"Thanks," Emily said, giving the driver a tired smile as he slammed the trunk closed. He nodded and hurried back around the car, wanting to get out of the snow. Grasping the handle of her bag, she stepped over the pile of street slush and trudged up the walkway to the house, slipping on a patch of hidden ice. She quickly regained her balance, but her sharp inhale set off a round of coughing as her lungs protested the frigid air. When the fit ended, she was left gasping, unable to breathe through her congestion and longing for a hot shower and her own bed.

The last two weeks had been spent mainly on the road, first in DC where she'd been consulting with the Smithsonian again about updating their information on Hydra, and then three days back home to teach her classes before hopping on a plane to Chicago for a conference. While she'd tried to focus on the panels and her own presentation, Em couldn't help but be aware of the stares and whispers that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. To make matters worse, she'd caught a cold and had a hard time making it through her own presentation with a congested nose and sore throat. The weekend's saving grace was that Brock, her grad school officemate, had also been there. Over dinner, he'd been happy to share stories about his husband Mike and ultrasound pictures of the twins they were expecting that she'd already seen on social media. She could only hope that the next time they saw one another, she would have pictures to share too. It had only been five months since their Paris trip, much too soon to be worried about any issues, she told herself.

Biting the fingertip of her glove, Emily tugged it off and pressed her thumb to the biometric reader. The alarm chirped when she opened the door, and she dropped her bags before moving towards the panel to key in the code. Swaying with fatigue, she leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes, trying to rally the strength to climb the two flights of stairs that stood between her and their room. After a night spent in an uncomfortable airport chair with her flight continuously delayed that had ended with her landing and heading straight to campus to teach, it sounded like heaven.

"You're home." She lifted her head to see Steve walking towards her from the kitchen, the smile on his mouth flickering as his eyebrows creased in concern. "You okay?"

"I didn't think you were going to be here," Em admitted, pushing off of the wall and walking towards him. He opened his arms and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Got in last night. I was going to surprise you, but then you said you were delayed. Thought about taking a quinjet to come and get you."

"Definitely wouldn't have been upset if you did."

"How're you feeling?"

"Like crap. And in desperate need of a shower."

Steve hummed sympathetically, letting her go and reaching between them to unbutton her jacket. "Why don't you head upstairs, and I'll bring up your bags and some medicine in a minute. Nat and I were just talking about ordering a late lunch - you have any preferences?" When she shook her head, he leaned down to kiss her before turning her around and taking off her coat.

"Love you," she mumbled, taking off her other glove and unwinding her scarf.

"Love you too, Sweetheart."

Em made it up to their bedroom with a brief pause on the second floor to catch her breath. She felt a flash of annoyance when she saw Steve's go bag in the middle of the sitting area next to his boots and shield. Huffing, she leaned down to pick them up and was wracked with another coughing fit. Abandoning the job, she made her way to the bathroom, pausing to kick her shoes into her closet and toss her clothes into the hamper.

The bathroom mirrors were clouded with steam, and her skin was bright red by the time she got out of the shower. Wrapped in a towel, Emily went into the bedroom, where a bottle of medicine sat next to a steaming mug of tea on her nightstand. Her suitcase was standing by her closet, and she could see the shield propped up in Steve's. "Mon rêve," she smirked, shooting back the medication and grimacing at the taste before washing it away. With a sigh, she laid back and stretched, her eyes closing and a moan escaping when her back twinged slightly.

Steve's pillow was in front of her face, the minty smell of his shampoo stronger than the last time she'd slept in their bed. He'd been getting better about splitting his time upstate, but that didn't stop her from missing him the days he was gone. Em turned onto her side, pulling his pillow closer and drawing up her knees. A quick fifteen-minute power nap was all she needed before getting dressed and heading downstairs.

A shuffling sound met her ears, and Emily slowly opened her eyes. The towel had been replaced with a blanket, and the room was dark. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the skylight and saw it was covered with snow. "Have a good nap?" Steve asked, drawing her attention to him as he stepped out of the bathroom with her toiletry bag in hand.

"What time is it?"

"After eight." He chuckled when she groaned and set her bag down in her closet, then walked towards the bed. After lifting the corner of the blanket, he stretched out beside her, crowding her against the pillows. His calloused palm slid down her side, grazing the outside curve of her breast before drawing her knee over his hip. "I moved your glasses from the shower to the sink. Forget to take them off before you got in?"

"Shut up," she mumbled, nuzzling into his chest. She could feel the heat of him through his clothes, the texture rough against her own bare skin. "Nat leave already?"

"A couple hours ago." His fingers ghosted up her leg and cupped her ass, slotting himself between her thighs before continuing his ascent up her spine to tangle in her hair. Gently, he drew her head back. It took a moment for her eyes to focus enough to meet his. "I missed you, Sweetheart."

"Missed you too, but I don't want to get you sick." The corner of his mouth lifted into her favorite crooked smile before his lips brushed hers.

"You're not going to get me sick," Steve whispered against her mouth before his tongue traced the seam of her lips. When she opened for him, he kept his touches light and fleeting, releasing her hair to sweep down her back. The leg draped over him tightened, pulling him closer as she rocked her hips against his. Smirking, he broke away and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You sure? Say the word, and I'll go downstairs and make you some dinner."

"Dinner later," Emily whined, tugging at his shirt. Pushing up onto an elbow, he pulled it off and flung it away before rolling her onto her back.

"Maybe I'll have my dessert now," he teased, licking her collarbone before nipping her breast.

"I don't want your mouth tonight." Em bit her lip when he laved her nipple before sucking it onto his mouth. "Putain!"

"Sure you don't want my mouth?" Humming, she pulled him back down to her breast and felt his smirk. She lifted her hips to meet his and was rewarded with a moan. His grip on her hip tightened. "How was the conference?"

"Good. Had a lot of people in my session. Good discuss - " Steve dipped a finger into her and pressed the heel of his hand to her clit. Her hips lifted when he started to gently thrust in and out.

"Discussion? That's good." When Emily tried to reach between them, he captured her hand. "Lemme take care of you, Sweetheart." He swallowed her gasp when he added a second finger and curled them, smiling when she pulled away to throw her head back.

"I want you," she said, trying to unbutton his jeans. When he sucked on her breast again, Em hooked her leg on his hip and rode his hand. She turned towards the pillow and tried to muffle her moan, but Steve knocked it away.

"Come on, baby. I wanna hear you."

"Fuck, fuck, fu -," she chanted, her back arching as she clutched his arm beside her head and the sheets. A wave of pleasure crashed over her, her orgasm stealing her breath. Emily melted into the mattress, her ears ringing slightly, and finally opened her eyes when she felt Steve shifting. Smirking, he met her gaze while sucking the taste of her off his fingers.

"Still want me?" At her nod, he slid off the bed and shucked off his jeans and boxers before returning to his spot between her legs. With a hand braced by her head, they traded lazy kisses as he slid between her folds. His arm slipped around her, spanning her upper back and pulling her to sit in his lap, her legs bracketing his hips. Steve lifted her and positioned himself at her entrance.

Em pressed their foreheads together as she slowly took him in. Once he was fully seated inside her, he gave her a moment to adjust before rocking his hips. She let out a soft hum, the position giving her just enough pressure on her clit. They set a slow pace, savoring the opportunity to take their time. Her hands laced around the back of his neck, his breath hot against her collarbone when her head tipped back. As her thighs started to shake, Steve used his hand on her ass to encourage her to move faster while pulling her in for a kiss. He groaned against her mouth when she came, following after her just seconds later.

Unwilling to move, they stayed locked in each other's embrace for a long time. Steve was still hard and thrust shallowly, which made her laugh. "You're going to be the death of me, Captain."

"Pretty sure it's the other way around, Professor. I'm not the young man I was when we first met, and I'm not sure how much my poor - " His teasing was cut off with a moan when she squeezed around him.

"You were saying, old man?" Emily was on her back in a flash, startling a laugh out of her as he threw her leg over his shoulder.

Later, he heated up a bowl of tomato soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich for her. She sat on the counter beside him, her head on his shoulder while watching the snow drift past the window and listening to him talk about his day. Once her dinner was ready, he made sure she took another dose of medicine before leading her into the living room and gently pushing her down onto the couch while he flipped on the electric fireplace. As soon as she was done eating, he returned the dishes to the kitchen before stretching out and drawing her down beside him. The combined heat of her husband, the blanket he pulled over them, and the fireplace coupled with the steady beating of his heart under her ear lulled Emily into a dreamless sleep.

OOO

When the alarm went off the following day, Em groaned and pulled the sheet over her head. At some point during the night, Steve had moved them to their room. Once again conscious, she became aware of her stuffy nose and rolled onto her other side, enjoying the momentary reprieve of being able to breathe before the congestion hit again. The chiming stopped, and he moved to curl up behind her. His arm draped across her waist, and he cupped her breast, letting out a sleepy sigh. A couple seconds later, she heard him start to snore softly.

The second alarm sounded at five-thirty, and Steve reluctantly rolled away from her. Careful not to let a draft under the covers, he stood and made his way to the bathroom. She must have fallen asleep again because when her alarm went off, the bedroom was empty. It was so tempting to hit snooze, but she knew that she needed to get moving. Groaning, Emily forced herself to trudge to the bathroom and go through her morning routine before donning her robe, glasses, and fuzzy socks to head downstairs. Sitting next to the coffee pot was her favorite mug, the bottle of cough syrup, and a note saying that Steve would bring back breakfast.

Stifling a yawn, Em moved towards the back wall, looking through the reinforced glass window to the snow-covered backyard. The pergola Clint had built for them was dusted with snow, but Steve had gotten their chairs into the garage, so only their fire pit sat under it. She took a quick picture with her coffee mug lifted to be in the frame and sent it to her family group chat with 'Winter comes to NYC.' Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she walked down the steps to the basement. The space was undeniably her husband's. It wasn't dirty but was undoubtedly messy. Weights were scattered in one corner, a bench press next to it. The treadmill he never used - no matter the season, he preferred running outside - faced the stairs, his boxing hand wraps draped over the sides. The punching bag was towards the back of the room.

When they'd first moved in, they'd set up both of their offices on the second floor. It'd been nice, being able to see one another from their diagonal workspaces and easily pass files back and forth with the ability to close the door. However, after a few weeks, it was too much. Every time they went up to their room, there was a pull to go in and work. Steve needed to find Bucky, and she needed to know what had happened to him. She found herself pushing off her own research to look through the documents that Steve left for her and woke to an empty bed only to find him downstairs or a note saying he needed a run to clear his head. So, they decided to split their workspace. The upstairs offices were set aside for his Avengers and charity-related work and her research and consulting. After rehiring their contractor to build a wall in the basement and Tony installing a biometric scanner to ensure no one got in, they relocated Bucky's files to the basement. The physical distance worked. There was the intentionality of going down the steps and scanning in.

They'd divided the space as evenly as possible, but Steve's clutter was slowly creeping into her organized space. While she favored folders and binders, he was satisfied with stacks which inevitably led to him misplacing whatever research he needed. One wall was dominated by maps with scattered, multicolored pins that they both added to. Surveillance photos were hung on the wall behind her desk, along with a small bookshelf holding her growing library of geopolitical history books. Sipping her coffee, Em moved towards her desk that had a new folder on it. FRIDAY was programmed to flag anything that she might need from the SHIELD files. A perusal of the report had her quickly retrieving her air-gapped laptop and the external hard drive from the safe room. Steve found her there an hour later, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the desk and hunched over the papers spread around her, a pen between her teeth as she scrolled through her notes. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for work?"

"Did you read this?"

"No, Nat brought it over yesterday for you. But shouldn't you be getting ready for work?"

"Look at this," she said, tucking the pen behind her ear and holding up a sheet of paper. "Steve, this - " Without looking at it, he crouched and grabbed her arm, slipping his other one between her legs and heaving her up onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. "Hey!"

"We're leaving in forty minutes. You've got class, and I've got a meeting - we don't have time to go down that rabbit hole. We'll pick up tonight, I promise you." After grabbing her coffee, he stood and carried her up to the kitchen, pausing to grab the paper bag from the counter before heading up to their room.

OOO

"Let me know if you're going to be late tonight," Emily said, readjusting her bag as the train slowed. Steve nodded and leaned down to press his lips to hers briefly.

"You should see if you can leave early, then go home and sleep. You still look tired, Sweetheart."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she smirked. With another quick kiss, she darted out the doors. He settled in for another twenty-minute ride, wishing that it hadn't been too cold to take his motorcycle into the city. Em's car had finally broken down, and they were still debating replacing it. His nearly hour-long commute to midtown Manhattan was pushing him towards yes. Steve was just getting to his station when his phone started ringing.

"Did you get a chance to review the footage?" Carter asked.

"Yesterday. Looks promising. Any more updates?"

"Locals are uploading their reports slowly, but so far, it looks like the site was cleared out before the explosion. Was Rhodes able to pull anything?"

"DOD cleared it," he replied, glancing around to make sure that no one was listening as he jogged up the subway steps. "Said they didn't find anything in the wreckage."

"I just need to know if you need me to go, Steve."

"Standby, Carter." An hour later found him with his head in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose while thumbing through the initial report of the Polish shipyard explosion. The news had lost interest within a single cycle, and nothing had come out in the week since. Reports were trickling out, showing a disgustingly familiar chair in the wreckage. Locals had written it off, but he knew exactly what it was. It was the fifth they'd found.

Carter could be there in a few hours, and he could get Sam and Nat within an hour on the quinjet. The likelihood that Bucky was still in the area was slim, but this was the first time he'd popped up on the radar in months. The connection to Hydra was enough to get them in the door of the investigation.

He was still running through its logistics when his phone started to ring with an unknown local number. Steve quickly sent it to voicemail, but it started ringing again a few minutes later. He ignored it.

Forty minutes later, his mother-in-law's name flashed on his phone screen. He answered it while flicking through the report in front of him. "Hello?"

"Hi Steve, honey. Is Em with you by any chance?"

"No, she's at work," he replied, squinting at the list of explosives they'd found. Carol was quiet for a moment before clearing her throat.

"You sure about that? I know she wasn't feeling well. Any chance she's still at home?" He let the papers fall and leaned on his desk.

"No, we took the train in together. Why?"

"The university just called me. She missed her class and no one's heard from her. You're sure she didn't go home?" Panic was starting to creep into her voice, and he forced himself to take a deep breath even as his heart began to race.

"Let me try and get in touch with her."

"Call me back. Or have her call me." After agreeing, he quickly disconnected and called Emily. It went to voicemail. He tried again.

"Friday, pull up Emily's location." Voicemail.

"Looks like Dr. Harthorn-Rogers phone is offline. The last transmitted location was at 10 Union Square E. - Mount Sinai Ambulatory Care Center. Her watch is still pinging there."

"What?" The bottom of his stomach dropped out. A cold wouldn't make her stop there. She would have come to the tower infirmary if it was anything more.

"No records of her being admitted. Shall I pull up the CCTV footage from when her movement stopped?"

"Y-yeah." His computer screen changed from the Polish map he'd been looking at to black and white security footage.

There.

Steve stood, leaning close to the computer. She was walking with a man whose face was hidden with a baseball cap, his arm wrapped around her neck and hand tucked into the top of her coat. Her arm was around his waist, her hand in his pocket with his. To anyone else, they'd look like a couple, but when the camera angle changed, he saw her tense smile. The man leaned to say something to her before guiding her to an idling car. His arm was around her neck while opening the door and pushing her into the back seat. When she slid in, Steve saw her wince and tilt her head away from the man who pulled his hand away just enough to show a glint of the knife pressed to her throat. Before the door closed, he leaned out of the car and placed Em's bag in front of the back tire. As they pulled away from the curb, it ran it over.

There was a ringing in his ears as he collapsed into his chair.

The images moved in reverse as FRIDAY retraced her steps. He watched the man fall into step with her as she climbed the station steps and slung his arm around her, pulling her to his side. Emily opened her mouth to say something but then froze, eyes wide before she forced a smile when he leaned down to whisper in her ear. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes as she reached to adjust her bag on her shoulder until the person caught her hand and pulled it away, holding it to her side. She'd been going for the panic button built into her watch.

OOO

Emily sat with her knees pulled to her chest and back to the corner, trying her best to breathe slowly and stop shaking. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the door across from her, willing it to open but also dreading it. She did her best to rebutton her shirt with shaking hands, fingers sliding over the missing ones. They'd searched her while she was out, taking her coat, socks, shoes, glasses, and even her bra.

The room she was in was tiny. From her spot on the floor, she could reach out and brush her fingertips to the other wall, and her knees bent when she put her foot against the opposite wall. They were clearly moving, jolting, and swaying with a slight vibration on the floor. Her immediate concern was the cold. It wasn't quite cold enough to see her breath, but the metal under her was chilly, and she was shivering. Her nose was running, and her throat was sore.

A high-pitched whining sound started. Em flinched, tilting her head and gritting her teeth. If this was the worst they threw at her, she could handle it. She just needed to hold on until Steve found her. That had to be their goal - getting to him. It was so cliche she could have laughed, kidnapping the hero's loved one to gain their compliance. And she'd gone along without a fight. Granted, the knife to her throat and whatever they'd drugged her with hadn't left many options.

As the whining continued, she felt a headache building in her temple and pressed her palms to her ears hard, trying to block out the sound. When that didn't work, she hummed off-key. Her eyes closed, and Emily was finding it harder to stay awake. As she fell into a light doze, the room was flooded with light, and loud music blared, heavy with drums. Her head jerked up, and she looked at the door, expecting someone to use the noise as a way of covering their entrance. No one came.

She could feel the drums pounding in her head, ramping up her headache. "Let me out!" she screamed, slamming her foot into the door. A shot of pain went up her shin, but she kept going. The metal didn't budge.

Sometime later, the lights dimmed again, and the high-pitched sound came back. It continued until she nearly slept, then switched to drums. When the whining came back the seventh time, Emily pushed onto her hands and knees to vomit in front of the door. Breathing hard, she swiped a hand over her mouth and pressed her back against the wall. Her head was throbbing. Slowly, she lowered herself to the floor and pressed her temple to it, nearly groaning in relief at the cold. Curled into a ball with her arm over her head, she bit her lip hard to keep from sobbing.

It was as she lay there that Em felt an air current against her finger. Lifting her head, she looked at it and found a small hole. Shuffling closer, she was hit with a sweet smell that made her blink. She slowly stood, dizziness making the room spin, and ran her hand down the other walls, noting a few additional small air currents. Her brain was foggy as she closed her eyes and slid back down the wall. The little bit of movement she'd done only made her migraine worse. It was getting harder and harder to think. To stay awake. Even when the lights blazed on and the drums kicked against her temple, Emily felt herself drifting. Her focus narrowed to the air current by her hand, her only advanced warning that there was going to be a shift.

Breathing was getting harder. There was a different pitch to the humming underlying the drums. Despite the cold, she felt a sudden flush of heat, and sweat beaded her forehead. Saliva flooded her dry mouth, and she barely had time to turn her head before vomiting again. The world spun before her eyes before everything went dark.

OOO

"He claims the plates were stolen sometime overnight," Clint said, and Steve hung his head. Barely containing the urge to hit something, he spun on his heel and gripped his hair. Tony shot him a look before returning his gaze to the hologram he was working on.

"Boss, we've got a match," FRIDAY said. The AI was running facial recognition and sifting through the records to see anyone of interest.

"Who?" Steve demanded. The man who had taken Emily was clearly trying to avoid cameras but mistakenly looked up at one directly. His mugshot appeared on the hologram opposite. There was a popping sound, and a spider crack appeared on the table Steve was leaning on.

OOO

Emily jolted awake, twisting away from the chemical smell under her nose. Coughing violently, she tried to bring her hand up to her mouth but found that it wouldn't move. "Welcome back, Em."

Her breath caught in her throat at the familiar voice, and she turned her watery eyes towards the man sitting on the table in front of her, shoving a small packet of smelling salts back into his pocket. His brown hair was longer, and he'd gained a bit of weight, but the most significant change in Ryan Dietrich's appearance was his eyes. Gone was the friend who she'd spent holidays and happy hours with, the man who had kissed her in her office, and the nervous Hydra agent who tried to kidnap her. A cruel smile spread across his mouth as he leaned down to meet her gaze. "I thought you were in jail," she said, leaning away.

"First offense and good behavior get you out quick. That, and friends in high places. Looks like the last few years have been good to you too." She tried to pull away again when he cupped her cheek.

"Get your hands off of me," she demanded. Her next words were cut off with another coughing fit, and Ryan smirked while walking away. A few minutes later, he returned with a laptop that he placed in front of her.

"While I've been enjoying my time behind bars, you and your husband" - he spat the word - "have been busy trying to find our asset. We want him back. And now I need to know what you know."

"Even if I did know what Steve was working on, why the hell would I tell you?" Her head jerked the side, and heat blossomed on her cheek when he backhanded her.

"Because I'm the good cop," Ryan smirked before reaching for her again. "Whoops, looks like I got you a bit too hard. Forgot about the ring." Emily flinched, trying to pull away as he swiped his thumb over her cheekbone and stared at the bit of blood he'd gathered. "You know, I never thought it was going to come to this. Maybe I was naive, but for a minute there, I really thought we could be something. Before he came back. You'd've my way of getting a leg up in the organization, and I would have made you happy."

"Thank god I was never interested in a Nazi." Her head was wrenched back, and his angry face filled her vision.

"I'm not a Nazi."

"Hydra are Nazis. You're Hydra. You're a Nazi." With his hand still tangled in her hair, he forced her to look at the computer and woke it up. A video clip was pulled up.

"You should be a bit more accommodating considering what happened to your grandfather. You wouldn't want the same thing to happen to the rest of your family, would you?" He hit the spacebar, and it started to play. Images of Jessica walking on campus, the boys at soccer practice, Lauren heading into her store. Tucker headed into his firm. Mom walking out of the school. Dad at the store.

Horror choked her, and Emily felt tears dripping down her cheeks. She would take whatever they did to her, but they couldn't hurt her family. But Steve would have dispatched police to watch over them when he figured out what was going on. They had to be safe. There was no other alternative. "E-even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't. I didn't… I wasn't… I don't track Bucky. Steve does."

"You must have seen something, or he told you about it." She didn't respond. His fingers tightened, and he reached over to lightly brush her nose. "You know, nasal fractures can be pretty painful. Cause long-term effects. Used to see them pretty regularly when I was down at the morgue. Usually, there's a hairline fracture, just there" - he kept his finger at the bridge and pressed down before shifting to rest his palm to the tip of her nose. "Of course, there were also those with more damage to the skull, usually when they had blunt force trauma to here. Or here," he balled up his fist and pressed his knuckles to her sinuses. "I wonder how you'll look after."

Stars exploded in her vision as Ryan slammed her face into the table. There was a crunching sound, and blood started to gush from her face. Em screamed, struggling against the zip ties binding her hands to the chair, and again when she was yanked back by her hair, the chair tipped backward. Her head hit the floor, and the air was forced from her lungs. The world spun, and her vision went blurry as she stared up at the lights, gasping to try and pull in a breath. And then something covered the lights, and she tried to focus on Ryan's grinning face. "Remember, I'm the good cop."

Through the haze of pain, she barely felt the needle jammed into her thigh.

Author's Note: At some point, we knew that this type of storyline was going to happen. The trope is there for a reason, and I liked the idea of seeing how Em and Steve would handle it. I also have always wanted to bring Ryan back because the long setup of his character was too good to get rid of in a quick scene - friendly forensic anthropologist turned Hydra plant... I'm pretty proud of that. This chapter has been fighting me because writing about your character being tortured isn't fun. If you're interested, the part about high-pitched frequency being used as torture was somewhat pulled from Havana Syndrome, which was in the news a couple of years ago for attacks on US diplomats abroad. Also, as you may have noticed, the story is including more sex scenes. Which I am trying to get more comfortable writing, but also is story appropriate for a couple trying to get pregnant.

Anyways, the French: "mon reve" means 'my dream' or a general term of endearment and "putain" means 'fuck'. As always, thank you for reading and let me know what you think!