And You Will Know Me Still

by theicemenace

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

50. Chapter 50

A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, Ant-Man, and Spiderman: Homecoming.

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. We're into year two of the Year From Hell.

Note 2: This story is being rewritten from chapter 45 forward to more closely conform to the MCU.

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 50

Avengers HQ

Upstate New York

Someone told me long ago

There's a calm before the storm

I know! It's been comin' for some time

When it's over so they say

It'll rain a sunny day

I know! Shinin' down like water

I wanna know

Have you ever seen the rain?

I wanna know

Have you ever seen the rain?

Comin' down on a sunny day?

Sitting on the foot of the bed, Wanda kept glancing at Clint seated on the floor, leaning against the chair, searching for approval without looking into his mind while they played and sang together for the first time. His plan, which he only told her about today, was for the two of them to perform a duet at the next Avengers barbecue. Initially, she refused, too nervous to play in front of others, but Clint convinced her by offering to join her.

Compared to his husky, smoky tenor, her high alto sounded barely above nails on a chalkboard to her own ears. Growing up, Pietro had frequently feigned terror when she sang, going so far as writhing on the floor, hands squeezing his head, and moaning in pretend agony.

A sharp pain shot through her head causing her to fumble the chords. She squeezed her eyes shut against the light that suddenly seemed too bright. A small sound escaped her throat. Clint set his guitar aside and came to kneel in front of her, his expression one of a father for a child-she'd seen it when he looked at his own children. He took the guitar and set it out of the way, then his hands framed her face, and the concern reflected there made her feel cared for.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Mm. I've been getting headaches for several weeks." He took the guitar and set it in the stand. "I'm okay. We don't need to stop," she protested.

Clint stood and brought her up with him. "I'm taking you to medical."

Wanda pushed his hands away. "That's not necessary. I'm fine."

He knew she was stubborn and wouldn't give in. Instead of insisting, he took her pajamas from under her pillow and placed them in her hands. "You should rest. Go change for bed."

She did as he asked because he could be stubborn too. More so than most. Plus, he used his "dad voice", and to not obey meant the next step would be his "dad face", or worse. If he bestowed upon her what Laura called "puppy eyes", Wanda, and any other female within his sphere of influence, would immediately concede.

~~O~~

To the air, Clint said, "Friday, please have Chef send up a cup of warm milk with honey and cinnamon."

"Right away, Agent Barton."

"Just Clint. Not an agent anymore." A qualifying finger pointed at the ceiling. "And absolutely don't call me sir. I work for a living. Only my kids call me 'sir'."

There was an infinitesimal pause, as if the AI were weighing the pros and cons of complying with his request and the ramifications to her programming. "Very well, Clint. I will include your preferences in my conduct and behavioral algorithms."

He snorted a laugh. "You do that."

~~O~~

Wanda returned just as a kitchen worker appeared with a small covered tray from which emanated a pleasing scent. Clint set the tray on the nightstand and went to the bathroom. He came back with a cool cloth. The touch on her shoulder was light. "Sit here." The cup was placed in her hands. "Drink this. It'll help your headache. Laura uses it when she's pregnant and breastfeeding."

Wanda inhaled the aromatic fragrance. The steam warmed her cheeks and filled her lungs, allowing her to relax. She lifted the cup in a small salute. "Za vashe zdorovie."

She sipped slowly, and Clint didn't leave her side until it was gone. He took the cup and set it back on the nightstand. She lay down and he covered her eyes with the wet cloth. She peeked from under it when Clint tucked the covers around her shoulders. Without a word, he kissed her cheek, pulled the curtains shut, though it was dark, turned out the light, and softly closed the door.

Before long, Wanda had fallen asleep, whence she dreamt of her mother, father, and brother, all living together in their small two-bedroom apartment. They'd just sat down to dinner when the first missile hit. Father and Mother had sent them to take refuge under the bed. Pietro's arms around her were all that kept her from screaming in terror as more missiles hit the city, shaking the buildings, turning many to rubble.

Of course, they didn't know this until three days later when they were finally rescued, the two of them found buried in debris, the entire time staring at an unexploded missile bearing the name Stark Industries. For so long, she and Pietro had blamed Tony Stark for the death of their parents. It took the creation of a callous and cruel creature, Ultron, to make them see that Tony wasn't the monster they'd believed. Looking into his mind after the Avengers had taken the scepter had shown his remorse and shame for the pain and suffering caused by the weapons made by Stark Industries. If only she could share what she knew with Pietro, or better yet, have seen those images before they made the decision to collaborate with von Strucker and his genetic experiments.

One day, out of curiosity, Wanda had asked Friday to do some research into the attack. The AI had discovered that the missiles had originally been sold to an ally of the United States, who sold it to an ally, who then sold it to another who was not an ally of America, and so forth, until they had fallen into the hands of those who harbored ill will for Sokovia and the U.S.

The revelation that the hatred they'd held onto for more than a decade was grossly misplaced had shaken and confused her. She didn't even have Pietro for comfort. Wanda hugged the preposterous stuffed wolf to her as two small tears rolled down her cheeks. "I miss you so much, brother."

Queens, New York

Leaning close to Steve, Sam whispered, "What did you and Hill talk about?"

Keeping his face averted so Sam wouldn't see the eye roll his question provoked, Steve whispered back, "We haven't seen each other in a while. Asked her to join the hunt."

A small chuckle came out. "We catch him tonight, won't be necessary. By morning, you and your squeeze'll be snugglin' and spoonin', making up for lost time."

Steve was preparing his rebuttal when Sam slapped his shoulder and pointed. The boy was on the move again, having tied up the robbers with the same webbing as before. As an added touch, he stuffed their pockets with the jewels they'd attempted to steal, leaving just enough showing so the police would have ample evidence against them.

The boy stepped over and around the broken doors and glass that littered the ground like chunky snowflakes. His right hand came up to a forty-five degree angle the hand bent back for a clear shot.

Thwip!

His eyes followed the path of the webbing to where it stuck on the side of the building contiguous to the location of the jewelry store. Without taking his eyes off the boy, Steve switched the shield to his right hand, preparing for a precision throw.

Their quarry leapt into the air, swinging past their hiding place, and looping around to the right, reminding Steve of the Saturday morning Tarzan serials he and Bucky watched as kids.

Taking his stance, he did a quick calculation in his head, and let the shield fly. It cut the web, ricocheted off the two buildings across the street and back into his hands, at the same time they heard a high-pitched scream and a crash.

Steve and Sam ran down the alley, looking around, and not finding the boy.

"How'd he get away so fast?" Sam asked with his jaw clenched in frustration.

Steve held a hand up for silence, then the two men shared triumphant grins at hearing, "Son of a bitch!"

~~O~~

Peter pushed his way through the garbage into which his hard fall into the dumpster had buried him, swearing and gagging at the smell. "Gah! What the hell?" A thought occurred to him and it wasn't a pleasant one. "Oh, shit! There better not be rats in here!"

He stood, using a stack of crushed and garbage stained boxes to keep from sinking back into the muck and mire, and so he could reach the lid which had slammed on impact, cloaking him in darkness. Using both hands, he pushed the lid up until it hit the wall, relieved when it stayed. "Dammit! I…"

Throat clearing startled him into silence as he slowly turned, coming face to face with the two guys from the other night. He now knew who they were, and if he had known that night, he'd've stayed to talk. Maybe even indulged in a few precious seconds of fanboying. Peter's hands gripped the edge of the dumpster. He raised one in a small wave, injecting as much joviality into his voice as he could muster, mentally rolling his eyes as the nervous waver. "Hey, guys. Wassup?"

The taller man, Captain America, didn't smile. In fact, his scowl that matched the one on Falcon's face deepened. "I'll tell you what's up, son." He took another step forward, tilting his chin down to keep eye contact. "First, you're going to climb out of there. Then, you're going to change clothes, so the three of us can have a long talk."

Pretending to not understand, Peter jumped over the side, landing surefooted on the ground in front of one of his idols. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Much as I'd like to spend time chatting with Captain America and the Falcon, I gotta get home. Maybe some other…"

Any semblance of conviviality vanished faster than a Ding Dong on Ned's lunch tray. "You're not putting us off, son. Now get cleaned up and come with us."

"Wh-where we goin'?" Peter mentally cringed at the stammer he couldn't stop.

Falcon joined the conversation, his expression softening. "This isn't a kidnapping or an arrest. We just want to talk."

Captain America backed off his aggressive posture, letting a small smile turn up one side of his mouth. "Didn't mean to scare you, son. Sam's right. The three of us have a lot to talk about and not much time."

Seeing he was beat, Peter gave in. "Fine. Where? I'll meet you."

"Java Jive, across from the stadium on Utopia." He pointed a finger at him. "You've got twenty minutes. Don't make us chase you again."

Contrite, Peter looked down at his feet, one red toe digging into a crack in the cement. "I'll be there."

As he watched them walk away, Peter seriously thought about blowing them off. No way they know who I am. I could just go back to the apartment, finish my homework, and remember to stay outta their way from now on. He shot a web into the air and was soon back where he'd hidden his clothes. If he didn't get home soon, Aunt May would call, wanting to know where he was and why he hadn't come straight home from Ned's. On the off chance she called Ned, he'd cover for him.

By the time Peter had snuck in and taken a super quick shower at the Y, and packed the suit, his twenty minutes were almost up. At the corner, turning left would take him to meet two of the Avengers who would probably give him a stern talking to about putting himself in danger. Right would lead him to the sanctity of home and Aunt May, from whom he'd get The Look for getting home so late on a school night.

He looked both ways, weighing the pros and cons and possible outcome for each scenario. With a long, drawn out sigh, he turned left.

Java Jive 24-Hour Coffee Shop

Sam swung one leg over the chair back and dropped into his seat, while Steve talked on speaker. He placed a cup in front of Steve and kept the other for himself.

"…He'll be here soon, Friday. I need you to scan him every way you know how."

"Will do, Captain Rogers. I'll forward everything to your email, once the analysis is complete." The AI paused and Sam swore it was for dramatic effect, a feeling unchanged by the tone of her voice. "What if he doesn't show?"

Steve swiped the cup from the table and took a small sip before replying. "Then do your best."

"I always do."

Sam twisted the cardboard sleeve of his cup. "Friday's got a point. And even if he does show, what're the chances he'll give us his real name or tell us anything that even comes close to the truth?"

One shoulder lifted and dropped. "Then we're no better or worse off than now."

Sitting back and crossing one leg over the other, Sam drew in a breath. "That must be code for 'we're going out every night until we get a face-to-face'."

"Unfortunately, yeah. I know he's not the only enhanced person on the planet…"

The men looked up as the barista set banana nut muffins warm from the oven in front of them. He added napkins and walked away. Sam peeled the paper from the muffin then separated the top from the bottom. "Present company included."

Steve's mild glare didn't even leave a mark. "This situation is different. New videos are being posted every day about this guy. We gotta stop it before the news agencies give him a name."

The clock on the wall behind the counter said their guest was due more than five minutes ago. "I don't think he's coming."

Turning his left wrist over, Steve, like most people, compared the clock to his watch and sighed. "We'll give him ten, then head back to the motel."

What the friends didn't see was the slight figure peeking in the window, dread and dismay in his eyes as he left the area with all due haste.

Nor did they see Friday scanning the same figure and uploading the new physical parameters to the LMDs on eighty-six.

~~O~~

Standing in the shadows to one side of the coffee shop, Peter peeked around the edge of the window, hoping against hope that Falcon and Captain America weren't there. To his consternation, they sat in full view, off to one side, away from the other patrons, of which there were few.

Steeling himself for the lecture he was sure to receive, Peter took a deep breath, settled the backpack straps more comfortably on his shoulders, let the air out, and ran a hand through his hair. "Can't put it off forever. Well, here goes."

He hadn't moved a single step when his phone vibrated in his back pocket. A text from Aunt May, of course, wanting to know how much longer till he was home. Using his thumb, he tapped out a response.

Almost there. Five minutes.

It wasn't a lie. With his powers, getting from Java Jive to the apartment wouldn't take even that long.

Peter ducked down the alley and climbed up the wall to the roof. He put on his mask, pushed up his sleeves to expose the webslingers, and aimed for the taller building across the street.

Thwap! Taking hold of the web, he jumped onto the parapet and let himself fall, flying through the air as if he'd been doing it all his life instead months. In learning to swing, he'd watched Tarzan movies and clips of soldiers swinging from rope on an obstacle course. As then, he went through the mantra that helped him learn.

Shoulders, legs, swing, thwip, let go.

Shoulders, legs, swing, thwip, let go.

With the wind in his face, Peter felt free, as if he could soar to the heavens and create a home in the clouds. "WooHOO!"

~~O~~

Standing on the roof of his apartment building, Peter looked over the side, watching the people below going about their lives, wondering who would be the next victim. Assault, robbery, carjacking, murder attempt, needed help crossing the street, finding the closest bodega, or worse, and if he'd be able to stop it. As much as he'd rather dedicate himself to saving lives, it wasn't an option as long as he was under aged. Being a minor really sucked sometimes.

He stuffed the mask into his back pack, put it back on, and let himself in through the roof access. Peter stopped on his floor and eased the door open a crack. From here, he could see their apartment. When Aunt May was ticked off, she would stand in the doorway watching for him to emerge from the stairwell. Good. Empty. Even the neighbors had vacated the hallway. Not that he blamed them. It was that kind of night.

Pulling his key from around his neck, Peter eased out of the stairwell, holding the door to keep it from slamming and waking the Sanchez family who lived directly across. Once inside the apartment, he went immediately to the kitchen where May was just taking one of her infamous Hungarian cinnamon swirl breads, called kalacs, out of the oven. He loved it when she baked. If she wanted, May could have her own bakery, but she was content in her current job. Baking was just a hobby. Well, all but her date bread, which, thankfully, she didn't make often.

The entire apartment smelled of cold winter evenings with loved ones, sipping hot apple cider while his dad read about the redemption of Ebenezer Scrooge. It made him miss his parents even more.

May set the sheet pan on the cooling rack and smiled, presenting her cheek for a kiss. "How's the project going?"

Peter returned the smile as best he could, considering he'd just blown off two of the Avengers. "Good. Great. Easy A."

She pulled off the oven mitts and dropped them on the counter to brush a thumb over his cheek. "Like always. That's because you're a genius, like your father."

With a sheepish grin, Peter ducked his head and headed for his room. He stopped and turned back, taking the opportunity presented to him. "May, um…"

"You want to know more about your parents and Uncle Ben, what they were like, the work they did." She hung her head for a moment, taking two steps and laying a hand on his shoulder. "We'll talk this weekend. And about how they, uh… how they died."

Though she didn't say it, Peter heard the promise in her voice, and excitement flared in his stomach and chest. "I'd like that. We can go to the park, have a picnic."

This time, her smile wasn't as sad. "You always have such good ideas, Peter." The hand on his shoulder tightened briefly. "You hungry? I can make you a sandwich."

"A slice of the kalac and a glass of milk?" he wheedled with wide-eyed innocence that wouldn't fool his aunt for a second, but she always gave in.

"Sure. Go to your room and I'll be right in."

At his door, he looked over his shoulder at his aunt. "Love you, May."

"Love you too, Peter."

The Barton Farm

Columbia, Washington

The house was quiet for a change, with the kids in bed and the adults sitting around the dining room table talking, and indulging in the occasional malediction unfit for young ears. Soft cooing sounds came from the baby monitor on the table between them.

Laura poked Clint with an elbow. "Honey, go set up the air mattress in the workroom for Nat."

Without a word, Clint went to carry out her request, after first dropping a light kiss on her mouth. Once he was out of the way, though not necessarily earshot, Laura moved into his vacated seat directly across from Natasha. "Why are you here, Nat? The truth."

As a stall, Natasha sipped from her glass of wine, making a business of returning it to the exact same spot and twisting the stem between her fingers. Seldom had Laura seen her look so tired. After the invasion and their defeat of Ultron, to name two.

"Your husband invited me. It's been rough the last year or so, being on the run, hiding in safe houses, staying off the radar, not making waves with the locals." She raised the glass for another sip and held it. "It's just as well Barnes is gone. He's more than capable of taking care of himself."

The tone of her voice was off. Natasha was a consummate liar, able to make anyone believe anything, but today, her training just wasn't cutting it. "Hmph. I don't believe that for a minute."

One shoulder lifted and dropped, she pursed her lips for a moment, weighing each word. "I just want to spend time with my niece and nephews. Is that so hard to believe?"

Laura snorted a laugh. "Not at all. It's your actions I find somewhat suspect." She pushed back from the table and stood. "Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow, Clint will watch the kids while you and I take the day." She called out, "Right, honey?"

"Whatever you say, babe!" was the answer from the workroom.

"You have him well-trained." This time, Natasha's smile was genuine. "Girl's day out. Just what the doctor ordered. Um, what about feeding my namesake?"

"I'll express a couple of bottles before we go."

That thought startled Natasha for some reason. Mother or not, she should understand all the ins and outs of parturition.

The women left the dining room just as Clint cropped Natasha's bag on the table in the workroom. "There's an extra blanket if you need it." He draped am arm around Laura's shoulder. "Night."

~~O~~

In their room with the door closed, Clint pulled Laura into a loose hug. "Did I call it, or what?"

"Absolutely." They kissed. "She has the same look in her eyes when she talks about James that I do for you. She's in love with him."

"But doesn't want to be."

"Exactly. Now forget about Nat and her lovelorn ways. Tonight, you're all mine, Hawkeye."

A slow, sensuous smile made his blue-gray eyes crinkle. "Mmm… can't wait."

Oncological Research Center

Pewaukee, Illinois

Secure Lab

Sub-level 7

Following her anomalistic exchange with Christine, Sonja returned to the cryolab. Not to work, but to observe. What was it about the subject that so enthralled the other woman now that hadn't been a factor previously? By her tone and expression, the impression had been conveyed that curing her son's terminal illness was no longer a primary concern on her personal agenda, and that creating the new Winter Soldier had taken its place in her mind. This new version of Christine was even more committed to HYDRA's cause than she herself. More than a little odd considering how hard she fought against it.

Standing in front of the subject's pod, Sonja scrutinized his bearded features. There had been no need to remove the hair from his chest in order to conduct some of the experiments as he'd done that himself. Quite recently, apparently. The most intriguing aspect of his physical features, aside from the fact that he was alive when he should be dead, was his hair. It was a wild and untamed mop in a captivating color of silver with dark brown roots. On the average human, that would indicate he'd dyed his hair at some point. However, testing showed that the coloring was natural, if any of the young man's attributes could be called natural when they were a result of the alterations made to his genetic structure.

There had never been a reason for her to enter into cryosleep, and so one burning question the subject was unable to answer, before or after the conditioning, was if he dreamed while in suspended animation.

Going to the controls, Sonja examined the information sent by the sensors affixed to his body. There was evidence of brainwave activity at a level indicative of deep sleep that bordered on coma. In fact, it was the anomalous EEG readings during standard testing that had alerted her to the fact that he wasn't dead after all, despite the SHIELD doctors stating it as fact. They'd signed the death certificate and the body had been released to his only living relative, to be buried.

Sonja herself had attended the funeral, in disguise, of course, considering she and the other surviving HYDRA agents were being hunted by every law enforcement agency in the world, including SHIELD and the Avengers. It had been a relief to discover that his body hadn't been cremated, or everything she'd planned would've been for naught.

He was the perfect specimen for her purposes, and even now, her pulse pounded with excitement upon discovering that he wasn't dead. Only in a deep coma-like state in which his body slowly regenerated the damage inflicted upon it by gunfire. She'd found numerous entry and exit wounds. More than anyone, even Captain America or the former Winter Soldier, could survive. If he had lived, life would not have been pleasant for him. It was better that he died then and there.

"What is going on inside that mind of yours, subject? What are your thoughts when you're sent on a mission? Do you remember anything of your former life, the one you will never see again?" Sonja peered in the window inset into the upper half of the chamber. "I could set your programming aside long enough for you to answer my questions. However, my curiosity will have to go unappeased. It took too long to achieve my goal, and still you attempt to defy me at nearly every turn. It's as if you are purposely doing the opposite of your orders, even though you should be incapable of independent thought. You do as I command. Nothing more, nothing less."

Taking a few steps back, she crossed her arms, and sighed heavily. "With Christine on our side and you to take on the mantel of Winter Soldier, HYDRA will soon become the world superpower as is its destiny as foretold by our progenitor, Der Rote Schädel." Uncrossing her arms, she shed the lab coat and hung it over the back of the desk chair. "I'll activate the computer modeling program, then I must go. I'm making an impassioned plea to the board of directors in the morning and want to be well rested." As if he could see and hear, Sonja smiled and made a small wave. "I know you will sleep well, subject."

~~O~~

Christine hung up the phone following security's verification that Sonja had left the property. She always slept at home the night before doing battle with the board. With her out of the way, the samples that were required to continue her research could be obtained without interference.

While Eli's illness no longer took top priority, finding the cure would go a long way toward furthering the agenda for HYDRA by giving them access to funds from the private sector, as well as giving their image the boost it needed following the massive failure in D.C. If Christine were a betting woman, she'd say that at least one member of the board also swore allegiance to the cause, though, knowing Kai Burris, she doubted the board member was aware of where Sonja's true loyalty lay. She'd have to feel Kai out, get a friendly conversation going in order to spring a trap that would net just enough information with which Sonja could be blackmailed. Or I could just have the subject eliminate her. Saves paperwork and time that could be better spent elsewhere.

Letting herself into the cryolab, Christine felt a frisson of thrill work its way down her spine. Some would liken the sensation to the "someone just walked over my grave" quiver. Even if that were the truth, it wouldn't deter her from the mission.

To Christine, the young man in the only chamber in use appeared to be sleeping, or would if not for the ice crystals in his hair, eyelashes, beard, and eyebrows that could be seen through the clear mask over his face that kept his body oxygenated. Additional tubes entered various orifices and blood vessels, feeding his tissues, and administering a steady dose of the chemicals that would prevent ice crystals from forming in his tissues. A situation that virtually assured a death from which even the subject could not be resurrected.

She set the specimen collection kit on the desk, stopping to examine Sonja's computer modeling program, after which, she promptly put it out of her mind. It had nothing to do with Christine's research and as such did not warrant more than a cursory glance.

In order to procure samples, she would have to climb into the chamber with the subject and close the door to prevent the temperature from rising above that required to sustain suspended animation.

Going to the closet to the right of the chamber, she removed a hazmat suit and put it on to protect her from the frigid temperatures inside. It was a small price she willingly paid to advance her knowledge of the subject's rapid healing, using it to advance her research by leaps and bounds.

A pneumatic whoosh signaled the unsealing of the chamber. Christine ducked under before it rose to head height, using the remote controls on the arm of the suit to close them inside together. "This may pinch a little. Okay, a lot, but it's imperative that you hold perfectly still."

The Barton Farm

Columbia, Washington

The Barton farm was so far from everything, including their neighbors, that everything, even the night, felt suspended in time, as if all that was left of the world was this one little plot of land, and they the only humans. It wasn't the most remote place on the planet by far, just far enough out that the only people who visited were expected, otherwise, they'd receive an especially harsh greeting. That is, if they got past all the booby traps set around the property to alert the occupants.

Fortunately, the slight figure at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the round newel post, worn smooth by many hands over the decades, was one of few in the world who had such skills. The visitor slowly climbed to the second floor, keeping to the plush pile that ran down the center of the long hallway.

The figure stopped in front of the first door, carefully easing it open to watch Lila and Cooper sleeping. The door clicked shut, and the figure moved on to the next room, the nursery. A sliver of light seeped from under the door, shining on the high gloss of the wood floor. Down the hall, the muted sounds of a couple being intimate brought out a sentimental smile as the nursery door opened and closed behind the visitor.

The soft light coming from a glowing moon lamp caressed the curves of the face as the owner came to lean over the crib. Nathaniel looked up, one hand in his mouth, and smiled as a pair of hands gently lifted him into the air.

~~O~~

Clint tightened his hold and kissed Laura deeply, probingly, and the favor was returned as she walked him toward the bed. She broke away, and with a smile made of unbridled desire, pushed him onto the bed, and she followed, planting a knee on either side of his hips. Hooded blue-gray eyes sparkled in the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. Her hands framed his face, holding him still so she could ravage his mouth, and he surrendered without much resistance when her tongue demanded entry at the crease of his lips.

This was her show, and Clint bowed to her directives. She pulled away, her bottom resting on his firm thighs as she discarded her top leaving on the camisole she wore to make breastfeeding easier. The clothing situation she planned on correcting during the shopping trip with Natasha tomorrow because Nathaniel was ready to be weaned to the bottle exclusively. But for tonight, it was just the two of them, alone in this room, the children and their guest asleep in their beds.

Nimble fingers made short work of removing the black t-shirt stretched taut over his rock hard abs and pecs. To prolong the torturous pleasure, Laura touched one finger to his lips, using it to outline first the top them the bottom, but she didn't stop there. That same finger rasped over bristles on his chin, down his throat, eliciting a light groan that rumbled against her thighs, making her tingle.

Clint's calloused fingers dragged their way up her sides, tickling slightly, though not enough to make him stop, while she worked his belt loose from the buckle. She'd just pushed the button through the hole when a sound that was out of place for this time of night stilled them both.

Their eyes honed in on the baby monitor, dread flowing through the room, crowding out desire, quenching the fire as if a cold bucket of water had been dumped over their heads.

Nathaniel giggled loudly, something he often did in his sleep, but this was different. The boy only burbled so delightedly when someone blew on his tummy or kissed the bottoms of his ticklish feet.

Laura scrambled out of the way as Clint vaulted off the bed, his left hand automatically reaching for and coming up with the Glock he kept in the bedroom. Together, they ran into the hall. He didn't bother ordering her to stay or wonder how their draconian security measures had been circumvented. This was their child, and someone was in his room that didn't belong. Whoever it was picked the wrong home to invade, because he or she wouldn't live to see another sunrise as a free man or woman.

Staying back far enough to give her husband room to work, yet close enough to assist, Laura quickly went over the plan he'd drummed into all of them in case of just such an occurrence.

At the nursery door, Clint tilted his head, listening. Laura heard it too. The creaking of the rocking chair and a woman's voice singing?

They shared confused glances and as planned, Laura eased her right hand around the knob, and counted to three. She twisted the knob and pushed the door hard. Before it slammed against the wall, Clint burst inside, shouting, "On the floor! Now!"

TBC

"Have You Ever Seen the Rain" is a song written by John Fogerty and released as a single in 1971 from the album Pendulum (1970) by roots rock group Creedence Clearwater Revival.