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.
To Guest: Thanks for the info on Steve's education. It's along the lines I was thinking. High school graduate and trade school for art. Anything else he learned was self-taught. All in favor, say "Aye!"
Year From Hell: Season 3, 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 75
The danger Dylan sensed came at him in the form of a slightly built boy in a hospital gown, boxer shorts, and socks. At the far end, the elevator opened and Christine stepped out, her eyes darting from one to the other.
Dylan ran past the young man, dodging what looked like spider webs, and doing a stellar job of it, until he'd nearly reached the elevator. Webbing wrapped around his ankles forcing him to jump forward to protect Christine. He grabbed her around the waist, pushed her into the elevator, and pressed the button for the ground floor, pulling his hand out before the doors closed. Then, he reached down with one hand, ripped the webbing free and tossed it aside.
The other guy blurted out a stunned, "Holy shit! How did you do that?"
Dylan ignored him while at the same time using the sound of his voice to gauge his location. But then, halfway into his turn, he was tackled hard. Though smaller, his opponent was incredibly strong. Beating him with brute strength wouldn't work, so he went for another tactic.
They rolled across the floor banging into walls and doors until Dylan trapped the other guy against a wall. He brought his knees up, kicking out at the same time bringing his arms in and up, breaking his hold. Rolling to his feet, Dylan reached for the other guy and missed when he sprang up to hang from the ceiling upside down in a crouch. "Dude, I don't know how you got in here, but I won't let you hurt Dr. B."
The voice was even younger than he looked. "Me? It is you who does not belong."
"Yeah," the he said sarcastically, "not really feelin' it." He shrugged and sat down, still on the ceiling. "But you're welcome to try and get me to leave, 'cause I can do this for days, and I was invited."
Frustrated, Dylan wracked his brain for something to use as a weapon that would stop the guy without killing him. Getting a running start, Dylan leaped up to grab him and missed when he jumped from one wall to the other, leading Dylan to the end of the hall where there was no exit.
The elevator started back up and all Dylan had to defend his position were words and his fists. He went with words to start. "I was invited long before you." It wasn't exactly the truth, but close enough, when he considered the time spent in the lower level cryochamber.
"Try again, pal. You're not from Illinois any more than I am," he taunted.
"This is true," he conceded. "But I do live here."
Finally, the guy jumped to the floor and casually strolled in his direction, shaking a finger. "You're trying to distract me. Won't work."
Dylan shrugged sheepishly. "I took a chance. There's something going on that you don't know about," Dylan pointed out, leaning forward, hands on his thighs, panting as if he were winded from fighting.
The young man crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his body language belying the casualness of the pose. "Yeah? What's that?"
All he needed was for him to come a little closer. Now Dylan could see he wore metal gauntlets around both wrists. That had to be where the webbing was being produced. In his head, Dylan counted to three and launched himself through the air, catching his opponent around the waist and holding on tight as they hit the floor rolling neither getting the upper hand. "I won't let you hurt my mother, mu'dak!"
~~O~~
"Wha-"
Before Christine could utter more than a token protest, Dylan shoved her into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. She fell against the back wall and before she could stop it, the elevator started up.
As a security feature, she couldn't stop it while it was in motion. She had to wait for the doors to open to go back down. When they did, she fumbled her badge, retrieved it, inserted it into the reader, and sent the car back to the lab.
The doors parted on a scene out of some twisted version of a gang rumble with only two combatants, each trying to get the upper hand and failing through the grunt and yelps. To her relief, both were only slightly injured, if at all. There was no blood and no bruises that she could see. "Boys! Stop fighting!"
Christine used what Oliver and the kids called her "mom" voice, but it didn't even slow them down. She had a trick up her sleeve that would get their attention, though. Putting two fingers in her mouth, she let loose a shrill whistle that would've stopped a runaway train.
Startled, they rolled to a stop up against the wall with Spider-Man on top, only he'd taken off the mask and now she could see what she suspected: that the colorful hero of Queens was only a boy, albeit one suffering from full-blown puberty. Hands on her hips, she glared down at them while they gaped at her guiltily. "What the f*** are you two doing? Stop! Fighting!"
So taken aback by her tone, expression, and language were they that all either could do was stare for a long moment. Then, they looked at each other and rolled in opposite directions, getting to their feet, while looking remorseful.
At the same time, something Dylan said registered, but she couldn't take her attention from the matter at hand to wonder what it meant.
Spider-Man looked over at Dylan with a sheepish sigh. "Moms really mean business when they use that word."
Dylan crossed his arms, tucking his chin in the way he did when embarrassed. "Yes, it is something I've learned quite recently."
A snort came out of Spider-Man and his posture relaxed slightly. "Dr. Bennett is really your mom?"
Christine held her breath, waiting to hear Dylan's explanation. He too relaxed, just a slight loosening of his shoulder muscles. He looked at her while speaking to Spider-Man, "Foster mother. She and her family took me in when I had nowhere else to go." Embarrassed at telling a stranger personal information, he looked at the floor. "I don't remember my birth family."
"Dude," Spider-Man pushed off the wall, taking a step closer to Dylan, "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
Ducking his head again, Dylan reminded him, "You did not give me the chance."
Done with listening to their back and forth banter after their knock-down-drag-out, Christine cleared her throat to get their attention. As one, they turned wide-eyed expressions in her direction, as if they'd forgotten she was there. "Enough, boys. You," she locked her gaze on Spider-Man, "in there. And you," it was Dylan's turn for the glare, "in there, and don't come out until I say so. Either of you."
Together, they looked at their feet, saying in subdued tones, "Yes, ma'am."
They went into their separate rooms and closed the doors. Once she was alone again, Christine leaned against the wall and let her breath out in one long exhale. "Two of them," she whispered out loud. Then, she stood up straight, shoulders back, exuding a confidence she did and didn't feel. "You can do this, Bennett, 'cause you're dangerous, but fun."
Evolve Academy for the Performing Arts
Joliet, Illinois
Moving silently on the carpet, Kaitlyn rushed down the hall, stopping outside Dinah's office. She made a quick hair, clothes, and deportment check and knocked. The ballet mistress only called a student to her office to give bad news or a reprimand. The moment she was summoned, the bottom dropped out of her stomach. Surely she wouldn't be sent back home for the few minor infractions she'd committed.
"Come in."
Taking a calming breath, Kaitlyn turned the knob, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. "You sent for me, Madam St. John?"
To her surprise, Dinah smiled and motioned to the visitor's chair. "Please sit down." She peered over the top of her glasses. "Don't fret, child. It's good news."
Perching on the edge of the seat, Kaitlyn lengthened her spine, head balanced above the shoulders, legs crossed at the ankles and slightly to one side, and hands clasped in her lap. Sitting gracefully with a touch of class is a woman's charm, according to Madam St. John. It's the lady-like elegance that's just being the best that you can be. Poise and dignity at all times. Meredith and Liam had already been expelled for performing an unsanctioned activity: hip-hop dancing. The ballet mistress found it vulgar and indecent. The last she'd seen of Meredith had been watching from her third-floor room as the girl was lead away sobbing in her mother's arms. Liam had born the affront stoically, head held high, without a word to anyone as he got into the back seat of his father's car.
Dinah took off her glasses and came around to lean against the front of the desk, holding one hand to her upper chest in a familiar gesture she used when she found something especially amusing or poignant. The enormous stone on her ring finger that had always fascinated Kaitlyn flashed and sparked in the bright overhead light, nearly blinding her.
The room became stifling. It was hard to breathe, like the air had become thick and sticky like the peanut butter her brothers loved so much. Dinah's voice droned on and on, a velvety counterpoint to the prickling along her exposed skin. Vertigo made her head spin.
"Listen to the sound of my voice. Mine are the only words that matter. Your will is no longer your own. You will do as I command…"
Avengers Headquarters
Upstate New York
Taking a break from his workout, Steve wiped the sweat from his face and neck, drank from a bottle of water, and took a seat on the nearest bench to check for messages from Darcy. Not a one. She was still on pins and needles waiting to hear back from the DNA lab regarding her request to meet with the person she hoped would be her birth father. To get her mind off her troubles, Steve sent what he hoped was a lighthearted text.
*Hi. What're you up to?*
**Walking the neighbor's dog. You?**
*Just realized I don't have a photo of you.*
Her response came almost immediately. **Liar! You have lots of us together.**
He thought a moment, hoping she would get what he didn't want to say. After no follow-up to her comment, he sent another text. *Those are friend photos. Send me a "we're dating" one.* Seeing it written out, he winced. You didn't issue orders to the woman you were dating. He quickly tapped out, *Please?* For the first time, he used one of the smiley faces, silently thanking Peter for showing him how.
Darcy's Apartment
New York
Taken aback by Steve's last text, Darcy reread it looking for traps, finding none. With Steve, what you saw was usually what you got, or so she thought. Maybe she was wrong. "Hmm. Didn't know Captain America had a creeper vibe 'til now."
Her quick mind offered up an evil-ish solution. "If he wants pics, he'll get pics." Grinning, she tapped out a response on her way to her bedroom and into the closet, where she took down a box filled with memories that only came out when she was feeling nostalgic. Tonight, though, they would serve a greater purpose.
She set the box on the bed to open it, taking items out one at a time until she found the one she wanted. On the way back to the living room, she stopped in the bathroom.
The memento was an envelope of photos her ex-boyfriend the photographer had taken. On many occasions, he'd used her on photo shoots as practice for when he, hopefully, became a celebrity photographer. She chose one and put the rest back. Then, she booted up the computer, scanned the image, and sent it to her phone.
While that was working, Darcy went back down the hall to the bathroom and closed the door.
Avengers Headquarters
Steve checked the time again. Fifteen minutes had passed since his text asking Darcy for a photo. She was right about the others, but none of them were the type you'd use as a phone background, or smirk while showing off your very attractive new girlfriend to your teammates.
He'd just tossed the towel on a chair and was preparing to get back to his workout when the phone beeped again.
**Sending two so you can decide which you like best.** She included a winking smiley.
The phone beeped again just as he was taking a mouthful of coffee, and what he saw made him choke. Through the coughing fit, he heard rushing footsteps, followed by a concerned female voice. "Raise your arms over your head." Still coughing, Steve let her know he was confused by giving her a side-eye. "Sounds weird, I know, but believe me, it helps when something goes down the wrong pipe."
Steve raised both arms over his head and soon, the coughing eased off. He put a fist over his mouth for one more, sipped from the water bottle she passed him, and wiped his mouth. "Thanks, uh…"
"Sherry, R&D for Stark Industries."
Not wanting yet another woman falling all over herself because of his notoriety, he introduced himself as, "I'm Steve." He looked past her to where her towel had fallen on the floor in her haste to help him. "Let me get you a clean towel. I'd give you mine, but…" he shrugged and Sherry hesitated. "It's the least I can do."
At what she must have thought was a clumsy attempt at flirting, the look on her face changed. Now it reminded him of the blonde who'd cornered him outside General Phillips office, like a mongoose stalking a cobra.
"I…" Her foot hit something. She bent down, coming up with his phone, and her body language changed, the flirty smile turning into a frown. "Never mind. I'll get my own."
Without another word, Sherry turned her back and made for the exit, confusing Steve at the sudden change. He turned the phone over and groaned. One of the photos Darcy sent was of her in a bubble bath, hair piled messily on top of her head, and a look in her eyes that made him sweat.
Fearing what the second photo might show, he swiped the screen, a groan working its way out of his throat yet again. In this one, Darcy wore a black skirt that hugged her curves like an Italian sports car. The length was the only element that he'd consider even close to modest. The same for the top, red, with long sleeves and a neckline that left little to the imagination. Her foundation garments lifted her womanly curves up and in, making them appear larger than ever.
He tugged at the collar of his shirt and closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose and hard out through his mouth. "Oh, shit," he muttered out loud, "I'm a dead man."
Darcy's Apartment
With the photos sent, all that remained for Darcy to do was to occupy herself until bedtime, and wait for Steve's response, if he made one. Knowing him, he was probably on the verge of hyperventilating while surreptitiously wiping away a spot of sweat on his upper lip.
Darcy used her foot to let the water out and stood, brushing the bubbles from her arms, legs, and torso. She stepped from the tub onto the mat and peeled off her wet bathing suit, tossing it in the sink to rinse out later, at the same time reaching for a towel.
Wrapped in the fluffy terrycloth, she padded out to the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea and start dinner, smirking at her reflection in the shiny surface of the refrigerator at the look on Steve's face when he first saw the photos. "You'll never learn, will you, Rogers?"
Oncological Research Center
Pewaukee, Illinois
Embarrassed that he'd gotten into a fight with Christine's foster son, Peter found a chair and sat, waiting for the inevitable lecture.
His senses still tingled signaling danger, but at a much lower level than before. He rubbed his palms down each forearm hoping it would help, and it did, but only a little. All during their fight, Peter got the feeling that Dylan was using defensive moves, not those meant to kill. That was Peter's motivation too. He didn't want the doctor hurt, and experiencing the "Peter tingle" within her proximity sent his chivalrous streak into overdrive. Same for Dylan, he guessed.
That reminded him of something else. Dylan seemed to be able to move exceptionally fast, on par with the Flash. Or had he been seeing things? Sometimes, if he concentrated too strongly on one sense, he would become oblivious to his immediate surroundings, but it didn't last long.
At the moment, he could hear Christine in the hall talking to herself, just a few words that seemed familiar.
The door opened and she finally joined him. Peter steeled himself for whatever was coming. However, she surprised him yet again by picking up a tablet and powering up it and the medical equipment on one of the many table filled with such. "What happens now that I've seen your true self, Spidey?
Peter scratched the end of his nose, stuttering, "Um, it-it's Peter. Peter Parker, from Queens."
"Thought I detected a touch of New York in your voice." She grinned, as if she'd known what he would say. "Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. What say we get these tests started? We'll begin with your vitals and move on from there."
"Um, you'll be taking blood?" His stomach heaved at the thought.
Eyes fixed on the enormous computer monitor in front of her, Christine smiled. "Among other things."
"Wh-what other things?"
Lips pursed to hide the grin, her eyes danced with humor as she glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, nothing much. Saliva, hair, skin, urine," she paused then dropped the punchline, except he didn't find it one bit funny, "and semen."
~~O~~
The look on Peter's face was priceless. Panic-stricken worked. Horrified was another good one. Most men, no matter the age or orientation, would be embarrassed under the same circumstances, having a female doctor make such a request. The boy was smart though. He had to know he'd have to provide a semen sample at some point or he wouldn't be here. However he got his powers, his concerns were valid. Was whatever changed him in his blood and other bodily fluids?
On the heels of that question, which she planned on answering within the week, was another: Why hadn't he gotten checked out before now? Actually, that was the easiest to answer. There was a girl involved. A new relationship that seemed destined for the usual journey's end and he wanted to know if there was the possibility he might not be able to be intimate with her or risk harming her. If that turned out to be the case, Christine would do whatever she could to change it, without Peter losing his powers. There was always a way. She just had to find it. But until then, she wouldn't let it worry her, and by extension, Peter.
With minimal fuss and talking, Christine got Peter on the scale before taking his temperature, pulse, and respiration, and collected hair, skin, and saliva specimens. She labeled each one with a code so no one else would discover his identity and moved on.
"Ready for the eye test?"
The boy shrugged sheepishly. "I used to wear glasses, you know, before, but now…" he looked around the room, stopping on a sign on the farthest wall over a sink that was next to a shower, covering the left eye, "Warning. Do not flush corrosive substances down the sink or toilet."
Christine squinted in the direction he was looking, but could barely see the sign much less read it, shrugging as she made a note. "Eyes are better than 20/20. Hearing, we already know that's exceptional." She passed over a cup with an orange lid, smiling apologetically. "Time to tinkle in the cup, Peter. We'll do the other one last, okay?"
He looked away uncomfortably, took the cup, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.
Under normal circumstances, for the other one, a male would be given a magazine or be allowed to watch a video that would facilitate the production process. Christine didn't have any of that here and had no idea what she'd do if he wasn't able to produce a specimen on his own.
~~O~~
More embarrassed than at any other single time in his life, Peter stayed in the bathroom longer than necessary after producing the final sample for testing. Having sunk into a mass of hormones and testosterone that was slowly dissipating, he jumped at the soft knock on the door.
"Peter? You okay?"
"Uh, yeah. I'm… not ready to come out yet." Rolling his eyes, Peter realized how that sounded and carried the blue-toped container to the door, opening it just far enough to pass it to Christine.
Her fingers grazed his in the exchange, and strangely, it felt comforting, like having May hold his hand when he was sick or feeling sorry for himself. He shut the door, but didn't hear her walk away.
"I'm a doctor, Peter. Everything I've asked of you, I've seen and done many times before. In the beginning, it was as embarrassing for me as it was for the patient." There was a pause in which he pictured an ironic half-smile. "Granted, I've never had a superhero as a patient, but in the end, does it really matter? We all have hopes, dreams, feelings, and yes, disappointments and let-downs. Even those with superpowers. But that's what makes us human, so, you come out when you feel up to it, okay?"
Peter took her words to heart, breathed deeply a few times while washing his hands, copping to the fact that it was yet another stalling tactic. He brushed his wet hands through is hair, dried off, and returned to the lab.
Christine had her back to him, using a marker to label the containers in code. "Um, how-how long, you know, until…"
"Shouldn't be more than a week or so. The equipment is state-of-the-art," she remarked offhandedly. "I'll give Captain Rogers a call when they're done." She put the last container with the rest and turned to face him. "I'm a researcher and don't normally work directly with patients, so my bedside manner may be a little rusty."
"No, i-it's fine, Dr. Bennett. You're doin' great." His fingers fiddled with the collar of the gown. "I'd like to, um, hear the results in person, if you don't mind, whether it's good or bad."
The smile changed to one of empathy. How could she think her so-called bedside manner was deficient? To Peter, it was perfect.
"Great," she came toward him, stopping outside his comfort zone. "How're you hiding this from your mother? Being changed was a significant event in your life, yet I get why you wouldn't want your parents to worry."
Peter went to look out the window and she followed. "My parents died years ago, so I went to live with my aunt and uncle. Then, my Uncle Ben died. Now it's just me and May. No grandparents, no cousins that I know of."
He felt Christine's warmth at his side before she laid a hand on his shoulder, applying just enough pressure to get him to look at her. "Your aunt might not have given birth to you, but she's still your mother. If she hadn't been there, if you didn't have each other, you'd be in foster care right now, like Dylan." She grinned sheepishly. "Though his situation's a little different."
Peter's hearing picked up a slight vibration, his phone on the bedside table behind the privacy screens. "That's probably Captain Rogers wanting to know if I'm ready to go." He extended his hand and she took it. "Thanks for everything, Dr. Bennett. We'll talk about that other thing when I come back."
"Only if you want to. And you're welcome."
Without another word, Christine walked away, leaving him to get dressed on his own. A few minutes later, he stepped into the hall looking for her. She came out of the lab where she'd sent Dylan. They rode the elevator up to the ground floor where Steve was waiting. She left them in the capable hands of security, nodded once more, and got back on the elevator.
Outside, an awkward silence stretched between he and Steve, broken by himself. "We gotta come back in a week or so. Dr. Bennett's gonna call you, okay?"
"Of course." Steve unlocked the car doors and they got in. "Still up for some chili?"
As if in answer to the question, Peter's stomach growled loud enough to be heard. They looked at each other and laughed, breaking the tension. "Oh, gosh, yes, Mr. Captain Rogers, sir."
Avengers Headquarters
Upstate New York
Indoor Shooting Range
"…Now that you've been through the safety course, you're ready for some target practice," Steve told Darcy in that calm, serene voice of his.
"Let's do it," she told him eagerly. The day was coming that she'd need the skills he was teaching her and she wanted to be ready.
"Any time you pick up a handgun, check to see if it is loaded. When you first bring it home, check to see if it is loaded. If you're taking it out of the closet for the first time in ten years, check to see if it is loaded. If you've just unloaded it, check to see if it is loaded. And especially," he raised a finger for emphasis, "check any gun that is given to you by anyone at anytime to see if it's loaded, even if it's someone you know and trust." He held up what she knew to be a semi-automatic. "Start by removing the magazine. Pull back the slide and look to make sure there isn't a cartridge in the firing chamber. If there is, racking the slide will eject it. If it doesn't, don't attempt to use it because it may be jammed."
Steve watched while she followed his instructions before showing her how to hold it. He repositioned her fingers for better control, with the trigger finger on the outside of the trigger guard. They'd already gone over the correct firing stance and how to aim.
He passed her the magazine. "Make sure the safety is on before you load it and chamber a round."
She did so, adjusted her stance, took aim at the target, and squeezed the trigger. Some would've laughed at her wild miss, but Steve didn't. He gently adjusted her stance be placing his hands on her hips and turning her ever so slightly. When he didn't immediately remove his hands, she eyed him over her shoulder. "Careful there, Rogers. Wouldn't want people to think you're gettin' fresh with a student."
His grin had just a touch of evil by way of the raised eyebrow. "Totally worth it, Lewis." He nodded at the target. "Let's see what you got." This time, she hit the target in the outside ring. "Better. We'll keep at it until you get at least five bull's eyes. Sound good?"
"Only if we go out to dinner afterward, even if it's a sports bar."
The grin widened. "Win-win, I say."
Oncological Research Center
Dr. Bennett's Office
One Week Later
The fact that Christine sent Steve away before they got on the elevator didn't fill Peter with good vibes about the results of the tests, nor did the fact that Natasha refused to be put off. She demanded to be read into the situation, brought along to this and all future visits, and promised vile reprehension if she wasn't kept in the loop. To tell the truth, she'd scared him just a little. Okay, a lot. He swallowed his pride and embarrassment, and agreed.
In Christine's office, Peter lowered himself onto the sofa while she picked up a tablet and came to join him. Natasha sat on his other side. Today, Christine went without the white lab coat and had dressed in casual street clothes. It made her more approachable, like he could confide his deepest, darkest secrets and she'd understand without him needing to explain.
"There's good news and bad news," she told him with a small smile, ignoring Natasha for the moment. "We'll start with the bad." She scrolled the tablet until she came to the screen she wanted. "Unfortunately, your fears were justified. Your lab specimens, and, naturally, your DNA, contain a combination of several types of radiation. Alone, each wouldn't present much of a problem for an intimate partner. You could even donate blood at these levels. However, combined, should another person have prolonged contact, it would be detrimental to their health in the long-term, and protection would be useless. Your saliva, tears, and perspiration are safe."
Peter's stomach dropped and a long life of celibacy stretched out through the decades. Aunt May would be so relieved. "That's not just bad news. It's the worst bad news in the history of ever, Dr. B."
Natasha said nothing about anything, not like her at all.
She touched his arm and he felt her empathy, just like the previous visit. "Yes, I know. But I did say there was some good news." A swipe of her finger brought up more information. "I did some tests on your specimens and believe there's a way to fix this. I won't be able remove the radiation, but I'm confident that it can be made safe enough for you to have prolonged contact with another."
Peter absorbed the information, weighing all the pros and cons of such a feat. "I won't lose my powers?"
"Your abilities won't be affected." She patted Peter on the hand. "We'll do a few more tests before the treatments begin. Give us a couple of weeks to work out all the details. You'll need to come to the lab once every two weeks for the course. We'll monitor your progress every four to six weeks after that."
"Um, I'll have to tell May, so she doesn't worry." Christine stood and Peter did as well. Natasha had picked up a framed photo on the desk. Christine noticed, her face glowing with pride. "My oldest daughter. She's attending a prestigious ballet school in Joliet."
"She's beautiful, and talented."
"The ballet mistress, Dinah St. John, thinks so too." A curious expression came over Natasha's features and was gone so quickly, Peter wasn't certain he'd seen it. Christine didn't, that much he could tell when she faced him again. "I could have a few words with your aunt, if you like." The photo was replaced on the desk. Christine took a card from the holder next to the monitor. "That has my cell number. She or you can call me any time you have questions."
Smiling to cover seeing Natasha's stiff smile, Peter nodded his thanks. "I'll tell her. Just please don't tell her why I wanted the tests done." Peter managed to keep a note of pleading from his voice, and was heartily glad she picked up on the fears he couldn't put into words.
"Don't worry, Peter. I know my way around a fabrication or two," she assured him with a small squeeze of his shoulder.
At the lift, he noticed that Natasha had lagged behind. "I need to use the restroom. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Christine told her. "It's at the end of the hall past my office. You need to be escorted, so we'll wait."
Natasha vanished around the corner, leaving Peter and Christine bathed in an uncomfortable silence until her return.
~~O~~
When they reached the ground floor, Steve was already waiting. Christine shook hands all around, saving Natasha for last, or so it seemed.
Natasha's expression hadn't changed from before. "Your help in this matter is greatly appreciated, Dr. Bennett. I heard that the former head of research recently passed away."
"Yes, well, no great loss there, Ms. Romanoff. You know how it is with subversive organizations whose goal is world domination."
One side of Natasha's mouth turned up in an ironic smile, as did Steve's.
~~O~~
In the quinjet, Peter brooded while standing over Steve watching him fly. Though he hoped, he never offered flying lessons.
"You hungry, Peter?"
Peter laughed for the first time since Steve and Natasha picked him up that morning. "I'm fifteen. I'm always hungry."
"How about Chicago pizza in the city that gave it the name?"
"I've never been to Chicago. That would be cool!" Remembering almost too late that they had another passenger, Peter stood near Natasha waiting to be noticed. When she looked up, he inquired, "You hungry, Ms. Romanoff, 'cause we're stopping for Chicago pizza."
Her attention focused on a point in front of her nose, Natasha murmured, "That's fine."
She stayed in the back after collecting a data pad and didn't speak to either of them for the rest of the flight. Steve changed their heading and Peter came to the front to watch the sky.
Darcy's Apartment
That Same Night
Sitting on the sofa sipping tea, Darcy thought about her new-ish relationship with Steve and the fact that her father was out there somewhere, each taking turns being foremost in her mind.
The more annoying of the two was that she still hadn't heard back from the DNA lab. They promised some sort of response within ten days, but nothing had come, and no answer to her repeated inquiries.
She stood and went to the window to peek through the blinds. Everything looked the same, yet it didn't since Mom passed. It was strange how your life could be changed so profoundly in an instant by one simple event without really changing at all. There was still work, dating, groceries to buy, hobbies to engage in, Beth's dog to walk when she was having one of her bad days, trash pick-up, laundry, and more.
And still she felt as if her life were in a holding pattern, circling over her small part of the world. Then, she came to a decision.
Darcy set the cup on the counter and hurried back to the bedroom closet where she took down the locked box she'd just bought. After another short moment of thought, she unlocked it, took out the contents, and went to the front door. On the way out, she grabbed one last item, shut the curtains, and flicked out the lights, leaving on the one nearest the front door.
~~O~~
Crouched in the bushes as he'd been every few days since discovering the daughter he never knew lived nearby, he watched the lights go out one by one. Each time he came here, he told himself that tonight would be the night. He would knock on her door and introduce himself. To his chagrin, courage, never a problem in the past, deserted him at every turn.
Lights out signaled bedtime, yet he stayed without knowing why. He rubbed a hand down his face and stopped at hearing the crunch of grass behind him. Going down on his knees to ease the cramps in his thighs, he prepared for a fight or to talk his way out of an arrest for voyeurism. Any thought of playful banter took to the hills at the click-click of a round being chambered.
"Hands in the air." His hesitation didn't set well with the woman now holding him at gunpoint. "I know how to use this. Learned from Captain America himself."
He did as he was told, keeping his voice calm and low. "Hey, no problem. I was just looking for my…"
"Let me guess," she said with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Cat? Dog? Ferret? Car keys? Or maybe your daughter? Hint: she doesn't spend a lot of time lurking in the bushes. Not since she was a child." Her feet shifted in the grass, but she didn't move closer, dashing any hope he had of disarming her so they could talk like reasonable adults. "On your feet, slowly." The only hope he had of getting out of this without being shot was to do as he was told and tell the truth. "Turn around."
Once they were face to face, he glanced at the weapon in her hand, taking note that the safety was off. She did know how to use it.
"Hi, Dad," she whispered. "Long time, never see."
Incongruously, she held a stuffed bear in the crook of the other arm. The same one he'd left on her doorstep last week as a precursor to making contact. "I see you got my gift."
Instead of answering his unspoken request for idle conversation, she gestured with the gun. "That way."
Tossing a glance over her shoulder didn't have the effect he'd hoped. Her gaze never wavered. Neither did her aim. So much for old tricks. He'd have to come up with something new.
The eyes that were so much like her mother's raked him from head to toe. Satisfied with what she saw, at least he hoped, she put the safety on and lowered the weapon to her side. When she finally looked away, he sagged in relief. Playing it off, he produced a small, benign smile. "Where we goin'?"
"Someplace we can talk without being overheard."
~~O~~
Darcy moved around the apartment by rote, first putting the gun in the lockbox before filling the kettle, taking down the tray, cups, napkins, and a box of cookies, feeling his eyes on her when they weren't taking in her decorating style. She knew it wasn't up to his usual standards, but it was what it was. It suited her and that's all she cared about.
The kettle whistled, making her jump. She turned off the heat, poured hot water over the tea bags, and picked up the tray. When she turned around, he was there taking it from her and smiling with appreciation. "Mom, your grandmother, once told me you only use a tray to serve guests you want to feel welcome. Not using one is apparently an insult."
"From what I've read and heard in darkened alleys, you're insulted multiple times a day, even by your friends." He snorted, telling Darcy she'd scored a point.
"Touché." He took over the task of serving tea and passing out cookies, giving her the sense that she was a guest in his home rather than the other way around. Darcy sipped tea, watching him do the same over the rim of her cup. She set the cup on the saucer and dropped her eyes. "When I was a kid, I made up all these fantastic scenarios for why my father wasn't around. What he looked like, what he did for a living, where he lived. But not once did it cross my mind that he would turn out to be one of the richest men in the world."
They lapsed into silence while contemplating their new relationship. The tea was gone and all that was left were the cookies. Darcy went to get the still hot kettle, holding it poised over his cup. "More tea, Mr. Stark?"
TBC