found the lab empty except for a holographic display of a baseball stadium floating in the air. Circling around to the other side, he headed for Banner's office. As he got close, he heard voices murmuring, unable to make out the words. "Doc?"
He turned the corner, expecting to see one or the other video chatting with some egghead on the other side of the world. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Banner and Cho locked in a passionate kiss, making out like there was no tomorrow. They pulled apart when he exclaimed, "Gah! First Hill and Rogers, now you two. I'm gonna have nightmares for the rest of my freakin' life!"
Banner straightened his clothes, pushed a hand through his hair as Cho blushed lightly and stepped out of the office, pulling the door closed behind her. "Something I can do for you?"
"Time to wake Dooney up."
To Clint's surprise, Banner grinned. "He's awake, showered, dressed, and is out on the balcony at this moment enjoying the sights and smells of Manhattan." The smile wiped away. "He's completely healthy, no trace of the leukemia, yet he seems less excited about it than we would expect."
"I'll talk to him." Clint started away, turned back. "I can't thank you and Cho enough, doc." In a wise move, he didn't mention catching the two scientists in a compromising situation. The men shook hands, and Clint jogged up three floors to the balcony access. Through the floor to ceiling windows, he saw his friend leaning on the railing, rubbing his hands together, the set of his shoulders showing discouragement. He opened the door and moved to Dooney's side.
~~O~~
Inside his head, Dooney's emotions battled for supremacy. On the one hand, he was elated to find that he'd been cured and would live a much longer life than he thought the day he tried to end it.
On the other hand, what he read about his father made him morose. Since the day he ran out on his mother and him, Dooney had tried not to hate the man, and succeeded for the most part. At least until he met his half-sister, Laura. How she could not hold a grudge against the man that had abandoned her as well, Dooney had never been able to figure out.
Then he had to go and ask Jarvis to hunt down the man he'd known as Theodore Rains only to find that he wasn't who he thought he was. Apparently, he'd changed his name several times. When he met Laura's mother, he'd given his name as Jonathan Girard. And that wasn't even the worst. Dooney needed time to process everything. Time he now had thanks to…
"Banner says you'll be ready to check out soon."
Dooney turned to look at Clint then back at the view. "A few more tests. If all's good, I can go home in a day or two." His stomach growled and he was thirsty. It was time to go in, but he didn't feel like being locked up again. "I had Jarvis hunt down Laura's and my dad."
"And?"
"The details are on the computer in my room. Suffice it to say, everything we thought we knew about him is wrong." Clint started walking, and Dooney fell into step with him. "Laura needs to know, and I should be the one to tell her."
Clint led him to the lifts. They got on and got out again on a floor Dooney hadn't been to before. The huge room was multi-level with an indoor balcony, bar, buffet tables, and a sunken pit with elegant leather and chrome furniture arranged in a circle. "Have a seat. I'll get us food and drinks, and you can clue me in."
Dooney sat down on one of the long, white sofas, picturing what it must be like to attend a party in a place like this. He'd hosted his share of soirées, but nothing on this scale. Not for the first time, he wondered how a boy who grew up in the circus ended up friends and teammates with a billionaire, a demi-god, a super-soldier, and a scientist who occasionally transformed into a hulking green monster.
Natasha wasn't that much of a surprise. The first time Clint brought the spy to the farm, Dooney had known there was a special bond between them. Laura and Cooper had taken to her immediately, and when Lila was born, Natasha was able to tap into the maternal side of her personality.
When they were introduced, he made the mistake of assuming she was just another pretty face. And that had been the start of their love-loathe relationship. Hence, the friendly banter that occasionally crossed into cutting remarks. None of it was taken seriously on either side. And if Dooney were forced to tell the truth under oath, he'd say they cared about each other as more than friends, though less than lovers.
His thoughts were interrupted by Clint handing him a plate and a glass of tea. He went away and returned with the same for himself. "Let's hear it, Doon. The Tale of the Deadbeat Dad."
He speared some of the baby greens and chicken with his fork, shoved it in his mouth and chewed while working out the best way to convey the information Jarvis had given him. "To start with, he's not from Flagstaff. He's not even from the US…"
Secret SHIELD Training Base
The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Half asleep, Steve slapped the table until he located it. Cracking one eye, he hit answer. "Rogers."
There was a long pause then a male voice spoke with sigh, "I must have the wrong number."
Steve sat up, realizing he'd answered Maria's phone. "Not necessarily. Who are you looking for?"
A shorter pause this time. "Maria Hill."
"This is her phone. May I help you?"
The voice hardened, became demanding. "Start with who are you, and why are you answering my daughter's phone?"
Fully awake now, Steve swung his feet over the side of the bed. "Steve Rogers, Mr. Hill. I'm, uh…"
"You're the man who's sleeping with my daughter. No need to prevaricate, son. Maria's not a saint." Chuckles turned into wracking coughs. "But then, neither am I."
There was nothing Steve could say to that, so he ignored it. The shower shut off telling him Maria would be out soon. "I'll get her for you, sir." He went to the bathroom and knocked.
She opened the door, one towel around her body and another rubbing her head. "Yeah?"
He held up the phone. "Answered it by mistake. Sorry."
The towel thumped on the counter as she took the phone. "Who is it?"
"Your father." Her expression hardened into an unreadable mask as she pointedly pressed the end key then turned the phone off. She stepped past him, going to the closet to rummage for clothes. He turned to face her and was presented with her back. "Why'd you hang up on him?"
"None of your business, Steve. Let it go." Again, Maria pushed by him to the bathroom.
She tried to close the door, and he stopped it with his hand. "You should at least hear what he has to say."
Her light blue eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds. Not a good sign. "Move it or lose it, Rogers."
The tone of Maria's voice was such that Steve immediately obeyed. The door slammed, and he knew she'd likely not speak to him for the rest of the day. He powered up his phone and added Robert Hill to his contact list. Maybe what father and daughter needed was a liaison, someone to be a buffer between them. If he could at least get them in the same room, maybe they'd have a conversation that lasted more than a few seconds. And if, as he suspected, the man was ill, he didn't want Maria spending the rest of her life feeling guilty for not mending a fence that had been broken long ago.
Vermont
Hot on the heels of the lone operative who'd followed him into the forest, Bucky skidded to a stop when lightning hit the tree. The operative, what his captors called the guards, lay cowering on the ground as the tree spilt down the middle. She covered her head as if that would save her.
She?
The scene around him wavered, and suddenly, he was no longer in the forest surrounding the compound from which he'd repeatedly tried to escape after his fall from the train. He was back in Vermont near the cabin he shared with Natasha. Fear whispered through him, similar, yet different from what he'd felt when he discovered what his captors wanted him to do, their purpose for the experiments from which Steve had rescued him.
She lay on the ground where the tree would fall, trying to get to her feet, but he didn't see any way she'd be able to get away in time. The woman would be killed. Inside his head, he heard a familiar voice. People are gonna die, Buck…
James heard his own voice finishing the words Steve said to him on the helicarrier, "…I can't let that happen."
"Natasha!" Breaking into a run, he reached her side with seconds to spare, falling to his knees and raising his left arm above his head. He deflected the tree just enough to save her, but not enough to save himself. A branch slapped against his chest, knocking him to the ground in the mud on a steep downgrade. Water flowed toward the stream, getting in his mouth and eyes, and up his nose. He pulled his left arm free from where it was pinned to the mud.
"James!"
Natasha fell to her knees next to him, digging in the mud and grass around his arm until he was able to work himself free. He used his metal arm to break the branch across his chest, and Natasha helped him stand. They looked at each other, panting hard. Before either could speak, a cracking sound filled the air. James searched and saw that the other half of the tree was losing its battle with the wind and rain as it slowly toppled toward them.
James grabbed Natasha around the waist at the same time she clenched her hands in the material of his shirt and threw herself and him away from danger. As a result, they ended up on the ground, rolling over and over. When they were far enough away, he rolled them one more time until Natasha was under him, ducked his head and brought his metal arm up to protect them both. Thankfully, all that hit them this time was rain.
He stood, bringing Natasha to her feet as well. To reset his arm, he stepped back and swung the shoulder joint in a circle. He immediately picked Natasha up and turned toward the cabin, walking as quickly as he could in the muddy field.
Natasha put her arms around his neck and pulled herself close to his ear to be heard over the storm. "I can walk, you know."
"You almost died. It's my fault."
She shook her head, leaving hair stuck to her cheeks and neck. "Let's talk about it later. When we get inside…"
"You will take a long hot shower, or bath if you prefer, while I make tea and warm the soup."
Chuckling, she hugged his neck tighter. "That's my line, Barnes."
He walked a few more steps, finally seeing the humor in their situation. "Now it's mine."
As they crossed the open field around the cabin, the rain finally stopped, yet James still refused to put her down until they reached the cabin. Looking back, she saw bloody footprints. He opened the door, and Natasha put a hand on his arm. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?"
He lifted his feet one at a time. On the right foot was a deep cut, blood mixing with the mud and rain. "Didn't feel it."
Taking his hand, Natasha led him to a chair. He sat down while she went inside, coming out with a towel. She used it to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. When that was done, she sent him in to shower and change. While he was doing that, she changed out of the wet clothes and into pajamas, pulling on a pair of warm socks to cover her feet. The rain had rinsed most of the mud from her hair, but it still needed washing, as did the rest of her.
She started the water for tea and put the soup on simmer. James came out of the bathroom, his hair still wet and looking like he hadn't combed it in weeks.
Natasha had him sit at the table while she gathered what she needed to clean and dress the wound. She dragged a stool over, covered her lap with a towel, and opened the antiseptic. James held his foot over the basin as she flush the bits of crap grass, dirt, leaves and tiny rocks that had gotten stuck. Then, she had him lay the foot on her lap, while he watched her movements, occasionally glancing at her face. Her expression was all concentration on her task. He hissed in pain when she applied the antibiotic cream and covered it with a waterproof bandage, though the pain was manageable.
About this time, the tea kettle whistled. "I'll get that. You can eat while I shower."
James cleared his throat, preparing to speak, and Natasha turned her back on him, putting a stop to any protest. She poured the tea and set the cup in front of him and went to the stove for the soup. Setting the bowl and a box of crackers within easy reach, she left him to take her own shower.
When Natasha returned to the kitchen feeling clean and warm at last, she found that James had started a fire, poured another cup of tea, and had a bowl ready for her. He hadn't eaten yet, waiting for her. She thanked him with a smile and picked up her spoon. He did the same, and they sat there eating soup, drinking hot tea with honey and lemon, and enjoying the companionable silence of the evening, glad to be alive.
~~O~~
When they finished eating, James limped into the other room and took a seat on the sofa, propping his foot on the table, listening to Natasha moving around the kitchen. He should've helped with the cleaning up, but she insisted he leave it to her.
A few minutes later, Natasha brought a tray with two cups. Whatever it was had a different scent than the tea, and something white floating on top. She handed him a cup with a spoon and took the other for herself as she sat on the opposite end of the sofa, facing him with her knees up.
"What is it?"
"Hot chocolate with whipped cream."
Though skeptical, James gave the drink a stir and took a sip. The flavor was sweeter than he was used to. It also stirred a memory, a good one this time. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, willing the memory to surface. In his mind, he saw a family, mother, father, two girls and two boys, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. They were all in flannel pajamas, sipping hot chocolate and listening to the radio.
James finished the drink and put the cup on the tray. Sensing that he was being watched, he looked over at Natasha. She held his gaze a moment then looked away. Putting her cup down, she went into the bathroom and came out again. "Hold still."
He had no idea what she planned until he felt her touching his hair. "You called me Natasha." Not sure why she stated the obvious, he said nothing. "That was the first time you've ever used my name."
Until now, James hadn't thought about it. Looking back over their time together, he realized she was right. The only times he referred to another by name had been Norman, Lucy, Dugan, Robbie and Tracie. "Shouldn't I?"
"Yes, of course. It's also a breakthrough. You're starting to see yourself, and others, as an individuals. You're becoming James Buchanan Barnes again. Another thing that will help is speaking English exclusively. No more Russian."
James hadn't realized he wasn't speaking English, and so, made no comment. She laid the comb on the end table, picked up the tray, and carried it to the kitchen. Moments later, her footsteps, muffled by the socks on her feet, stopped behind him. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning. We'll talk about what happened after we eat."
He nodded, reluctantly. "Good night… Natasha."
Her delighted smile almost made up for the pain he'd caused her today. Almost.
Her bedroom door closed and James was left alone with only his thoughts for company. He moved his feet from the table to the sofa, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Natasha had given him much to think about. Something he read one of the times Natasha had left the computer on said that she thought he had something called post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD. It was related to a condition he'd seen when he first joined the Army. Then, it was called battle fatigue or shell shock, and was caused by the trauma of war.
However, PTSD wasn't only caused by war. Any traumatic event could trigger it. Not everyone who experienced trauma developed PTSD. And there were many ways to treat it. There were medications he could take, none of which could be purchased at the store where they shopped according to his research. They had to be prescribed by a doctor. From what he'd observed and surmised, Natasha would have access to them without having to go through a doctor, but he couldn't ask her to do that. It wouldn't be right, morally or ethically. It may be that the only way he could truly get help was to have Natasha take him to Steve.
His eyes became heavy, but James didn't want to sleep, afraid that the same dream would come again, and the events of tonight would be repeated. What he needed was a way to keep Natasha safe from him. His training as the Asset gave him the tools he needed to devise a way to make it a reality. Closing his eyes, James put his mind to work on the problem.
~~O~~
James awoke to the smell of coffee and the sounds of Natasha moving around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. He'd fallen asleep and hadn't realized it. Looking inward, he also noted that his sleep had been dreamless. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, and found that she'd been covered him with a blanket. Putting his feet on the floor, he stood, easing weight onto the injured foot. There was a small twinge of pain that was easy to ignore.
He went to the bathroom, then to his room to get dressed before returning to the other room. Natasha was attempting to fold the blanket, invoking a memory he assumed was from his childhood of holding one end of a sheet or blanket while a woman he thought could be his mother held the other, and together, they would fold it.
Natasha looked up when he grasped the edge of the blanket and stepped back until it was fully extended. They folded it in half, then in half again. He walked toward her the trailing edge, and that brought them to within a few inches of each other. Once again, she looked up at him with an odd expression. When the blanket was folded, she carried it into his room, and came right out again, walking past him to the kitchen without as much as a glance. He followed, took out two cups, and poured the coffee. Placing one near her left hand, James returned to the sofa, wondering if he'd done something wrong again.
A few minutes later, Natasha handed him a plate and silverware, went back to the kitchen and returned with a plate and her coffee. She sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the sofa, and there it was again, that unblinking stare. He mirrored her position, keeping one foot on the floor. "You wanted to know what happened yesterday. I…"
"English," she reminded him.
Again, he hadn't realized he was speaking Russian. He switched to English. "I dreamt about being a prisoner, and trying to escape…"
Dooney's Apartment
Lower Manhattan
A Few Days Later
Dooney let himself into the apartment, tossed his keys on the end table and his bag on the sofa, and flopped down next to it. Never had he been so glad to be home, though returning from the month he spent in Kabul came in a close second. He looked around, noting that the place had been recently cleaned. Everything was in place and dust free. Probably had Clint to thank for it. The fact that his apartment felt empty for the first time since he moved in, well, that was on him. Kiba had only been at the apartment with him a few days. How had it happened that it now seemed like she'd always been here?
His few minutes of self-indulgence over, Dooney carried his bag to the bedroom, threw the dirty clothes in the hamper, and hung the bag on a hook in the walk-in closet. The corner of an envelope stuck out. He tried to be angry with Clint for reminding him that he hadn't yet read his mother's last words, but he wasn't.
He carried the envelope with him to the computer room, and while the system booted up, he tore the flap and took out the single page. His mother's handwriting was neat and easy to read. But then, so was his, because she insisted on it. Said no one would take him seriously in whatever business he went into if they couldn't read his writing. He had to admit she was right.
The date at the top of the page was a week before she passed away and said the usual things. Find love, be happy, enjoy your work, live a good life. With Stella Nelson, what sounded like a request for a favor was, in reality, an order. The best course of action was always to agree and avoid the consequences, because with his mother, even demons would run for cover when they saw her coming.
The computer came up showing that he had several hundred emails. Dooney triaged the Inbox, sending almost half to the trash. The rest were sent to folders arranged in order of priority. He handled the super-urgent emails immediately and left the rest for later. What he really wanted to do was call his sister and tell her about their father. However, that sort of information was better given in person.
His business no longer held the same appeal it had before his illness, so he accessed IM and sent a request to one of his most trusted contacts asking if he'd like to buy him out. Within an hour, they'd settled on a price, and Dooney assured him he would have all the necessary papers drawn up by his attorney within twenty-four hours. Meanwhile, his contact would transfer the funds into Dooney's offshore account and it would be a done deal by the end of the week.
Now all he had to do was pack up his shit and arrange for the sale of the apartment. He also decided to sell the sports car and keep Stella. Where he was going, the Hummer was the better choice for transportation. With a few keystrokes, Dooney sent inquiries out into cyberspace, and it wasn't long before he had many lucrative offers.
Happier than he'd been in months, Dooney did some Internet surfing for a few numbers, kicked back with his feet on the corner of the desk and dialed. He took his southern accent up a notch, knowing it would open lots of doors in the north. "Afternoon, ma'am. My name's Duane Nelson and Ah'm considerin' movin' your fair city… Yes, ma'am… Business or pleasure? Little of both, actually. Ah'm thinkin' of opening a small café, nothin' too fancy, you understand… Need a house as well… At least four bedrooms, big back yard… Yes, ma'am. Plannin' on a large family… What say you round up a few listings and send the particulars to my email, and once Ah've looked 'em over, we'll make plans for me to tour the properties… In person, ma'am. Best way to do it."
Dooney gave his email address, the one he used for non-business related issues, and hung up. With a sly grin, he laced his fingers behind his head, and sighed. A new adventure was beckoning from the horizon, and he was going after it.
Secret SHIELD Training Base
Stuck inside because hurricane Kevin hitting the east coast, Steve reflected on the fact that he was right about getting the silent treatment from Maria, but grossly underestimated how long it would last. It was now into the third day, with no end in sight. They hadn't set eyes on each other in all that time. An apology from him would probably resolve the issue. However, he'd done nothing wrong except answer her phone by mistake and encourage her to speak to her father.
She couldn't possibly be as cold toward the man as she pretended, and there was evidence to support his theory. Robert Hill's number was in her contact list though she'd changed phones and numbers at least four times in the last year alone. Twice since the HYDRA incident. Add that to the fact that her father had her current number, and Steve came up with an answer that Maria would deny. He was no psychologist, but all the evidence supported the hypothesis that even though she said they'd only spoken once in the last fifteen years and refused his calls now, she was still seeking her father's approval.
At the moment, Steve was out of ideas for getting Maria and her father to speak to one another. If he tried to force the issue, there was a slim chance that she might end their personal relationship, and he didn't want to risk it. Not yet.
On the other hand, there was the tiniest part of Steve that wondered if she wanted him to persuade her to make contact. He could ask Natasha, if she would answer the phone; texting was too cumbersome for the questions he needed to ask.
He had to convince Maria to speak to her father. The sooner, the better. But first, she had to be speaking to him. Steve sent her a text asking to see her. She took so long to answer, he thought she was going to ignore him. Finally, a response came, along with frustration, and a little relief. Maria wasn't at the training facility. She had been at SHIELD's secret headquarters with Coulson the last few days. It explained why he hadn't seen her in the hall or the cafeteria. His phone beeped again, and when he read the text, relief tickled his stomach.
*Sorry I was an ass about Dad.*
Alone in his room, Steve laughed out loud as he tapped out a reply. **You're forgiven. When will you be back?**
*Wheels down in fifteen. Meet me.*
**On my way.**
The phone went into his back pocket as he checked his look in the mirror. He'd been headed to the gym and wore his workout clothes. They would have to do.
As Steve neared the exit to the landing pad, he grabbed one of the umbrellas from the stand by the door. He watched the sky and soon, a quinjet came into sight. It landed, and he stepped out into the rain, the umbrella popping open with a snap.
The hatch opened, and Maria came out to meet him, a duffle bag over one shoulder. She saw him and smiled, coming to stand with him under the umbrella. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and then he leaned down to kiss her. They pulled apart when a gust of wind blew cold rain at them.
Holding the umbrella over Maria, Steve opened the door and followed her in. He shook the water off the umbrella and returned it to the stand. Maria took his hand and led the way to his room. As soon as the door closed, she was all over him.
An hour later, they lay side by side in the bed, holding hands.
"What was the meeting about? Or is it need-to-know?" Maria released his hand and rolled onto her side. Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
"He thinks it's time for the Avengers to know he's alive. You'll want to prepare for the inevitable questions when they find out you've known for a while and didn't say anything."
He pulled Maria over on top of him so they were face to face, and he could feel her skin against his. "I'm their leader. I'm supposed to know things they don't."
"That won't stop them from being pissed."
"Except for Sam and Rhodey. They didn't know Coulson." His hands came to rest on her back. "I've been hearing rumors…"
Maria huffed as she slid off of him and rolled onto her back. "About Inhumans being required to register with the government? I heard that one too. You're against it, I assume."
"Forget about it for now. Let's talk about something else." Steve turned over, one knee dropping between her thighs as he hugged her close and kissed her. Maria's arms slithered around his neck to play with the hair at his nape. Then, he made his move, and she gasped, over and over.
~~O~~
Sometime later, Maria lay beside Steve, panting. Her eyes were closed and one hand gripped a handful of hair. "Oh, my gawd! Give me the web address of the site where you got that. Gonna send them a thank you note."
She couldn't see the smirk so he let pride show in his voice. "Didn't Google it."
"No?"
Steve turned Maria onto her side, spooning her from behind, and kissing her on the neck. "Made that one up myself."
"Mmm. Pretty slick for a ninety-six year old."
He smiled against her neck. "I have my moments."
Dooney's Apartment
Dooney made one last sweep for any personal items he might've left behind. The new owners would be taking possession of the fully furnished apartment in a few days. He gathered up the last of the boxes, set them on the cart and wheeled it out the front door to the freight elevator.
He left the keys and parking garage key card with the super, shoved the boxes in the back of the Hummer, and got behind the wheel. It took him about forty minutes to make it out of the city to I-80 headed west. He could drive straight through, but that would take twenty-one hours, and he wasn't up for spending that much time sitting in the Hummer. Instead, he would drive until sundown then find a place to stay as many times as necessary to reach his destination.
Sioux Falls
A Few Days Later
After a quick meeting with his new partner, Camilla Barlow, owner of the Java Hut next door to the defunct Rose Avenue Diner, and the contractor working on the café, now called The Nook and Nosh, Dooney drove to the sheriff's office. He checked his look in the visor mirror before heading inside.
The desk sergeant was busily typing at the computer and didn't look up until Dooney cleared his throat. "Help you, sir?"
Dooney laid on the southern accent, thick and sticky as molasses. "You most certainly can. Ah've just moved to your fine city, and Ah'm here to report a theft."
The young man, his name tag said Broderick, snapped his gum, looking Dooney up and down like something that had slithered out of a gutter. Still, he pulled a pad toward him, picked up a pen and prepared to take his statement. "What was stolen?"
Laying a hand over the left side of his chest, Dooney gave Broderick one of his most charming smiles. "My heart."
TBC