Wind whipped through narrow city streets with a bitter vengeance. The windows and doors of the little townhouse whistled and moaned in chorus. Light music drifted through a lonely brownstone in Greenwich Village and a cat observed from the landing as the sole occupant drifted from room to room, humming to herself as she packed a bag.
If Mab had been expecting her introduction to the superhero lifestyle to be relatively smooth, she had been sorely mistaken. By all indications, it was relatively uncomplicated. Steve had told her to pack for a nice outdoor gathering, somewhere warm but with chilly nights. He hadn't been able to tell her much else, just a flight time for early Saturday morning.
But it was also, somehow, easier now. The tone of Steve's messages had changed, and while he'd been sadly too busy to call for a few days, she could tell from their limited contact that he was more relaxed, if nothing else.
Mab, on the other hand, was holding her sanity together with both hands. She worried that she might have jumped the gun a bit on telling Steve that she knew all about him. She worried that this was some overcompensation on his part - that he'd only invited her because he felt he owed her something, and not because he genuinely enjoyed her company.
She sighed in self-reproach, knowing at even the surface level that Steve wasn't like that at all. She carefully folded the yellow sundress, smoothing out crisp pleats so they wouldn't wrinkle during the flight.
The doorbell rang; an ancient, booming mechanism that sent Christine scuttling into the back bedroom, hissing the entire way. Mab frowned as she opened the thick wood door that led to a little tiled vestibule, leaving only a glass door separating her from the stranger. She didn't recognize the man on the other side of the glass. "Can I help you?" she said loudly, not opening the door.
"Mab Dumont?" He barked over the howling wind.
"...Yes?" she replied hesitantly. Was she in trouble?
He held up a security badge with his face and a large unmistakable stylized "A" logo emblazoned on it. Happy Hogan. Head of Security, Stark Industries. "Can we talk inside?"
Mab opened the door quickly, ushering him inside before anyone passing by saw the badge and started rumors.
He looked a little uncomfortable standing in the tight vestibule, a large metal briefcase threatening to crack the tile if he accidentally dropped it. "Captain Rogers failed to have you fill out the proper authorization to attend the… event this weekend. We don't have a lot of time to get all the checks done. Is your uncle home?"
Mab tilted her head. "No, he's doing a weekend residency upstate, why?"
"Right, he's the Laureate - as long as you don't contact him this weekend it should be fine." He swept past her quickly, moving to the kitchen and setting a heavy metal case on the old kitchen table and clicking open sturdy latches.
"What should be fine!?" Mab cried, confusion mounting.
Hogan lowered his voice to something a little less demanding and more on the soothing end of the spectrum. "Miss Dumont, Stark Industries provides the security for all of the Avengers -"
"- the avengers need security?" Mab interrupted.
He ignored her and continued, "-and as the head of security it's my responsibility to make sure everyone attending the… event is properly vetted. Didn't Captain Rogers go over the security protocols for this weekend?" The man pulled out a stack of paperwork thicker than a mortgage agreement.
Mab traced the table of contents.
Multilateral Non-Disclosure Agreement
Education Verification
Federal Criminal History Verification
Tri-State Criminal History Verification
Social Media & Internet Check
Credit Background Check
Social Security Number Trace
Photo Catalog Trace
Cellular Block Agreement
Mab rubbed at her eyes, pausing halfway down the list. Just reading the list was giving her a headache. "Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Hogan?"
"Just call me Happy, please. And I'd love some, thanks." He sat at the table and started to organize the stack in some way that probably only made sense to him.
"Happy," Mab said slowly, scooping coffee grounds into the machine and urging it to hurry up, "does Steve know you're here?"
"I was sent as part of the routine background checks needed for the event."
"So," Mab surmised, "no, then." She walked back to the table and sat down across from Happy. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out without thinking about it, glancing at the notification without really reading it.
"Gimme your phone," Happy suddenly demanded.
"I'm sorry?" Mab asked, recoiling slightly even as he reached for it.
"Give it," he demanded, and Mab reluctantly handed it over.
He looked at her phone, shaking his head, "these things are such security garbage; good thing I brought a spare just in case." He pulled a rectangle of glass from his inside jacket pocket, bezeled with aluminum. He held it over her phone and the glass suddenly turned into a projected screen.
Little boxes appeared and vanished at rapid-fire speed, something like holographic code glittering across the perfect screen. It stopped, and Happy pocketed Mab's phone but held out the little clear rectangle. "There - now it's not hackable, trackable, etcetera."
He fixed her with a stern look. "No twitter, no Facebook, no location tagging during the event or travel to and from. You got it? Friday will send out an alert if you do, so don't."
Mab accepted the rectangle, but held out a hand for her phone. "Are you going to give my phone back?"
Happy nodded to the rectangle. "That's your phone now. Top of the line Stark Tech. Were you even listening?"
Pulling it closer, Mab rolled it from hand to hand, then her attention turned slowly to the impressive stack of paperwork, little colors flags sticking out like discarded confetti where she was meant to sign over and over again.
The coffee maker beeped and Mab stood reflexively in answer, grabbing two clean mugs from the drying rack. She squinted, processing the odd collection of information as she poured coffee into two cups. "This is the wedding, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid I can't say," Happy replied, accepting the cup. "Mm- wow that's good coffee."
"Add a little cinnamon to the grounds before brewing and you can make cheap coffee taste great."she chewed the inside of her cheek and a sly smile spread across her face."It's the wedding. His best friend's wedding."
"Miss Dumont-"
Mab cut him short. "You got a pen or what?"
She signed as directed. Each initial, each looping cursive stroke, she didn't even ask to read the document; Happy's short summation of the contents was fine by her, she kept repeating.
Happy seemed perplexed at her sudden willingness, but also was likely far too busy to turn down an easier morning. He flipped through the stack as they finished to ensure she hadn't missed a spot, and satisfied, put the entire thing back in his impressive metal briefcase.
He stood, moving his coffee cup to the sink without prompting. "Be ready at seven tomorrow for the trip to the airport."
Mab stood, nodding. "Seven. Got it. Thank you, Mr. Hogan."
She led him out into the brisk blustery early afternoon, watching the obscenely expensive car she hadn't noticed before pull gently away from the curb, silent as a breeze.
She had some scheming to do. But first, she needed better scheming music. Mab flipped through the music on her phone, searching for a feeling. Of course, she thought with a grin, pressing play.
Synth music filled the brownstone as Mab synced to wireless speakers, followed by deep drums and an electric guitar. There was no resisting the urge to bob along to the music as she swept up the stairs.
Here we stand
Worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two
Sleepless nights
Losing ground, I'm reaching for you, you, you
She dove into the mountains of cardboard occupying the room as she searched for a specific dress.
Even when they had almost nothing, Mab and her mother had found ways to track down beautiful clothing at dirt-cheap prices. Andrea was Ariadne of the silks - she could pick them out by smell in piles of yard-sale and estate-sale bins. Running her fingers over the texture of a filthy dress she could tell you if it was Mulberry or Tasar. Letting it float through the air, she could pick out a crepe-de-chine from an organza as easy as breathing.
Feeling that it's gone
Can change your mind
If we can't go on
To survive the tide love divides
Because of that, they collected silks like some people collect stamps. A bit of 20-Mule Borax and elbow grease would take out all kinds of horrific damage. Mab grinned in satisfaction as she found a dress they'd bought for $4 at a flea market that had looked genuinely infected by fleas.
Someday, love will find you
Break those chains that bind you
One night will remind you
How we touched and went our separate ways
Pulling it from protective tissue, no one would have guessed that it was salvaged. Mab's mother had made Mab model it as she pruned off the bottom eight inches - burned and soiled beyond recovery - leaving a modest tea-length. The zipper was old and sturdy, and a little mineral oil had washed away the threat of rust. Even under mab's calloused fingers she could feel the little bumps and hills of the dupioni that gave it spectacular depth in the sunlight.
If he ever hurts you
True love won't desert you
You know I still love you
Though we touched and went our separate ways
Yes, Mab thought, wrapping it back in the protective tissue and setting it with satisfaction in her suitcase, that's the one. At the back of her closet - thrown there with a reckless abandon - she retrieved a set of low black heels. Barely two inches of height, she felt they'd add just that little extra bit to her revenge.
She left the suitcase open to throw her toothbrush and other etcetera first thing in the morning, but could otherwise sleep satisfied with her plans.
The doorbell rang five minutes before seven. "Captain Rogers told me to be early or else you'd try to carry your suitcase to the curb yourself," Happy explained. "Where is it?"
Mab pursed her lips, wanting to feel displeased but suffering from another set of soft emotions instead. "Upstairs landing." She shouldn't have been surprised - Steve was remarkably perceptive. Mab gracefully surrendered the burden of her overnight bag and the heavy weight of her collapsed wheelchair. She hoped she wouldn't need it, but better safe than sorry.
Mab stood awkwardly next to the car as Happy loaded her small suitcase and cumbersome wheelchair into the trunk. "Can I….?" she offered, stepping closer.
He made a straining sound. "Please, I'm the Head of Security for Stark Industries - I can move luggage around," he replied.
"I'm… not sure what to do with that information, but okay." Mab tucked her hands in her jacket pockets. "If you're head of security, why are you driving people to airports?"
"I always drive the VIPs," he said like it was obvious. He didn't look like he was joking.
"I'm not-" Mab was quick to correct.
The wheelchair made a satisfying thunk as it finally settled into the trunk, and Happy closed it with a swift thud. "Right," he clapped his hands together, "let's not be late."
"Which terminal am I leaving from?" Mab asked as she slid into the remarkably solid vehicle's backseat. She vaguely remembered there being decent sushi in the Delta terminal.
Happy closed the door for her before Mab could even touch the latch. Mab wondered if it was just her overactive imagination, or if the doors and windows were really thick enough to be bulletproof.
"You'll be using the Stark terminal," he replied, equally casually as he sat in the driver's seat and turned the engine over, pulling away from the curb with suspension so smooth you couldn't even feel the car move.
"Cool," Mab mumbled, repeating: "Cool, cool cool cool." She tapped her finger nervously against the side of her new futuristic phone, wishing she had asked for an instruction manual because she couldn't figure out how to turn the damned thing in and she really would have liked to be able to text a certain someone in that moment.
She hadn't had many opportunities to talk with Steve since their afternoon at the museum, but it was impossible to miss the change in the air. More than the changing of the colors in trees or the smell of the wind, it had been easier than breathing to see the relief in Steve's face. Not exactly the reaction she'd expected. Mab had expected contempt, anger, disappointment, disgust… relief had not been among them.
She could see it in the words he chose when messaging, or the smugly secretive tone he was taking about the weekend trip. Mab had no reason to distrust the old soldier - probably the most trustworthy man in America - but the impulse to trust so readily made her nervous.
Tapping at the side of her phone with her thumb as the car dipped down into the Holland Tunnel, diving into darkness punctuated by fleeting yellow lights, Mab could barely trace the moments in time leading to this moment. Such an odd chance of fate had introduced them and repeatedly threw them together until it wore away at her resistance like water over stone.
It had been, what, a month since they'd met? If any other ordinary man on the planet had asked her after only a month to blindly fly across the country to a secret wedding where she didn't know a soul, with absolutely no information to leave for relatives in the event they turned out to be a serial killer, Mab would have laughed in their face and called the police.
But, Mab shook her head as the car rose from the tunnel, squinting at the bright light that followed as they entered New Jersey, Steve isn't any other guy, she thought. Leaving the superhero part aside, he just wasn't like anyone she'd met before. Sure, she'd tried dating - sometimes serious, sometimes not - and of course there was always the odd duck that behaved in some appropriately chivalrous ways, but not like this.
Steve talked like he'd walked off a pulp-paper novel sometimes, but you just didn't notice because of his earnestness and intensity. He meant what he said - every word, every time. It was an honesty and openness that begged for reciprocation; no games, no runaround, but an open window of soul.
Don't wait until it's raining to call me again. Her cheeks spontaneously warmed at the memory of it. Did he even know what he sounded like? Pride and Prejudice with a mild Brooklyn accent, and unfairly kind.
Mab couldn't fathom why he kept reaching out for her; why he'd decided that she was worth his immeasurably valuable time. She had very little to offer, and an inversely large burden to bear. Maybe, a small voice inside her heart whispered as the car pulled off the highway and towards a large hanger hidden behind Newark airport, a hero could help.
Pulling off the access roads into the wide private hangar was… beyond surreal. The jet looked like something from a futurist's wet dream: a vision of steel and sleek lines.
Feeling conspicuously underdressed to board the sleek jet waiting in the hangar, Mab hung around the side of the car while Happy grappled with her wheelchair again. She was waiting for someone to say it was all a joke, terribly sorry, but she was in fact going to be flying JetBlue.
Happy breathed heavily as he finally managed to get her chair out and on the concrete. He looked at her funny. "What are you still doing down here?" He asked, and pointed to the narrow stairs up to the plane. "Captain Rogers is already on board, head up and I'll get this stowed."
The treads of the stairs were coated in some gritty material that scratched the bottom of her shoes as she ascended. The metal handrail was cold to the touch as she skimmed her fingers on the rise, distracting from the flush on her cheeks she would forever claim to be a reaction to the chilly air and definitely not because Steve stepped into view in the jet's open door with an eager grin on his face.
The size of the terminal shrank very suddenly, the universe spiraling shut into a very narrow tunnel. There existed a few tight breaths between Mab and Steve, and a distinctly warmer air.
Troubled times
Caught between confusion and pain, pain, pain
Distant eyes
Promises we made were in vain, in vain, in vain
Mab took Steve's hand for steadying balance as she ducked her head slightly to enter the cabin. "So we're stealing a Stark Industries plane because…?" she asked in lieu of a typical greeting.
"I don't fit into commercial seats very well," Steve admitted. "And we're not stealing, we're borrowing."
Mab nodded somberly. "Yes, it's so tragic that superhero shoulders don't fit into Economy."
"You're taking this very well," Steve commented, following Mab through the cabin as she sat across from him, facing the rear of the plane whereas Steve preferred riding facing forward.
She waved her hand in vague dismissal, but accompanied it with a smile. "That I'm a guest at a superhero wedding in California? I can swoon and faint if you prefer." She stretched out in the seat, the tips of her shoes not quite reaching Steve's. "Wow. This is nice. Superheroes get nice stuff."
"Say 'superhero' one more time." Steve covered his smile with a hand as Mab stuck out her tongue in an adorably childish response.
He'd been worried - and he'd been wrong - that exposure to his working lifestyle might have been too much. Bringing her with him for the weekend would bring her into the alien glamor of it all, but also give Mab an idea of the world she was stumbling into.
This new ground between them confused him. He'd gone from what he felt was a fairly even advantage to a distinctly disadvantaged one; everything worth learning about him could be read on the walls of a museum. Steve didn't know where to begin. He had no more stories left to share that she wouldn't already know, right?
But Mab cut right through his doubt and insecurity with an odd prompt: "Tell me about your favorite childhood breakfast," she said with surety, getting more comfortable in her seat, taking a glance over her shoulder as the cabin door sealed itself and the engines began to hum slowly.
He had to really think about it. "Growing up, since my dad died in the trenches, we were more careful than most about money. Then, in '29, it got a lot worse. I was a skinny kid, and it was all my mom could do to keep food on the table. We ate a lot of oatmeal - you could get two whole weeks of breakfasts for a quarter - but I dreamed of having a huge bowl of cream of wheat, slathered in butter and brown sugar, all to myself. Cooking it in milk, and all the other ingredients that were worth their weight in gold… it was a dream."
Steve paused, wondering if him talking about milk and butter as luxuries might be losing Mab in minutiae, but she seemed genuinely interested as she waved a hand for him to continue. "One real cold winter, I got pneumonia for I think the third time, and even through the awful stuff coming out of my face… I could smell it cooking. I could smell the milk and the brown sugar melting in the butter."
He could still smell it. "It was amazing. Best breakfast of my life." He took a deep breath reflexively, getting recirculated air and a hint of whatever Mab's perfume left in the air instead of butter and sugar.
A faint ping reminded them to put on seat belts right before the plane tilted at a steep angle and launched into the sky. Smooth, swift, and silent, the Stark jet aimed West.
Mab was grinning around her hand; not in any way that suggested his story was somehow funny, but something else entirely. "...what?" Steve asked hesitantly.
"This is ridiculous, I can't believe we both-" she coughed a laugh, patted her chest to clear it, and shot him a beaming smile. "Okay, so… when I was growing up, I was obsessed with these children's fairy tales on cassette tape - 'Let's Pretend'. I listened to them every morning, and every night going to sleep. Obsessed. Anyway - they had one sponsor, and only one, and they had this jingle they would sing for it at breaks. I still know it by heart."
Mab's singing voice was thready and soft and quavering as a young bird's song. "Cream of wheat, it's so good to eat, yes we have it every day…" She coughed as if embarrassed, clearing her throat before continuing. "So, after months of listening to these tapes, I begged my mom to buy me a box of cream of wheat. Now my mom, being the astute creature she was, wanted to teach me a lesson in advertising. She didn't like the idea that an ad could turn me into a consumer-zombie, so she bought it. She took it home and prepared it for breakfast in the morning." She paused for emphasis. "Plain."
"Oh no…" Steve groaned, seeing where her story was going.
She laughed at her own childhood suffering. "Oh yes! She cooked it in milk, but no sugar or salt, no butter, just plain cream of wheat and let me tell you… I'm pretty sure that's what wallpaper paste tastes like." She spread her arms, tilting her head with a shrug. "So there you go; in its own strange way, history connects us."
It caught him off-guard for just a moment; leaving him behind in empty sky as the plane surged on through the clouds and Mab's attention drifted elsewhere in the cabin. Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience. He'd said that, hadn't he?
Had he missed it entirely until Mab had pointed it out? Because it wasn't just the one story; they already had a collection of strange little moments that they seemed to share. Suddenly he was desperate to know more, to ask her the questions and dive deep, deep into the waters of her history in search of a shared ocean he never thought he'd live to see again.
"Does this plane not have a captain? Because I just realized I didn't see anyone else board and it's weirding me out," Mab asked, oblivious to Steve's existential crisis.
"It's flown by A.I.," Steve explained, "Mab-" he started the question without having properly prepared the ending.
"Yes?" she asked as he trailed off into nothing.
"What's…" he thought about his own childhood, about the collection of specific sensations and experiences that stood out there. "What's the most uncomfortable piece of clothing you had to wear as a kid?"
"Oooh, that's a good one," Mab said appreciatively. She chewed on the side of her lower lip, thinking hard. "Okay, I've got it. I think I was maybe five or six. Couldn't have been older. School picture day - of course - and my mom pulls out this… Elizabethan monstrosity. It's purple velvet with a white lace collar. The kind of dress only a mother could love. I wanted to wear my little red skirt and yellow shirt, but no; this thing."
She scratched at her neck. "I can still feel that awful lace." She shuddered. "Whoever made that dress clearly didn't think about the fact that a child was going to wear it. It wasn't lined on the inside, so you just had the back side of velvet - which feels like upholstery backing - scraping and scratching against my skin all day. Awful. Why are you making that face?" Mab asked abruptly, cutting off her story.
Steve jerked in his chair, not even realizing he was making a face. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I just…"
"No," Mab pointed at him accusingly, "No way."
"Well," Steve started, hardly believing it himself, " I grew up catholic, which may or may not be in museums. And, as a good catholic son, I had my hand at being an altar boy. We had these long red robes, and over it this white shift, and ours had this incredibly itchy lace along the sleeves."
He shook his head. He hadn't thought about the services of his childhood in… nearly a hundred years. Thinking about it now he could feel his feet pinched in shoes he'd long outgrown but couldn't replace, and the smell of thick incense in the air threatening to make him sneeze in the middle of services.
Mab looked out the window, thinking something that didn't read on her face. She whipped her head toward him. "Okay," she said, "Tell me about the meanest animal you've ever met."
It went on. Through challenges of obscure memory and incredible specificity they battled the grand gestures of the universe and grappled to see the faint threads of fate that bound them.
It went on. Like a challenge, a battle of memory and storytelling at its finest, they threw down stories that might otherwise never come up in normal conversation like chess pieces on a board.
It went on. Wit for wit and laughter giving laughter ground to grow, time flew as swiftly as the plane cut through a clear morning sky.
The plane descended and warned them of imminent arrival, so with begrudging acknowledgment they called a truce in their odd competition.
"Thank you, computer-bot; you did a good job," Mab complimented the plane as the cabin door opened and the steps automatically extended. She patted the side of the plane like one might pat a puppy.
"After you," Steve insisted gently, and Mab didn't argue.
The first thing that struck her as she stepped down the narrow steps from the plane was the smell in the air. It wasn't salty - not like standing on the Long Island beaches and thinking about the graininess in the air - but a light form of jasmine mixed with something that must originate from far out at sea.
She turned to ask Steve if he got the same impression, only to find him still at the top of the stairs, his bag and hers gripped easily in one hand, and the carry strap of her wheelchair moving it with far less struggle than Happy had displayed.
"Don't make that face," Steve chided as he joined her, "this is nothing compared to work."
"Is that so?" Mab asked. "And how much might you have to lift regularly at work, Captain Rogers?"
"More than a suitcase, I'll say that much. That's our ride," he nodded his head across the tarmac to where a sleek sporty car was waiting.
Mab blinked. "Of course superheroes don't just use Enterprise or Hertz. I don't know what I was expecting. Who arranges all this stuff, anyway? It always just seems to be waiting."
"I think there's a small army of assistants and secret workers, to be honest," Steve said as he loaded the luggage into the car's back seat.
Mab climbed into the passenger seat with a laugh and without question. She turned slightly in her seat with a trickster's twinkle in her eyes as Steve slid into the driver's seat. "So," she got comfortable, "tell me about this wedding. I know it's for your friend, but I don't know which one. I've been whisked away to the Land of Nod and can't tell a soul, so tell me everything."
"Well," Steve breathed a light laugh, "I'm not sure we've got enough time for everything."
"Why not?" Mab asked, the wind already playing pretty pictures with her hair.
"Because it starts in 1943," Steve began.
"Stop." Mab held up a hand, squinting one eye shut. "Just gotta recalibrate my brain for the absurd. Okay - start over."
It was interesting to try and define what exactly Bucky and Alice were to each other to a completely fresh mind, Steve realized. For all intents and purposes, it sounded like Alice truly loathed Bucky for most of it. It was hard to describe the bonds made in war, or the literal star-crossed nature of their… everything.
Mab, interestingly, didn't interrupt at all as he spoke about them. No questions, no commentary, just a rapt attention that never wavered to the blindingly beautiful scenery.
He got all the way to their runaway years in Iceland, but they turned off the main road onto the little estate's winding drive and Mab caught a glimpse of the house. She sat upright in her seat, pushing wildly blowing hair out of her face and her mouth dropped.
A masterpiece of glass and steel, it was almost small in comparison to the many homes that littered Santa Barbara's mountainsides. But what it lacked in square footage it took back in a precise form of grandiosity that involved the perfect view and the perfect architecture. The property oozed 'Stark'.
"This is the venue?" Mab asked incredulously as Steve pulled up to the front of the home.
"Uh… no," Steve corrected. "This is a guest house. We're heading to the venue at two and I thought you might want to freshen up and change first."
Mab stopped short. "Shut the front door," she deadpanned.
"After you, ma'am," Steve gently, very gently, guided her to the gleaming doors that opened on their own as they approached.
'Welcome to Santa Barbara, Captain Rogers. Welcome, Miss Dumont,' Friday greeted from above.
Mab froze, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. "The house knows my name."
"That's Friday - another Stark A.I. Say hello, Mab."
"... hello, Friday?"
'Please don't hesitate to ask if there's anything you need.'
"I would like a new heart, please," Mab muttered under her breath, "just about done this one in today…"
"I think you're in the sunset room, which is-?" Steve asked, open-ended.
'To the right, Miss Dumont. End of the hall.'
"There you go. Take a look and I'll get your things." Mab seemed uncertain, perhaps unwilling to venture through the house alone. "It's okay, I promise. I'll be right behind you."
Steve walked quickly, doing his best to keep that little promise. He didn't need reminding how much of a shock the transition to this lifestyle could be - he'd lost ten bucks the very first day on just the thought that nothing could surprise him anymore. And it surprised, and surprised, and surprised.
Mab's suitcase weighed basically nothing, as did her wheelchair. He'd learned some time ago that he has to give at least the illusion of weight when lifting things as it made people visibly uncomfortable to watch him heavy equipment without breaking a sweat.
Not quite a jog, but faster than simply a long stride, Steve paused only to gently knock on the open guest room door.
Mab stood before the wall of windows, hands pressed to the glass, staring at the sea. The house, situated precariously at the edge of a steep hill, had a perfect view of crashing waters over broken stone cliffs cascading into the Pacific.
She turned only halfway toward him, clearly unable to tear her gaze away. "Glory of purple and glint of gold; Tenderest greens and heavenly blue, Shot with the sunlight through and through," she whispered. If the house had not been perfectly silent Steve wouldn't have heard it at all. "It's beautiful."
The awe in her voice tightened something in Steve's lungs, and he had to clear his throat briefly before speaking. "I'm glad you like it. Where would you like these?" he asked, lifting her things.
"Suitcase on the bed, chair just over by the wall, thanks."
"I recommend a quick blanket drill to help keep the jet-lag away."
"A wh- ah; a nap. Yes, probably. When should I plan to be ready?"
"Three at the latest."
"I should set an alarm." Mab pulled out a familiar glass phone and fiddled with it like she had no idea how to work it. "Wish he'd given me a manual…" she grumbled, confirming his guess
"Here, let me show you," Steve offered. "He usually hides a switch… there." The phone flickered to life instantly as Mab pressed the hidden button.
"Saved!" Mab exclaimed, holding the phone aloft like a trophy.
"That's the job," Steve joked.
"I-" Mab looked up at him, phone clenched tightly in both hands, perfect clear sunlight running through her hair. "Thank you."
He hadn't done anything. "Get some rest. Three."
"Three," Mab confirmed.
He left her in the room with the magnificent view, sure that the moment he left her eyes had returned to the sea. There was a reverence to her actions that left him feeling strangely… ashamed. None of this excessive splendor was his; it was a world he had been invited into by virtue of the power given to him. None of it was his, but he was allowing Mab to associate it in that way.
Steve's room, at the opposite end of the house, lacked the streaming sunshine of Mab's. He sat at the edge of the bed - the mattress as firm as a board confirming it had been placed there just for him - and stared at a similar set of cliffs, shrouded in late morning shadows, with ocean waves beating endlessly against stone.
What could he claim as his? There was a small footlocker, stored in a closet in upstate New York, with a collection of pictures, a threadbare blanket, and a handful of his mother's old jewelry he'd managed to keep despite poverty. The few times he'd tried to branch out - to establish a place for himself, to make this world his own - it hadn't gone well. SHIELD always followed. Secrets always followed. Destruction, a shadow in their wake.
Steve watched slow fingers of sunshine break at shadows. To tear them apart with love. Deep black fury glittered with green and turquoise. Steve watched, stared without reason, as if by watching alone he could inspire the sun to keep traveling across the sea. To make all the dark places glitter with green and gold.
'Captain Rogers,' Friday interrupted, 'you wanted a reminder when it was two-thirty.'
"Yeah, I will, thanks." Steve lay back on the bed, closing his eyes and trying to relax.
'Captain Rogers,' Friday said again, more insistently.
"What is it," Steve sighed.
'It's two-thirty.'
Friday's control over the house was absolute. The temperature of his shower was exactly right, ready and waiting when he entered the large bathroom. His suit was already in the closet, not a wrinkle in sight. Yet more aspects of his life that he couldn't complain about because they were perfect, but still remained elements beyond his control.
Waiting near the front door with repeated glances down the hall at Mab's closed door, Steve took a moment to check his watch. It was his - an ancient timepiece he had to remember to wind, and would likely need to replace the leather band in a few years, but it was his. A relic.
He heard a crisp click of heels on the perfect wood floors approach and something tightened in his chest. He looked up slowly, time flickering in the space between him and the splendid vision of shimmering green. He could hear a band playing, see the twirling of skirts and the snap of starched uniforms.
If you must go, I wish you love
You'll never walk alone
Take care, my love
Miss you, love
Mab's ankle wobbled and she crumbled slightly. It broke the spell and Steve shot forward, catching her at the elbow and steadying her. "Thanks," Mab flushed, "it's been a minute. I'll get the hang of these shoes again."
Her arm slid out of his grip as she stepped back, clasping her hands gently together as she gave a brief spin. A high modest neckline and delicate cap sleeves somehow accentuated the arch of her throat and the rippling hem just below her knees made her feet look so small, where a fluttering white shawl hid the careful turn of her wrists with a texture lighter than swan green of her dress shimmered in the light spilling through the huge windows, casting off hints of blue and gold in a way Steve didn't know fabric could contain.
"Am I presentable enough for the super-friends?" she asked, drawing his attention up again. She'd done something to her hair with a gold clip that kept it out of her face, but still left long branches of oak-brown draped over her shoulders.
Steve didn't think he'd ever like green and gold again after Loki's siege on New York, but he wouldn't trade this vision for anything. "I think you should probably stay here - wouldn't want you giving the groom any second thoughts."
Mab laughed. "You're not so bad yourself," she said, gesturing vaguely at the neat grey suit.
"Suit number six, straight off the rack," Steve joked, checking that he hadn't accidentally left his collar lopsided under the jacket.
"Liar," Mab accused, "I know a tailored 10-ounce worsted when I see it. All kinds of fancy pricks flounce through my office trying to look important." She swatted his hands out of the way around his jacket collar. "You're making it worse - let me."
She traced calloused hands around his collar, picking out little bits of lint he hadn't felt and smoothing out wrinkles that couldn't possibly be there. The air smelled like cotton and flowers around her, and Steve could scarcely breathe.
After a few long moments, Steve wrapped her hands in his and pulled them down from their little dance around his collar. He could feel the rough calluses caused by her wheelchair on her palms and fingertips, but the feather-soft skin of the backs of her hands captivated him.
Someday, love will find you
Break those chains that bind you
One night will remind you
How we touched and went our separate ways
Mab's breath caught in her chest as Steve slowly ran his thumbs against the back of her hands; once, twice, back and forth. Even his gaze upon them was soft; a gentle gaze usually reserved for serene moments of peace.
'Captain Rogers, it's time to leave.' The A.I.'a interruption made them both start slightly, Steve releasing Mab's hands in a flash.
"Thank you, Friday." Steve offered Mab his arm. "Shall we?"
Mab nodded, uncertain of the power of her own voice. She snagged her cane from where it rested next to the door, just in case. Back to the sporty car, but Steve thoughtfully put the top up so her hair wouldn't be ruined, back along winding roads that went up, up, up into the California mountains.
Silence, thick and unbreakable, hung between them. Flashes of perfect color growing on the side of the road kept distracting her, pulling Mab away from thoughts of conversation. Mountains, monoliths of time, loomed high overhead, not a cloud in sight to obscure them.
Roads grew progressively narrower as they ascended, finally pulling off onto what would likely better serve as a single-lane road shrouded by trees. Steve slowed and turned to the left into a little parking lot, mostly empty as signage indicated 'closed for a private event'.
"We're here?" she asked, breaking the silence as Steve turned the engine off.
"Seems so," he said.
"I've got to say," Mab said as she followed Steve to the little pagoda entrance of the Santa Barbara Botanic Gardens, accepting a small map and directions across the street in about thirty minutes for the wedding, "I think the guest house was more impressive than this. I- oh!" she exclaimed as the trees parted, opening her view and taking her breath away.
Dappled sunshine, captured in flowers and drifting bees. Acres of yellow and orange and purple and white, tall stalks and happy shrubbery; chaotic mastery of color and wild nature reaching for distant mountain peaks. Dizzyingly fantastic, the wind grazed over her face and carried with it a near taste of that color.
Steve caught her arm as she reached out for balance, gaping openly at the kaleidoscope of color in the meadow before her. "Well," Steve started with a smile, "if you knew Alice, you would know this is exactly her thing." He squeezed her hand. "Want to walk around a bit? Get a good look?"
"Yes please," Mab replied instantly.
Whoever had designed the gardens truly loved what they did, Mab decided. A love of color, of scent, of shape. Whoever had designed the walkways, however, clearly had never so much as twisted an ankle in their life. Loose stone and uneven ground taunted Mab as she tried to look in every direction but down at the ground, it left her in constant need of breaks on convenient benches to catch her breath or nurse a weak ankle.
"I think we should head up," Steve said as Mab eyed a set of log stairs descending into a deep valley of the gardens with apprehension. "Don't want to have to rush it, and don't want to be late."
"Yes," Mab agreed, turning away from the broken ankle just waiting to happen, "let's shall." Back through gardens planted with love and back over broken ground interrupted by roots and stone, back to the road.
Crossing it, going up a poorly-conceived set of stone steps, Mab was taken aback to find two Iron Legion suits flanking the path. She didn't freeze, of which she was quite proud, but gave them an odd look as she and Steve passed. "Is someone paranoid?" she asked under her breath.
"You have no idea," Steve answered.
The path spread out as the ground flattened, leading to a collection of white chairs arranged in rows at the edge of a beautiful green meadow. A simple wood arch, draped with gauzy white fabric, would leave the couple with their backs to a cliff overlooking a distant view of the sea.
Little orange flowers bobbed and nodded in the wind, petals too delicate to stand up against the slightest breeze. Their color reflected the orange glow of the sun dipping towards the sea, and Mab knew she'd never see another color like it.
"Which side do we sit on?" She asked. "Groom or bride?"
"I don't think it matters, or someone would have said something." Steve waved back as someone with long reddish-brown hair waved. Lots of people, it seemed, we're excited to see him.
Mab suddenly felt exceedingly out of place. She was very obviously one of the only outsiders, if not the only one. Had this been an impulsive mistake? Was she going to make a fool of herself?
"I'll introduce you to everyone later," Steve promised quietly as they sat near the front. He glanced around, frowning.
"Something wrong?"
"Just don't see a face I thought was going to be here. I'm sure he's around."
They didn't have long to wait. The wedding party would be reserved and small, it seemed, as the chairs were about two-thirds filled when a man in a suit strode down the center aisle to stand at the center of the arch. He shuffled through some papers in his hands, as if uncertain of the order.
"Is the officiant someone you know?" Mab asked Steve in a quiet tone.
Steve leaned in, whispering. "Alice's father; William."
"Oh, that's so sweet," Mab gushed. Steve have her a look - the same look that had accompanied a few of the tidbits about the bride - a look that said you don't know the half of it.
A dark-haired man soon emerged from the modest conservation building that she supposed was serving as their preparation space. He tugged on the sleeves of his jacket, and in doing so the metallic glint of his left hand caught the light.
He spotted Steve and burst into a broad smile as he walked down the aisle, stopping to exchange a laugh, and a handshake that ended in a swift hug. Both seemed oddly lost for words, their broad smiles enough for the moment.
"Bucky, the groom," Steve said, sitting again.
"I gathered," Alice smiled. "No best man?"
Steve shrugged. "They wanted something simple."
"Ladies and gentlemen," William announced with a rough clearing of his throat. He had a faint accent Mab couldn't place, and she knew it was going to bother her forever. "If you would, please silence cell phones and unruly friends, we will begin momentarily. We will be skipping the objections, and I will direct the complaints to the Iron Legion helpfully providing security for my only daughter's long-overdue wedding." An amused chuckle rumbled through the crowd, and people dutifully checked their phones.
"How do I-?" Mab asked, holding up the still-puzzling device for Steve's help.
"This one," he answered, turning it to silent for her.
Music began to play, and while it definitely wasn't the usual wedding march, Mab still recognized it. Easy, light, beautiful: Clare de Lune.
A dark-skinned man emerged first from the building, carrying a small basket. Mab was confused until, at the head of the aisle, he reached into the basket and withdrew a handful of flower petals, tossing them into the air in the damned most serious fashion. Steve laughed loudly beside her, as did many others.
"You're all just jealous," the serious flower-girl exclaimed. "Laugh it up, but you wish you were badass enough for this."
"Flower falcon!" Someone yelled.
He threw up his last handful of flower petals and struck a pose. "You better believe it!"
"Sam Wilson," Steve explained once he stopped laughing, "Alice's best friend."
Mab knew even before William told them to stand that the bride had emerged. She could see it in Bucky's entire body; a straightening of the spine, an opening of the soul, an awe that bordered on tears.
She carried a bouquet made of sunshine so vibrant the color could be seen reflected in the perfect white of her gown. Long blonde hair was pulled back at the temples into floral clips, but otherwise allowed to flow freely in spirals of corn-silk. The only adornment that threw Mab for a loop was Alice's necklace - a copper bullet strung on a thin gold chain.
A woman her senior escorted her, hair the same color of white-blonde that betrayed familial bonds. They exchanged a few quiet words and a kiss on the cheek at the head of the aisle and Alice continued alone. Her eyes never wavered from the groom.
Mab understood the joke at last, one she had participated in but could not have guessed the accuracy, that no force on earth might sway the bride or groom from choosing this moment. They would choose each other over any other soul on the planet, over food, over air. One could feel the gravity between them as the distance closed, making it a relief when she delicately took his hand at the altar, handing off her bouquet to Sam.
William's words were routine, so common as to be quotable by children: "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today…"
Time let go of the meadow as solemn vows were exchanged. The bride and groom said very little, but their eyes spoke volumes. Whatever needed to be said aloud had been said a long time ago.
No pomp, no circumstance, could compare to the unfettered love that filled the air as William called for the rings. The crowd laughed as the bride accepted the groom's right hand instead of his metal left.
There was laughter at jokes Mab didn't understand, and sober nods to serious matters Mab had never heard of. But, even with that limitation, it was impossible not to feel somehow… proud. It radiated from Steve in intense waves, and as they finished exchanging rings, Mab took gentle hold of Steve's hand for a gentle squeeze. He looked grateful.
William lifted the joined hands of the bride and groom, exclaiming with certain joy: "May I present, for the first time, Mister and Missus James Buchanan Barnes!"
They all stood, applauded as the emotion of the moment continued to wash over them like the sun's orange waves drew out from the sea. There were whoops and cheers of a shared joy, like a touch of sacred happiness. The bride and groom retreated first, chased by a sunset too beautiful for words. Brief moments like this, of pure joy and delight that touched on the divine, were almost more than a weak heart could bear. Moments that she should never dream of claiming for herself lest she be left bare and exposed on the shores of disappointment.
"Alright, boring part's over!" Alice's friend Sam exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Let's party!"
Following the little crowd, smiling at the happy chatter, taking Steve's arm for support when offered, Mab drifted through the veil of time that had returned to settle with somber weight. A reminder of things beyond her reach had been long overdue, she accepted.
Acceptance, the taste of it lingered even as a beautiful dinner was presented to the wedding guests, keeping the taste of it just beyond her senses. Wistful longing, tinted with an old and futile fury that had long simmered into bitterness, haunted the corners of her smile as the bride and groom made their grand entrance at the reception, their joy too much to bear for a split second.
Laughably, it wasn't the presence of groups of superheroes that made the evening a reminder of the sharp scissors reaching wide jaws around the thread of her life, but the absolute and pure celebration of the triumph of new beginnings. The opening of new pages of a blank book with a partner and settling down to write a story of us.
Music poured over a wide dance floor, the bride and groom cut a sharp rug together, further telling of a togetherness and practice at shared things beyond words. Mab lowered her gaze to her plate, berating herself for feeling anything less than happiness for them. It was not her place to sour the taste of the evening with self-pity, no matter how justified.
So as the song finished, and the dance floor opened to the rest of the guests, Mab applauded as loud as the rest and put on her best smile. It was the hardest smile for her to maintain as she made sure it reached her eyes. It was the bet mask she owned.
Steve looked like he wanted to join his friends, his foot tapping gently on the floor as the music washed over them. So, her best mask firmly in place, Mab leaned over to speak under her breath. "You should ask the bride for a dance before she runs away for the night."
Steve looked surprised at the suggestion. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to leave you alone."
"No way to be alone in a room full of heroes. Go, go go," Mab insisted, shooing him to the dance floor. "I think there's a little extra dessert calling my name."
She had to insist a few more times before he would actually go, and Mab stood slowly, intent on getting said cake and actually tasting it this time. Just her luck, as it would happen, in standing she managed to bump into a solid figure doing their best to walk around her and Steve's table without incident.
"Beg your pardon," he said immediately in a crisp, classic English accent.
"My fault entirely." Mab returned.
He straightened, looking at her for a moment, and offered an open hand and a mild smile. "I'm afraid we haven't been introduced; I am Vision." HIs appearance was a little dissimilar from the red-skinned one she associated with the hero name, but Mab figured that might make going out a little difficult at times. She wouldn't begrudge him a disguise while wearing one herself.
She took his hand in a quick shake. "Mab Dumont."
He looked intrigued. "Any relation to the Poet Laureate, David Dumont?"
"My uncle," Mab said, her smile tightening.
He paused, contemplating. "Would you mind terribly if I joined you?"
If he ever hurts you
True love won't desert you
You know I still love you
Though we touched and went our separate ways
"On your left," Steve said, whisking Alice away from Sam with a twirl of the laughing bride.
"Very funny!" Sam yelled, stepping aside.
"Hi, Steve." Alice practically glowed with joy. "You brought a friend."
"I did."
"Is she nice?"
He'd managed to avoid an interrogation from most of his friends up until that moment. "You've got to stop worrying about me, Miss Alice," he replied gently.
"Of course I worry." Alice made a sour face that didn't make any impact on her glowing features. "You'll always be one of my boys."
"Mab can be nice when she wants to be," Steve surrendered the tiny tidbit of information, adding; "but it's better when she's just herself."
Alice's grin turned into something devious, and as she opened her mouth to say something suggestive, Steve shook his head. "We're just friends."
Her teeth clicked shut, but she took another spin to glance around the room, eyes as shrewd as ever. "Is that why you flew her across the country in a private jet to be your plus-one for a wedding?" Alice's eyes sparkled with knowing mirth. "Because you're just friends?"
"I would have never heard the end of it if I'd come alone."
"And now you'll never hear the end of this. Look; she's even getting along with Vis and Wanda." Alice nodded her head in the direction of their table and Steve's head whipped around.
Exactly as she said, Mab was seated at their little table and Wanda and Vis sat to her left, the latter talking animatedly. Mab crossed her small feet at the ankle like a princess, nodding along with slightly less enthusiasm.
"Excuse me," Steve said to Alice, letting go of her hand without looking back again.
"You can cut all the flowers, Steve," Alice replied, which he didn't understand in the slightest.
Mab looked good. That was to say; she looked right, so right, sitting at that table with Wanda and Vision. She said something with a turn of her hand and Wanda laughed. Vision looked between the two women with a mild concern, as though he clearly didn't understand whatever comment had just been made. Mab set a hand on his arm, leaning in conspiratorially as she explained. Vision nodded, his expression serious, and Wanda laughed louder.
Steve made the briefest detour, just to give himself an excuse for interrupting. Tea with a hefty portion of cream seemed right, even though he'd never seen her take anything other than coffee.
"Hope you weren't waiting too long." Steve announced himself as he approached Mab from behind, offering the tea. "I thought you might like something to drink,"
"Perfect timing - thank you," Mab accepted the cup of tea gratefully. "How did you know I take my tea with milk?"
"Lucky guess." He drew a chair close to Mab's open side. "What did I miss?"
Mab took a sip, humming appreciatively. "We were just discussing how the evolution of a language can be tracked through their use of color in historical literature."
Vision perked up. "It's quite fascinating, Captain; the Greeks described seas as 'wine-dark' because-"
"Come on, Vis - let's dance." Wanda interrupted tactfully. She shot Steve a look with a wink, returning to the floor Steve had just left.
"Did you have fun?" Mab hid some of her expression behind the teacup, but the idle tapping of her foot betrayed her real desire. Her fingers tapped along the table, always within reach of her cane.
"I did, but," Steve stopped, searching for something in Mab's curious expression. He stood, chair scraping against the floor with his swift motion, drawing several questioning looks and one of surprise from Mab as he offered her a hand. "Would you care to dance, Miss Dumont?"
She hesitated, for obvious reasons. "You might throw out your back, old man." She was trying to gracefully turn him down, for fear that she might embarrass him. Don't you dare take pity on me, her mild frown seemed to say.
But Steve had been the weak one - short of breath but full of spirit - and he knew that he had wanted more than anything else to be asked to dance. "I'll risk it." He left his hand there, open and inviting, and she took it hesitantly.
He led her ahead of him, afraid she might vanish if he took his eyes off her for even a moment. That she might prove to be a cruel fever-dream was a possibility he would never be able to accept.
The faint perfume of her hair, wafting behind her, smelled like warm cotton and fresh flowers. It was also oddly familiar, but something that lingered far back in his memory. "What's your perfume?" he asked as she turned into him on the dance floor, swaying to catch up with the tempo of the music.
Mab blushed. "It's called Jermyn Street."
A street lined with trees bearing a green cherry-like fruit and nearly awash with the smell of starched cotton of the shirtmakers nearby. A lingering taste of a beer that had done nothing for him, but several pints had done in his companions.
Steve laughed. Yet another way that history had oddly connected them. "You won't believe this, but I remember that street from the War."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories," she apologized instantly. "It's what my mom wore, and I didn't have anything else-"
"Mab," Steve cut in with a comforting smile, "Please don't." True, it pulled at the painful parts of his memory, but overwhelmingly his memories of that street were positive ones. Growing into a new confidence and a new frame, exploring London late at night and breathing in the new smells had been a brief slice of excited wonder in an otherwise dark time.
Mab chewed on her lip and nodded meekly. But that just wouldn't do, so as the music swelled Steve wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her into the spin, the seemingly coarse texture of her dress unexpectedly soft against the back of his hand. She tilted her head back as her world spun around him, exposing all the vulnerable parts of her soul.
Better, much better; not a curling inwards but a branching outwards. She pressed against him - for balance, of course - as he lowered her back to her feet and the song transitioned to the next, breathing quicker than before.
Something hot and smooth ran through his chest, lingering in all the places she touched. Deep, dark blues of her eyes in the dim evening light and sweet, warm cottony floral scents spinning around her; it was all a hauntingly perfect reminder of something he'd never found the time to explore before.
"I think," Mab panted before he could speak, "I could use some air."
Oh
Someday, love will find you
Break those chains that bind you
One night will remind you
The air outside the reception hall was distinctly cooler, Mab wrapping her thin white shawl tighter as they walked out into the evening breeze and strolled casually over the lawn. Someone had already taken down the wedding arch and put away the chairs, leaving the open expanse of grass and clifftop the perfect invitation.
"So," Steve started, using the question as an interlude, "why did the Greeks call the seas 'wine-dark'?"
"Because the language hadn't yet developed a word for 'blue'." Her gaze tilted away from him for a moment with a brief distraction, but returned smoothly. "We create words as the need demands in literature, as we reach the limits of our ability to communicate perfect meaning."
The cheering of the drunken revelry barely drifted out onto the dark lawn, not reaching so far as the clifftop as Mab and Steve paused just before the edge, looking down at the twinkling lights of homes and streetlamps, growing dim and distant before land plunged into the sea.
Mab accepted Steve's jacket gratefully as a chilling breeze whipped up from the distant sea. "Can you even imagine what it must be like to live up here?" she asked. "Just… seeing this every evening."
Standing at the edge of the gardens, looking down at the valleys that dipped low into a distant city and reached gentle arms into the sea, Steve stood suspended between time and the stars. Behind him, across a continent and facing a different sea, all his past decisions and the lives he'd surrendered with each choice called with distant summons. Before him, this universe of decisions he hasn't been able to see until this moment silenced those voices and left him with an eager peace.
He'd been walking backwards through time, he realized. He'd been focused on those past lives, those past choices, those roads not taken; so focused on what might have been that he was refusing to see what could be.
"I've got an idea," Steve said with a thoughtful grin. This was the future. A scene so completely other that he could scarcely comprehend the possibilities. An arm, reaching into dark waters with branches he could not yet imagine. A gentle tilt had brought him here. Standing at the edge of this garden, staring out at the future. Ocean waves, drifting through the hills. Ocean waves, coasting between library aisles.
"Hello? You still with me, Steve?" He turned to look at Mab, amused concern written in the arch of her brow. "What was your idea?"
His idea. The concept of how his life had changed, the design of his world tilting on axis to reveal a future he'd been unable to conceive. This notion of a life worth exploring, of a future that wasn't entirely constructed of the past, wasn't a place he would be without a few days spent waiting on the rain.
He had so little time anymore - to think, to sleep, to process the rapid-fire pace of the world - but he'd found that time spent waiting for rain were the moments he felt had meaning again. He wasn't just waiting for the next fight, for the next war, for the next mission. He wasn't waiting for someone to give him a purpose; it was time he'd given meaning on his own. Waiting on the rain meant waiting for a bright sign pointing him towards the meaning of the universe to light up again. The ways and waters of ocean tides, calling him across aisles, calling him into a place where he was known.
Time was the only thing that had meaning. Time, the only commodity that no amount of gold or tears could buy. He'd told Mab not to wait on the rain; he'd made the mistake of letting time get in the way of brief moments of happiness before. Learning to be selfish took time and an ocean of patience. Steve wanted, needed, to show Mab that he had been worth her time.
He held out a hand. "Do you trust me?"
With eyes full of trust Mab slipped her hand into his.
A/N: I really hope this chapter was worth the wait. It's such an intense shift in their relationship, and it had to be done all at once, please believe me it was a BEAST to write. I kept debating splitting it into two chapters just to make it easier on me, but from a storytelling perspective, I knew it needed to be one chapter. This chapter had a VASTLY DIFFERENT tone until the radio popped up with Journey and suddenly it all clicked. Steve and Mab both have "lost" loves, in a way, whose passing or leaving hurt them. So, it's perfect.
I like to imagine that Steve is a man who lives a life where he really just loves people. He sees beautiful things in Mab because of who she is as a person, but also because he just sees her as beautiful. He also doesn't necessarily feel that toxic-masculinity-style desire to suppress a feeling of adoration or affection. Feeling those warm-and-fuzzies about someone he's privileged to spend time with is something he just loves to enjoy. But my personal favorite moment - Steve thinking that Mab crosses her legs like a princess.
Personal Note: If you've been a reader for a while you know that my health is… variable. This last month has been an exhausting challenge for what turned out to be a very reasonable reason...I'm pregnant! :3 I write as I have energy and can consume enough calories to both do my job and look after my family.
I love my reviewers: LiaLoveFood, LisaPark, Guest, DanaFruit, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, K. Lynx, huffle-bibin, Rachael212, Flours, cameron1812, x-EarthAlchemist-x, and AlliTheWriter!
PLEASE REVIEW! When I'm blocked and need the inspiration to push the story forward I always go back and re-read reviews!