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.
Year From Hell: Season 2, in progress. Please stand by…
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 63
"Oh?"
That single word and the tone of Natasha's voice confused Peter. Like she was already bored with the conversation though she'd called him, not the other way around. "Um, yeah. And, well, I-I, uh, lied to Mr. Rogers and Mr. Wilson."
"Really? About what?"
To Peter it felt like those times he was explaining a physics theory to May and she wasn't really listening. "I… I told them no one knew, and the truth is my best friend, Ned knows too." Natasha didn't say anything for a while. "Is that, you know, a problem? They're not gonna, like, disappear, are they?"
Natasha's laugh startled Peter. "Your aunt and friend will be fine, Peter. They just need to keep their mouths shut." The sound of a fizzy drink being poured into a glass came through. "How does your aunt feel about your extracurricular activities?"
He stuck his head out the door, a little paranoid that May would suddenly appear out of nowhere like when he was caught in the suit. "She said…"
"Go ahead. I'm listening." But Peter couldn't say it. Not in front of girl, er, woman. "If you're worried about offending my sensibilities, I've probably said worse to my best friend on multiple occasions."
"Um, she said… ****. Twice! She never says that word. Ever!" he was quick to point out.
Again, that laugh. The kind that made Peter blush even when she wasn't in the room. "She'll be fine, rebenokpauk."
He wanted to ask what the words meant, but the bathroom door closing ended their conversation. "She's coming. I-I gotta go. Thanks, N-Natasha."
"The pleasure was mine, Peter."
Within seconds, he'd changed into his pajamas, had his schoolwork open on the desk, and the computer booting up, just in case May came in again. He reached up to hide the suit in the ceiling then thought better of it. His aunt knew his secret. No more hiding. Using a web, he grabbed a hanger from the closet, hung the suit on it, and stashed it in the back. By the time May knocked on the door, he was deep in AP history.
Avengers Headquarters
Upstate New York
Tired of moping around the common areas where he could be seen by the new recruits, Steve went outside to watch the stars and commune with nature, taking a stroll through the picnic area set up away from the building. It was hidden where it couldn't be seen from the windows yet close to the lap pool.
He eventually made his way to the back of the building, taking a seat on the stairs, elbows resting on his knees, and hands clasped between them. The moon was just showing above the treetops when the door opened and someone came out. Uninterested in talking about his feelings, he kept his head down, hoping to discourage conversation with body language.
Either his companion didn't get the hint or didn't care that he wanted to be alone. She took a seat next to him, but didn't speak. So, maybe she did understand. Steve tilted his head to the side, wanting to see Maria, and thinking it would be Natasha, surprised to see a relative stranger. He'd seen her around the compound the last couple of days tagging along with Selvig, carrying a tablet and wearing a dark red lab coat instead of the usual blue or white, and a matching knit cap.
She still wore the cap, but had changed into a dark grey jacket over a green sweater and matching shirt. Her bright blue eyes were surrounded by black framed glasses, long dark lashes, and accentuated by perfectly sculpted eyebrows. This close, he could see that the rose color of her lips was natural, not applied. A scattering of freckles peppered her cheeks.
A smile curved her mouth when she noticed his perusal and stuck out her hand. "Darcy Lewis."
He wrapped his much larger hand around hers, and though it looked and felt delicate, he could also sense strength. "Steve Rogers."
Darcy's smile widened. "Silly. Everyone knows who you are." She hugged her knees when a chill wind hit them drawing his eyes to black leggings tucked into black ankle boots. "She dumped you, huh?"
"Uh…"
The hand he'd shaken pointed at his face, making a circle. "I recognize the look. Saw it in the mirror every day for a couple of weeks." She took an exaggerated deep breath and let it out. "But I'm over it now. Can't stay pissed at them forever, you know?"
"Them?"
"Yeah. My intern turned boyfriend dumped me, yet continued to work for my former boss. Couldn't hang around after that." Her shoulders went up around her ears and down. "I'd changed my major from poly-sci to astrophysics. A few months ago, I decided I was ready to move on from astrophysics to theoretical physics and changed my major a second time. This one's the one. I can feel it."
Though she would seem flighty and empty-headed to some, Steve could see intelligence in her eyes. He also sensed that she perpetuated the ditzy stereotype to keep people off balance.
She looked up at the sky. "Now I'm working for Dr. Selvig." That finger pointed at the sky, joined by a happy grin. "And I'm actually getting paid. Big plus."
Steve agreed, but didn't say anything. Darcy was more than capable of carrying the entire conversation on her own without input from him beyond the occasional grunt.
Stretching out her legs, Darcy stood and reached out a hand. "Come on. We deserve a commiseration beer. I'll even drive."
Torn, he looked at the hand and at her face. Smiling in spite of himself, he took the offered hand, letting go once he was standing. "I have a car."
"Nah. I'm good." She led the way to the parking lot, weaving randomly between the cars, coming to a stop next to a battered black convertible Volkswagen Beetle. The doors weren't locked. Steve came around to help Darcy into the driver's seat, earning himself a brilliant smile that was part surprise. "FYI - the heat doesn't work."
"That's fine. The cold doesn't bother me," he told her as he moved the seat back to make room for his longer legs and put on the seatbelt.
Darcy pulled on a pair of fake leather gloves, buckled her seatbelt, shoved the key in the ignition, and started it up. It backfired as she shifted into first and pulled out of the lot onto the main road into town. She took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at him. "You don't look anything like Elsa."
Confused, Steve responded in the only way that seemed like it would make sense. "I don't have a sister."
His comment was met with laughter. "That's funny, though you probably didn't mean it that way." Darcy's eyes stayed on the road until they reached town and pulled into Tammy's Bar and Grill. "We're in luck. Live band tonight." They got out and Steve stayed close to discourage the creeps hanging out from bothering her. "What's her name?"
"Who?" Those blue eyes looked at him over the rims of her glasses. "Maria Hill."
That surprised her. "The same Maria Hill giving frostbite to every man within a ten-mile radius who dares look her in the eye? I've heard about her. So that's the spy who dumped you." The smile turned sad. "Sorry. Didn't mean to turn your post-dumpage pain into a joke."
"It's fine." Steve grabbed the door, holding it open so a group could leave, and ushered Darcy inside. "I'm learning to live with it."
"Right!" She agreed, and the smile came back. "Who needs 'em? Not us."
Cleveland, Ohio
The man most recently known as Charles Fowler dumped the uninspiring food mess into a bowl, dropped the pan in the sink that was already filled to overflowing with dirty dishes, took a spoon from the drawer to the right of the stove, and shuffled to the table cluttered with stacks of newspapers, magazines, coupons, and empty drink bottles. He pushed a stack of unopened mail out of the way, sat down, and used the spoon to push the food around before taking a bite, chewing without pleasure.
Every surface, floors, tables, chairs, china cabinets, sofa, dressers, and so forth is covered with boxes of papers, books, ledgers, pads filled with handwriting in several languages, Cyrillic, English, Romani, Serbian, and more. In short, anything that would assist him in his new job.
Vasily Karpov AKA Charles Fowler AKA Thomas Lane-the name he'd taken on as his new persona, AKA… the list went on, ate his uninspired meal, drank from a bottle of generic beer in lieu of his preferred vodka, and examined his options. His contact had gotten him a position doing research for several international companies. Boring work, to be sure, but one in which his attention to detail would serve him well. He worked from home, reducing his interactions with the residents to delivery and service people.
Hiding in America had its advantages. His new home was in a quiet suburban neighborhood not far from a business area, thus ensuring speedy response to any requests he might have, be they food, drink, or even home and garden supplies. Not that he planned on spending much time groveling in the dirt. It was another way to disguise his true purpose.
Just that morning, Thomas had taken delivery of several items that held little to no interest of the man who unloaded them from the truck. Thomas had signed for them, and the man hadn't even made eye contact. He doubted the other man would be able to pick him out of a line-up, as the Americans said.
He scooped out the last of his food, chewing as he carried the bowl and spoon to the sink, stacking it with the rest of the unwashed dishes.
Though it was warm, he laid a fire in the fireplace. He trudged down to the basement, coming back up with the empty bags left over from the project he'd completed within hours of delivery, standing with hands in his pockets, watching the fire consume the thick paper bags. That done, he returned to the basement to finish the job, setting the scene so no one would know what he'd been doing. It was something at which he excelled.
To make up for lost time, and to ensure a steady income so he wouldn't have to deplete his offshore funds, Thomas turned on the computer and scooted the chair up to the desk, preparing to work for the remainder of the night.
Tammy's Bar and Grill
Outside Avengers HQ
Darcy rose up on tiptoes and grabbed his arm, giving it a shake. "Oh! There's a table! Grab it before someone else does."
Steve complied and she joined him seconds later. He helped her off with her coat and shed his jacket, laying both in an empty chair, then held her chair before seating himself.
"You know, aside from Thor, you're the only Avenger I've talked to. Seen the others, but no talky."
He waited for her to continue, which she seemed more than ready to do. But then, she just looked at him, head tilted to one side, watching him curiously.
"And?"
She pulled off the knit cap, letting her hair spill out over her shoulders, startling him. With her head covered, he'd only glimpsed a few dark hairs below her ears and on her neck. Now, with it free from any restraint, he couldn't stop staring. The strands were thick and wavy with highlights that seemed to glow in the dim light shining from above. Shorter hairs framed her face, showing that she'd recently let her bangs grow out, or hadn't bothered with trimming them in a while and chose a simple solution to keep them out of her eyes.
The most surprising thing was the length. Darcy spread her fingers tousling the strands, allowing them to fall forward over her shoulders, reaching nearly to her waist. The thing that surprised him the most was that her hair wasn't even close to the more appealing of her qualities. He also realized he hadn't heard a word she said.
"Evenin' folks. What can I getcha?"
Finally pulling his gaze from the overtly intense scrutiny of his companion, Steve looked up at the woman holding a pen poised to write. Hell, call it what it is, Rogers. You were staring. She offered friendship, and you're ogling her like a pervert at a peep show. His first thought was to make an apology, but Darcy didn't appear to have noticed his tactless act. Or she did and chose to ignore it. Either way, Steve was grateful, and relieved.
The server made a quick note, dropped two coasters on the table and walked away before he could order.
"I got us whatever's on tap, Captain Rogers. That okay?"
Darcy's earnest smile made him feel even worse. He smiled back to hide his discomfort. "It's Steve. And yes." Another server stopped to drop a basket of pretzels on the table and moved on. He motioned for Darcy to go first then helped himself to a pretzel, taking a bite while he searched for a conversation starter that had nothing to do with their mutual lacking in the love life department. "You've known Dr. Selvig a while?"
One shoulder shrugged. "Couple years. Erik, Jane, and I were working in New Mexico a few years back. We're the ones who found Thor when he was exiled by Big Daddy Odin."
"The same year I came out of the ice."
That adorable chin came up in a show of pride. "I tasered him, but Jane hit him with the RV twice." Her smile turned sheepish. "Not an especially friendly introduction to Earth."
Sitting back in his seat, Steve rest one ankle on the knee of the other, and smiled back. "He doesn't hold a grudge. Not even against his adopted brother, even after all they've been through together. They took sibling rivalry to a whole new level when Loki nearly destroyed New York."
"Jane slapped him for that." The beers were delivered; they clinked glasses and drank, Darcy sipping while Steve swallowed half the contents. "We didn't hear about you until after Agent Coulson and his people were done debriefing everyone and finally let us go. He promised to throw us all in prison if we ever talked about what happened." Her fingers idly tracing designs in the condensation, she raised her eyebrows. "Seeing as how you're an Avenger and work for SHIELD, I guess it's okay."
Returning her grin with a cheeky one of his own, Steve leaned slightly forward to say, "Won't tell a soul." He snagged another pretzel. "And I don't work for SHIELD, I work with SHIELD. Or used to."
Darcy chewed a pretzel, thinking over his comment, swallowed, sipped her beer, and returned the glass to the coaster. "What other alphabet departments do you work with?"
The grin turned sheepish as he dropped his eyes to the table. "None." She raised just one of those eyebrows again. The ones that always seemed to be judging. "Fine. Have it your way."
"I'm just messin' with you. Now that SHIELD is oficium non grata, you don't technically work for anyone."
"Good thing the government came through with seventy years back pay before the economy took a hit, then." The band came back from their break, playing a few chords to get everyone's attention.
The lead singer strummed his guitar while addressing the crowd. "Welcome back! You know, we pride ourselves on our eclectic mix of music. This is one of our favorites, and I know it's yours too."
The song didn't have an intro and was only vaguely familiar to Steve. Darcy, to go by the enraptured smiled, was well acquainted with it. She jumped up, nearly knocking over her chair, and came around to grab his hand. To be polite, he let her drag him onto the dance floor. "I freakin' love this song!"
Steve had seen the way people danced these days and didn't much care for it. He preferred to be close to his partner, not three feet away. How could you tell who was dancing with who otherwise? Then, to his surprise, Darcy pulled him into what his mother-and Bucky-called the closed position, the dance partners facing each other, hands clasped, other hands on waists. He was further startled when she lead him into a version of the foxtrot. Once he got the rhythm, he took over, trying not to think about the night Maria taught him to dance as it rained, or any of the other times they'd danced.
Help, I need somebody
Help, not just anybody
Help, you know I need someone, he-e-elp
When I was younger, so much younger than today
I never needed anybody's help in any way
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured
Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors
Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me
And now my life has changed in oh so many ways
My independence seems to vanish in the haze
But every now and then I feel so insecure
I know that I just need you like I've never done before
Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me
When I was younger, so much younger than today
I never needed anybody's help in any way
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self-assured
Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors
Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me, help me, help me, oh
Throughout the song, Steve saw other couples attempting to imitate their moves and only partially succeeding. When it ended, he released Darcy, but she wasn't done. The next song was in the same genre and about the same tempo, though he'd never heard it before.
That one ended, the lights dimmed, and the band easily segued into a slow song. This one he knew. Darcy turned to go back to their table. Steve kept hold of her hand, raising one eyebrow in question. With a nod, she agreed to one more dance. He twirled her under his arm and back into his embrace, humming along with the song.
Someday, when I'm awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight
Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft
There is nothing for me, but to love you
And the way you look tonight
With each word, your tenderness grows
Tearing my fear apart
And that laugh wrinkles your nose
Touches my foolish heart
Lovely, never, ever change
Keep that breathless charm
Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you
Just the way you look tonight
And that laugh that wrinkles your nose
It touches my foolish heart
Lovely, don't you ever change
Keep that breathless charm
Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you
Just the way you look tonight
Their dance ended with Steve twirling her one last time and leaning her into a shallow dip making her laugh. He tucked her hand around his elbow and escorted her back to their table.
Within moments, the server was there with refills on their beer. "We didn't order refills," Steve told her.
The woman shifted her weight onto one foot. "They're from a friend who wishes to remain anonymous." She raised a hand. "Whoever it was spoke to the bartender. That's all I know."
Darcy picked up her glass, took a sniff, and a sip. "Mmm. Tell Anonymous thanks."
The Bennett Home
Joliet, Illinois
Now that Christine and Oliver's secret life was out in the open, sort of, she felt a little better about how they related to the kids. Until today, she hadn't realized that keeping their short and semi-sweet acting careers from their children left a subconscious feeling of guilt that had been assuaged by the revelation.
At this moment, while Christine was back at work on curing Eli's condition, Oliver was cautioning all of them, including Emma, not to share the information with anyone, not even the pastor at the church. They especially wanted to keep the media off their trail. Every year or so, one of the entertainment news programs broadcast a "where are they now" episode aimed at former child stars who had vanished into obscurity following the end of their one and only acting credit. In Oliver's case, there was another Oliver Bennett still in the industry. The man continued to deny that he was the same Ollie Bennett who'd had a recurring role on "The Freeze-Frame Mysteries", and wasn't believed by those for whom sticking their noses into other people's private lives was their life's ambition.
"Lucky us," she said to herself. "We get to live in relative peace."
The computer beeped, bringing her straying thoughts back to Eli. A gasp stalled the air in her lungs when the model flashed bright green, indicating a positive result. "It works!"
Immense relief took the stiffness from her posture, lightening her heart and mind even more. Now she needed the facilities at the lab to make her theory a reality.
Christine saved her work to the data strip and tugged it from the port. Holding on tight to her son's salvation, she shoved that hand into a pocket as she shut down the computer, turned out all the lights, and locked the door on her way to the house. Her plan was to tell Oliver and Kyle Moss the good news, but no one else until the lab produced the serum and Eli was cured.
Vasilescu Shipping and Transport
Giurgiu, Romania
"Come in."
The voice was male and had a similar accent to Antonia. Without even seeing him, Bucky guessed it was her brother. He opened the door and stepped inside, extending his hand with a smile. "My name is Jacob Popescu."
The young man sitting behind the desk smiled and stood to shake his hand, giving Bucky a brief moment to compare his features with Antonia's.
"Antonia told me she'd hired someone new. I'm Andrei. Please, have a seat." They both sat. Andrei picked up a stack of papers with one hand while attaching a black rectangular device to the computer with the other. It had what looked like a small computer screen on the front and a pen attached to a coiled cord. "Thank you for arriving early. I need your signature on these documents, and on the pad, then I'll introduce you to the night crew."
"I will do that, little brother."
Bucky had heard Antonia's footsteps before she opened the door marked "private". He wasn't surprised she was there or that it would be she who gave him the fifty-cent tour. He got to his feet, noting that Andrei stayed seated. In Bucky's day, a man stood when a woman entered, even if she was a family member. In his household at least. His father insisted that every woman be treated with respect at all times. It especially went for female relatives simply because they were family. He smiled a hello. "I didn't expect to see you tonight, Antonia."
She made an offhand shrug and pointed her chin at the office door. "I sometimes come in late to catch up on paperwork, but now I am ready for a break."
Andrei worked at an odd looking machine on the cabinet behind the desk. It made electronic noises and soon, a card popped out with his photo on the front. He passed it to his sister, who gave it to him. "This is your badge. You must have it on you at all times while working. It allows you access to those areas necessary for your job. If you need to be in an area that's not accessible, it's easy to change."
Bucky accepted the card with a small amount of trepidation without letting it show in his expression as he clipped it to the lapel of his button front shirt under a worn jacket. "I greatly appreciate the work," he told them with the utmost sincerity.
Through the walls, he could hear the sounds of men and machines working in a strange sort of harmony. From what Bucky had seen this afternoon, the equipment he would be using wasn't that much different than that from before he'd been drafted into the Army.
Then, Antonia touched him on the arm, motioning for him to follow her through a third door, which opened onto an enormous warehouse filled with plastic-wrapped pallets of crates and boxes.
"You have experience with the equipment, I presume," Antonia said as she handed him a hardhat.
Bucky slapped it on his head and felt a bit of disappointment that she also put one on because now it covered her hair. As a young man, he often played with a girl's hair while they were sitting close, talking or even making out. Hers shone in the lights and looked silky soft, and his fingers itched to touch the strands, feel them brush against his cheek as they danced.
Again, he felt a moment of guilt for lusting after another woman while passionately in love with Natasha. He forced himself to pay attention to Antonia's stream of dialog. "Yes. I worked as a longshoreman prior to the war." Wisely, he didn't mention that it was World War II, letting her assume it was one of the more recent wars.
She turned her head, watching him from the corner of her eye, thankfully without suspicion. "You're not AWOL, are you?"
He chose to go with a version of the truth. "I was discharged after being wounded in combat. My recovery took quite some time. Army life put me in contact with many different cultures. I have no family, so…" a shrug let her assume he'd acquired a case of wanderlust.
The smile changed to something she probably thought of as alluring, and it was. But it also had predatory elements that reminded him of a saying he'd heard while stationed in Italy before being captured by Schmitt and his goons.
L'ommene sole m'ezz a tant dame, fa la fijure de lu' salame. In English, "A man alone among a large group of women has the look of a salami."
For Bucky, it described the gleam in Antonia's eyes. There must not be many single men within her orbit if she's throwing come-hither glances his way. Because he wanted to stay on her good side, and because he felt a mutual attraction, he raised one eyebrow to go with the lopsided grin he remember girls had found charming back in the day.
They approached a balding older man in dirt stained clothes tapping rapidly at a computer terminal. On the desk sat a walkie-talkie that crackled and squealed as the men conversed.
"Jacob, Mihal will be your direct report supervisor." Again, Antonia touched him on the arm, this time lingering longer than was socially acceptable. "However, my door is always open. If you need to contact me, I'm in the office beginning at eight in the morning. Before that, I often stop at the café up the street for breakfast. Perhaps we will run into each other one morning."
She nodded and left Bucky in Mihal's care. The timber of her voice had changed. While her words had sounded open and friendly, he knew for certain that she had wanted him to know when her shift began and that she hoped he'd seek her out.
"Perhaps we will," Bucky told her, holding that charming smile a little longer. He hoped his words were vague enough that she wouldn't be offended if he didn't show.
Plainfield County Correctional Facility
Early The Next Morning
The wind pushed against Sonja, and she gathered the sides of her jail-issued sweater tighter, holding it with the elbow of her still healing right hand. Using the left hand, she brushed the hair off her face, squinting into the rising sun. She was alone in the recreation area for her one hour of exercise a day. The other twenty-three hours were spent in solitary confinement to protect her from the other prisoners, or so the guards said.
The women's facility was staffed entirely by women to prevent real or false claims of sexual assault. A situation that did and didn't work in her favor when you took into account that the guards, along with the rest of the world, knew of the charges the prosecutor planned on bringing against her.
"You're supposed to be gettin' exercise, Sandberg. Not sittin' and starin' at the sky."
The guard had taken pains to mask her approach, but Sonja had still felt her presence. Without giving the woman the satisfaction of sparing her even the slightest glance, she stated, "This is my time to spend as I please, and it pleases me to watch the sky. What do you do with your spare time?"
The guard moved around where she could see the woman's eyes. "Not much spare time when you got three kids in grade school."
With the coldness in her tone and eyes, the other woman let her feelings for Sonja and her alleged crimes be known. If she wasn't being paid to protect her, she'd turn her loose for the other prisoners to mete out their own form of justice. Traditionally, those who were accused of committing crimes against children and women, especially pregnant women, didn't last long when integrated into the general prison populace. Hence, she spent her time alone with only the occasional guard for company.
The shadow cast by her primary guard for this time of day moved away and Sonja was alone again. Without seeming to do so, she turned away from the cameras so they couldn't see her face. It was the only act of rebellion she could perform without retribution.
The sun topped the trees, shining in her eyes, yet providing no real warmth. The guards would be escorting her to a cell that had no windows and nothing with which she could do harm to herself to escape this hell.
To pretend she had the upper hand, Sonja stood, stretched her arms, shoulders, and back, and turned toward the entrance where three armed women waited.
A sharp poke stung her neck. She rubbed the area and came away with a few drops of blood. Puzzled, but not enough to search out the answer, Sonja allowed herself to be cuffed hand and foot, and returned to her cell.
Queens, New York
Covering a yawn, Peter leaned against the locker next to his, using his thumb to spin the combination. He hadn't left the apartment last night in deference to May, who was still coming to terms with her nephew being a superhero with powers and everything. No, this time, his lack of sleep came from studying.
He took gym clothes out of his backpack, shoved them in the bottom of the locker, and closed it. Not watching where he was going, Peter ran into someone, knocking the person's books to the floor.
"Oh! Sorry-sorry-sorry!" He went down on one knee, quickly gathering books, papers, a black pencil case, and what looked like a wallet shaped like a cat. As he stood, he found a pair of light green eyes a few shades darker than a Coke bottle, topped off with platinum blonde hair that hung down her back in a long braid. Unable to look away, he barely remembered to let go when she tugged at the items in his hands. "Um, hi."
"Hi." Her mouth was turned up on one side in a smirk. She stuck out her right hand and he took it automatically. "This is where you introduce yourself."
"Oh. Uh, Peter. Parker."
The shorter hairs that framed her face fluttered when she tilted her head to the side. "Nice to meet you, Peter Parker."
She turned away and Peter, suddenly very awake and reluctant to let her go, called out, "Wait! What's your name?"
That smirk turned into a grin. "Felicia Hardy."
TBC
Rebenok pauk = spider child
Oficium non grata = unacceptable or unwelcome office (closest I could get to what I was going for)
"Help!" is a song by the English rock band the Beatles that served as the title song for the 1965 film and its soundtrack album. It was released as a single in July 1965, and was number one for three weeks in the United States and the United Kingdom.
Credited to Lennon–McCartney, "Help!" was written by John Lennon with some assistance from Paul McCartney.
"The Way You Look Tonight" is a song from the film Swing Time that was performed by Fred Astaire and written by Dorothy Fields and Jerome Kern. It won the Academy Award for Best Original Song in 1936.