Emily sat on the bed and held the towel to her chest, staring blankly out at the city.
She'd expected him to follow.
When the shower turned on again a few minutes later, she let out a huff of disbelief and pushed herself to her feet, yanking the door open and stepping out into the dark living room. Carter and Sharon had disappeared, leaving their empty glasses on the kitchen counter. Em stalked towards the kitchen, mind on the wine chiller built into the island but paused when she spied the drink cart by the balcony.
Tonight she needed something stronger than wine.
The first gulp of whiskey was a welcome burn as it slid down her throat. She let out a sigh of relief and pressed the tumbler to her chest before closing her eyes and rubbing a hand down her face.
She'd told him she'd been gone for nearly two years and he decided to take a shower.
The charitable part of her brain whispered that Steve probably hadn't showered in days. He'd made do with sponge baths in the hospital, a subtle form of torture for a man who took full advantage of the endless hot water in Stark Tower. Locked away in the bathroom, he claimed he did most of his best thinking, though she thought it was probably a hang up from a lifetime of quick showers in shared bathrooms of tenement buildings with someone banging on the door.
After a few weeks Mrs. Baxter's DC boarding house and months in the London bunker, Em understood. She now had a deep respect for private bathrooms that she forgotten after living in her freshman dorm.
But still. She'd thought he would follow.
Shaking her head, Emily opened her eyes and grabbed the whiskey bottle, pouring another generous measure into her glass. She debated leaving it for a moment before tucking it into the crook of her arm.
The shower was still going when she stepped back into the room and closed the door. Rolling her eyes, Em placed her drink and bottle on the dresser before letting the towel drop to the floor. After changing in a pair of shorts and a tank top, she spared a glance at the bathroom door and retrieved her purse and alcohol before moving towards the balcony.
Emily shivered in the breeze as she slid the door closed. She dropped her things on the small table and dug through her purse for her cigarettes. Her shoulders relaxed with the first draw of nicotine.
For a long time, she just sat with her knees drawn up to her chest and watched the glow of the cigarette tip, taking the occasional puff or sip of her whiskey as she listened to the nocturnal sounds of the city: the omnipresent wail of a siren, music from a car driving by, a stranger yelling, and the rumbling and thumpings of planes flying nearby. So similar to home.
But was that New York or London?
She didn't turn when she heard the soft sliding of the door and disappointed sigh. "I asked you to stay inside. It's not safe - "
"You said Bucky was the one who shot Carter." Steve inhaled sharply but didn't say anything. "You told me that you didn't trust the report about what happened in Arlington when you first got it because the shot was impossible, and that Clint was the only one you thought who could do it. And you said…" Em's voice shook and she took a drag from her cigarette before speaking again. "You said that he knew you when you gave...when you… right before you...fell. So either you believe that Bucky isn't that person anymore and he's not a danger to anyone not trying to hurt him, or you were willing to let him kill you."
There was silence for a long moment before Steve cleared his throat and said softly, "The helicarriers."
"You took those out."
Steve was quiet, and Emily closed her eyes as tears welled in her eyes when she heard him walk away and the bedroom door open again.
She jumped when there was a clatter and turned to see Steve placing an ashtray beside her glass before reaching for the whiskey. He didn't look at her as he filled his tumbler and settled into the chair on the opposite side of the table. When she nudged her cigarettes towards him, he shook his head. "Those'll kill you."
"Hypocrite. You smoke all the time."
A sad smile twisted his lips as he glanced at her before looking out at the city. "I did. Before the science said they'd kill you."
"The serum would protect you from a bit of lung cancer."
"Not you."
"Allow me this one vice. It's been a stressful fucking year." Steve didn't say anything, only tilted his glass to look at the amber liquid. As the silence stretched on, Em glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "What? Not going to ask what's wrong?"
"Nope," he said, shaking his head as he brought the glass to his lips. She watched his throat bob before dragging her eyes up, her gaze lingering on the angry pink scar on his left cheek and the indents that the stitches had left when they'd been removed that afternoon. When Steve turned to face her, her eyes drifted up to meet his. "You'll tell me when you're ready." He held her gaze as his free hand reached across the table to settle on her wrist.
Em sighed and shook off his touch, turning away as she took another drag of her cigarette. "What if I'm never ready to tell you?" she whispered. "What if I can't?"
"Hey," he said, his glass clattering on the table as he stood and moved to kneel in front of her. "Sweetheart, whatever it is - whatever happened - we'll get through this." When she lifted her hand again, Steve caught her wrist and plucked the cigarette from her fingers before stubbing it out.
She sighed and knocked back the rest of her whiskey, grimacing as it burned its way down her throat.
"Everything's falling apart." Steve frowned as he reached up to push a strand of wet hair behind her ear, and Em turned away from him. "I need you not right here - I need space."
"Sweetheart."
"Please?"
"One day we're gonna talk about why you won't let me near you whenever you need to talk about something big," Steve grumbled. As he circled the table and sat in his chair, she refilled her glass and pointedly ignored his raised eyebrow at her heavy handed pour. He watched her settle back in her seat and prop her head on her fist. Her claddagh ring tapped on the glass as she stared out at the city. "Emily?"
Her eyes darted over to meet his before flitting away as she took a sip. "I...I don't know where to start." Em bit the inside of her lip as it started to wobble and ran a hand down her face. "You? What happened? My family? Work?"
"Work?" Steve frowned. "What's work got to do with any of this?" Emily huffed and looked up at the ceiling.
"I might lose my job. They recognize you on the news."
"Why would that…? That's… they can't - they'll fire you because of who I am?"
"If they think I've been unethical in my research and with the press they'd had me do. I apparently have 'an undisclosed conflict of interest' by being with you and not saying anything. And who knows - maybe they'll say I wasn't honest on my CV because I didn't include SHIELD on it."
"You didn't?"
"No," Em snapped. "Dr. Pena had me talk to HR about it after everything and they said I couldn't put classified projects on it especially after all the fucking nondisclosure agreements I had to sign when I quit. And now it looks like I was hiding everything."
"We can… we'll handle that. If they try to fire you - "
"It's not just my job, Steve. My reputation's going to be ruined once it gets out about us. Everything I've worked on is going to have an asterisk next to it - implicit bias, if not conscious. Doesn't matter if I wrote it before I met you. Everything I worked for is just..." she let out a breath and took a sip of whiskey to give her a moment to regroup. He heard the glass hit her teeth and saw that she was shaking.
"Sweetheart…"
Emily shook her head and sniffled, quickly dashing away the tears on her cheeks. "Jessica's livid. She feels like I betrayed her by not telling her who you are and I can't even be upset about that because she's right. She's going to be eighteen a few months and I didn't even think about when to tell her. Jack and Brandon are asking if you're a bad buy and Tuck and Lauren don't know what to tell them. Kenzie's the only one that has no idea what's going on."
"Lucky her." She huffed a laugh and pressed her lips together. The silence that fell was heavy.
"I never," Emily started before shaking her head. When he turned to look at her, she kept staring straight ahead. "I didn't think it would be this bad… that we'd have time to plan…"
"We can still fix this," Steve said, turning in his chair to face her. "Emily - Sweetheart, they don't know for sure. They only have suspicions about who I am."
"I as good as confirmed it when Martin called."
"We can still try and get out ahead of this - I'm sure Pepper would - "
"She's not a miracle worker, Steve," she snapped, her hazy eyes boring into his. "I'm fucked because of what you did." He clenched his jaw to bite back the angry words he almost spat back.
"There was no other way."
"And that's the hardest part," Emily said before pushing to her feet. "Do you want the couch or the bed?"
OOO
When Steve opened the bedroom door the next morning, Emily pretended she was asleep. It had been nearly four o'clock when she'd finally fallen into a light sleep, still anxious about waking up back in 1945. She felt him staring at her, curled around a pillow, for a long time before the door closed again. Her ears strained to hear the murmured conversation in the kitchen before she heard the front door shut.
Her limbs felt heavy and her head fuzzy as she dozed off and on. When the bedroom door opened for a second time she barely opened an eye. "He's gone with Sam. Tony's jet will be here in a few hours to take us home." When she didn't reply, Carter huffed and walked in further. There was a clatter and Em opened a bleary eye to see him place a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table. "You'll have to talk to him eventually, Em."
It was another hour before she worked up the energy to leave bed and trudge to the bathroom. When her eyes landed on her clothes drying in the tub, she sighed. A long hot shower helped to clear her head and helped her come to a decision.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Carter said when she stepped into the living room. "Why do you have your purse?"
"I've got an errand to run before we leave."
"You're not to lea - "
"That wasn't a question. It wasn't a request. I'm going."
"Emily." Carter leapt over the back of the couch and stood in her way, trying to catch her eye. "Please, love."
"I'm going," she repeated, digging her nails into her palms to keep from crying. "I need to do this, Cart. I'm not… I need to get out of here. I need to see - to make sure… All I need is two hours, I swear." When he reached for her, she flinched away from his touch. "Don't."
"Em."
"I'M GOING!" Carter took a step back as his eyebrows shot up. Her face was flushed and her eyes flashed; he was momentarily taken aback to the outbursts he'd seen her have after Garrett's death.
After a moment, he sighed. "Let me get my shoes."
OOO
The people walked slowly, pausing every few steps to take in the displays or talk to their friends. Em heard a few murmured conversations as she bypassed groups, headed towards the back of the exhibit.
The Smithsonian had planned on a soft opening for the Avengers exhibition, but the crowd was larger than they'd expected.
Carter shadowed her, his eyes darting around to take in the visitors as much as the displays. "Looks good, Em - we'll have to come back one day." She hummed her response and strode towards one of the video booths, trying to avoid looking anywhere but at her destination. When she slipped inside, the benches were mostly empty and the few seated barely looked up as she stood in the entrance. Beside her, Carter froze.
" - the mission trumps all. Steve...never let me forget that these were real lives and real deaths that we were dealing with," Peggy Carter said before pausing. "He also treated me like a person, which I very much appreciated." Emily let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as Director Carter continued her discussion of how Steve had fought past a Hydra blockade.
She hadn't taken Peggy from him.
"They'd separated," Carter said when the film ended. Em turned to look at him and saw how pale he was. Quickly, she pulled him out of the way of the exiting people and shoved him onto a bench.
"What?"
"They'd separated - Grandfather went with Dernier to Stalingrad ahead of the rest of the Commandos. They needed Dernier's French Resistance network, and Grandfather spoke a bit of Russian. That's why she said Steve saved his life."
"I know." The film started again as the narrator began his monologue about Steve's life before the war, pictures of 1940s Brooklyn flashing across the screen.
"I never knew why she'd get sad in February. My mother told me once...when she was in one of her mean moods... that it was because the only man she'd ever really loved died. Grandfather threw her out of the house when he heard that, and Granny… she told me that she'd loved a handful of men in her life and she was sad in February because the holidays were over and she couldn't pretend she wasn't getting older anymore. I was almost ten, and I believed her." Carter's hand reached across the bench and clasped hers tightly when Peggy appeared on the screen again, and Emily gulped. He didn't talk about his mother very much, but he'd told her that he was ten when she died. "She started hiding it better after that. Wasn't until I started with SHIELD that I found out the significance of February."
When Steve had disappeared.
"I'm sorry… I didn't think… I should have given you a heads up about what I wanted to see."
"No," he said, shaking his head as he continued to stare at the screen, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. "No, it's good to see her again… hear her voice… remember what she was like before."
They sat through three showings before Carter cleared his throat and stood, pulling Emily up as well. Without saying anything, he led her from the room and tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow.
"Dr. Harthorn!" Em jerked as Carter's hold on her arm tightened. Quickly, she turned and sought out the person calling her. As her eyes darted across the center of the room, she did a double take as her heart jumped into her throat.
"What?" Carter demanded, feeling her tense as she tried to pull away from him and walk towards the etched glass displays.
"I thought…" she started, turning on her heel to look around the rest of the room. His gaze followed hers before his arm wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her behind him.
"Stop right there," he ordered, reaching for the inside pocket of his jacket where his holster usually rested. Emily peeked over his shoulder and let out a sigh, momentarily resting her head on Carter's back before tapping his shoulder.
"Dr. Harthorn?"
"It's fine, Cart - this is Dr. Marcus, the curator."
The man in question frowned, his eyes making a circuit from Em to Carter's ace, to his hand under his coat, and back to her. "Are you armed, sir?" he hissed. "We have a strict no weapons policy at the Smithsonian!"
Carter smirked, lowering his hand slowly as Emily stepped around him. "How have you been?"
"Busy," Marcus replied, his eyes still on Carter. "Between the break in and the extra foot traffic, I've been up to my eyeballs in paperwork. Please tell me you're here to pitch in - we need to discuss what we're going to do with the Captain America display now that he's gone off with the uniform." He ran a hand down his face and scrubbed his mouth before shaking his head. "Do we close it all together? He's a wanted fugitive - "
"Not anymore," Em snapped. "It was a smear campaign against him."
"Regardless," he waved away her concern before looking around the room. "He's bringing in guests… we weren't expecting this many until after the gala." She pinched the bridge of her nose, remembering that that was supposed to happen in two weeks. "Let's head down to the office and - "
"Emily," Carter said, gripping her elbow. "We need to go."
"It's fine, Cart. It'll just be a few - "
"We're going." Em felt a chill race down her spine at his toe, all playfulness gone as his eyes tracked some threat. She tried to follow his gaze, eyes flitting across the people milling around, but wasn't able to see what he did, even as she became distinctly aware of someone watching her.
"Let's set up a call," she said as Carter's hand drifted to her waist, guiding her away from the stunned curator. "I'm sorry!" He hustled her outside and quickly pushed her towards one of the idling SUVs. An agent jumped out and opened the door for her, and Em slid into the back seat, turning just in time to see Carter slam the door shut and exchange a few words with the agent. He turned and winked at her, an attempt at nonchalance that didn't quite reach his eyes, and jogged back into the museum.
The door wouldn't open and she was thrown back into the seat as the car sped away.
OOO
"You're making the right call, but it doesn't mean it's an easy one," Sam shrugged, burying his hands in his pockets.
Steve's hand tightened on the file Nat had given him, trying to push away the urge to vomit. He'd only flipped through it briefly but that was enough. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face and shook his head. "Every minute I'm not looking for him, the further away Bucky gets. But if I go after him right now, I'll lose her."
"Then don't be the only one looking for him - I'm not much, but you've got me. And that fancy team I've seen you running around with on TV."
He huffed a laugh that turned into a groan. "God dammit."
"Or not?"
"Clint. He was here when everything happened and I haven't heard from him since."
"He wouldn't happen to go by Barton, would he? Cause Nat mentioned him while you were still out… something about going to their favorite Thai place."
A smile tugged at the corner of Steve's mouth, happy to have at least some idea of where his friends would be traveling to. "Good."