Just another type of muscle memory moved Steve through the steps of making coffee. It had taken a few attempts, but he'd finally figured out how to get the machine to work consistently. It thunked and grumbled and hissed, but eventually got into motion.
Out of habit, he picked up the glasses left in the sink to give them a rinse. The smell of slightly stale beer drifted up from the basin and Steve's thoughts took a sharp left turn.
There is a tavern in the town, in the town.
And there my true love sits him down, sits him down
And drinks his wine as merry as can be
And never, never thinks of me
The coffee machine chirped to announce that his morning brew was ready, but Steve didn't hear it. He was surrounded by the sound of raucous laughter, drunken singing, and the pounding of leather boots on worn wood floors.
Oh dig my grave both wide and deep, wide and deep
Put tombstones at my head and feet, head and feet
A hand on his shoulder startled him, but he managed to hide it well. "Stare at it a little longer, maybe it'll turn into wine."
He grinned at the little Russian. "I thought you were at the Barton Farm this weekend?"
Natasha quirked a perfect eyebrow, snagging a clean mug from the counter to help herself to the fresh coffee. "Its Monday, Steve. Weekend's over."
"Is it?" Steve shook his head and sighed. "How is Clint?"
"He's extending the house again." She shook her head as Steve offered her sugar for her coffee.
"And the-?" Steve's question was cut short by the shrill chime of his phone - a distinct signal that belonged to one General Ross, probably wondering why the tracker on Steve's jet still indicated he was at the Compound.
Natasha didn't comment as Steve checked his phone, confirming his suspicions before tucking it away again. She watched shrewdly, her opinion on the matter clear from the firm line of her lips.
"Don't," Steve warned tiredly.
"You're not the only one late for work." Natasha didn't seem in much of a rush, sipping at her black coffee.
"You seem very concerned," Steve said sarcastically.
Natasha shrugged, pouring the coffee into a travel mug. "What's he going to do; arrest me? I could break out of that place with a broken paper clip."
"General Ross is requesting you answer his calls, Captain Rogers," Friday chimed in.
"Tell him I'm on my way," Steve answered, pouring coffee into a travel cup of his own.
"You should have called Sharon after the memorial," Natasha commented, lifting herself with one hand to sit on the counter.
Steve hung his head slightly, the repetition of Natasha's insistence of finding him a partner getting very old. "I'm not ready for that, Natasha."
She seemed unperturbed. "Friends don't let friends mope all weekend."
Steve made sure the coffee pot was off, although he was certain there was no earthly way the compound could burn down because of a coffee pot left on too long. "I'm working, not moping," he reminded her, grabbing his gear bag from the table.
"In your case, they're one and the same." Natasha hopped down from the counter, shouldering her bag as well. "If you don't find someone soon you'll be going stag to the wedding, and that's just embarrassing."
Do not let the parting grieve thee,
And remember that the best of friends must part, must part.
"It's not about me," Steve rebutted. " I'm happy to just go and see him be happy. He deserves it after everything he's been through." But that wasn't entirely true.
Achingly, Steve was envious of his old friend finding the peace he'd been denied for so long. He'd seen the horrors of their separation on both ends of his long sleep in the ice and it had been painful just to watch. But, he thought ruefully, at least they'd come to this happy point in the end. He'd come through to the finish line only to carry a casket with a lost love.
Steve felt almost cheated by time, but where his friend had paid for his happiness with seventy years of suffering and torture and blood, Steve couldn't help but wonder what price he would have to pay in the end to find his version of peace.
"If you like," Natasha offered, either oblivious to his internal conflict or well-aware and attempting to divert his attention, "I could put you back on ice for another seventy years. Might be easier to find you a date then."
Shying carefully around the sterile halls, fiddling nervously with the suppressor band around her wrist, she was looking for something that would help stabilize her emotional free-fall. She kept her head down as other inmates passed, looking instead to find guards.
The lights flickered overhead and she eyed them suspiciously. She trailed a hand along the damp wall but decided she'd rather keep her hands clasped tightly in front of her than deal with whatever mystery substances might soon start growing on the walls.
"Keep back!" A guard barked as she turned the wrong corner, finding herself at the intake gate. The wide frame was open as new inmates filed in, wearing the heavier suppressor collar she recognized too well - stronger, painful, the precursor to the little wristband that kept all the Raft's inmates powerless. The collars seemed to be popular for transport, though - she had seen enough new faces file past, eyes cast in red from the bright sensors so close to their faces.
She held up her hands, hoping she wouldn't get zapped for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, she figured, it might be her only chance to ask her question before lights-out. "Excuse me," she murmured, "Am I… going to get to call my family sometime soon?"
The guard made an incredulous face, nearly laughing. "Who exactly do you think you are?"
"She's an American citizen and you'll treat her with respect," a firm, commanding voice interrupted.
The guard turned with a slowness that looked like dread as all the color drained from his face. A size and breadth unmistakeable, further accented by a white star on his chest and, if nothing else, the red, white, and blue shield on his arm. A symbol of righteousness, of justice, of authority, and he was staring with blue-eyed fury at the guard.
"Sorry, Sir," the guard croaked.
"You're Captain America," she whispered reverently. The Captain turned his attention to her, and much of that righteous fury softened into concern as he stepped through the open gate without bothering to ask for permission. No one moved to stop him or the black-clad redhead who followed closely behind.
"What's your name?" he asked, moving to stand between her and the guard too dumb-founded to protest like some great tactical-clad guardian angel.
"Ginny," she said quickly, "Ginny Ellis."
"They treating you okay in here?" he asked seriously and it looked like he actually cared about the answer.
But he wouldn't want to hear that the suppressors itched like crazy, and with her fire powers suppressed she was always catching a cold in the dark, damp cells. He wouldn't want to hear that the food was terrible, and there was nothing to do at all during the day but pace from one end of the cell to the other, and the constant sounds of construction made it impossible to sleep.
"Yes," she responded, too quickly. "But do you think I could call my family?" It was all she cared about. She hadn't been able to get in touch with them since she had accidentally set the apartment on fire. Had her husband had any trouble getting the kids ready for school? Did he remember that Lenore wouldn't eat sandwiches if he left the crusts on? Did Bobby get his homework done every evening?
The Captain's smile was apologetic. "Not right now, but I'll see what I can do."
"Steve," the redhead warned under her breath, her eyes following some motion outside the gate. "Wrap it up; Ross is coming." Clearly, whatever rules he had broken by bypassing the gate might come back to bite him if he didn't move on soon.
"How about I bring some books the next time I come out?" the Captain offered. "Something different."
Ginny gave a little sigh of relief; something from the outside world would be a welcome escape. "That would be amazing, thank you, Captain."
"I'll check in," he promised, and his tone turned the promise into a warning as he shot a look at the guard. "Soon."
The gate closed after him, and Ginny stepped back as the guard sent her a - somewhat less aggressive - warning look. She could see the briefest patch of sky as the huge bay doors high above opened to give the helicopter access to leave. She took a deep breath, savoring the cold tingling in her lungs at the fresh sea air; so different from the smell when filtered through all the steel layers of the Raft to drip-drip-drip between panels in the dead of night.
"Back to your cell, 0-3-0-2; it's almost lights-out," the guard reminded.
"I'm going," Ginny promised. She stole her last breath of unfiltered air before the bay doors closed and the air stilled again, reminding her with a thundering finality of her place in the world as the Raft sank beneath the waves once more.
A/N: for the first time ever in my MCU AU, I didn't make you wait forever to sync up with the canon characters! Steve's new job sucks. Yes, he works for General Ross and the Raft, because that's where the accords decided to place him. Yikes.
Another short one here, but I promise they'll get longer. I wanted to establish Mab and Steve separately here so we didn't get too mixed up with all four of the POV's (Mab, Paul, Steve, Ginny), especially since they're all four very important.
Going through some rough stuff right now, so please send positive thoughts my way.
I love my reviewers! x-EarthAlchemist-x, Flours, and huffle-bibin!
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