Author's Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don't Sue me!
Recommended Listening: Las Mananitas by Vicente Fernandez, I walk the line by Johnny Cash, El Paso by Marty Robbins, Yellow Rose of Texas by Roy Rogers, Volver, Volver by Ana Gabriel, Against the Wind by Bob Seager, Star Dust By Willie Nelson
Chapter 9: One Last Hurrah
Don't cry, don't cry, you don't have time to cry. She blinked back tears, the columns of numbers blurring in and out of focus. She ran her sleeve across her face, wiping at tears and sniffling. No, no, no. You can't cry. You don't have time for this.
Maggie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to ease the pounding in her ears and the tightness in her throat. Her hand trembled as she dialed Suzanne's number. They'd talked about this, and now it was time. She'd known the second that Roberts had come down the drive that she was in for another really shitty day. Unfortunately, she'd been right. Rather than trying to buy her outright, he was now going to starve her out, or rather starve her horses out. It was like he knew that she'd just emptied her savings for Tim's funeral, and now she didn't have the resources or the capacity to handle a steep price hike on her hay. It was like a shark smelling blood in the water, he'd just come in for the kill.
No. You can't think like that. You have options, think this through. She'd have to ask Suzanne for a favor until she could figure something out. She glanced up at the calendar and then down at her list of figures before hitting the call button.
The phone rang a few times before it went to voice mail, and Maggie had to resist the urge to hang up. You're being stupid, ask for the hay, ask for help. The tone beeped. "Hey Suzanne," She paused to clear her throat. "Sorry. It's Mags. Everything is fine, I'm okay. Roberts came by. I'm going to need to call in that favor. We can talk logistics Monday after everything, I have enough hay to last me a while, so it's not urgent, just needs to get settled soon. Thank you again, talk to you later. Bye!"
She hung up. Rubbing her face, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure mounting behind her eyes. You're not allowed to cry, you got yourself into this mess, you can get yourself out of it.
She moved to push more of the envelopes out of the way and winced at the sound of the picture frame falling to the floor, the glass in the frame shattering. "Damn it." She crouched below the desk, fishing for the frame. Retrieving it, Maggie sighed, slumping against the desk. Holding the frame in one hand, she used the other to wipe away the dust from around the frame, her fingers tracing the lines of the shattered glass, tears dripping down her face. "What do I do, Riley? You always were the optimist? What do I do now?" Her voice warbled, as she sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "What do I do now?"
The day concluded without further incident, and she managed to crawl upstairs and into bed rather than passing out on the couch. Morning came, and Maggie found herself curled up on the shower floor. The water streamed over her masking the tears that streaked her face. She would go out there and put on a happy face because that's what was needed. She had to be strong for her team for her clients. There would be time to process and grieve and mourn later, sooner than she cared to admit or think about. For now, she had to keep on fighting, keep on pushing through it. She couldn't give up now.
The water had started to run cold and stung her skin when she managed to haul herself from the tiled shower floor. She quickly dried and dressed, and pulling on her boots started out into the early morning mist. Just one more day. Just make it through one more. Maggie repeated to herself over and over. One more day. She told herself. As if she hadn't said the exact same thing for almost two years.
Maggie arrived at the barn and paused at the sound of footsteps and a low voice. Sliding the door back found Matt with a feed bucket in hand at Shadow's stall. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, his piercing blue eyes on her waiting for her to find her words. "You know you don't have to do that." She stammered after a moment.
"You were late." He answered, dumping the contents of the bucket into the trough.
"Thank you." She managed weakly. "I've been a little out of sorts."
"Understandable." He nodded, moving back to the feed barrel, carefully scooped up another portion. "The feed regimens on the board in the tack room are up to date, aren't they?"
"Yes. But-" She faltered as he glanced up at her.
"Suzanne is here."
"What?" Maggie stammered but stopped at the sound of a vehicle pulling up the driveway. "Oh. So she is." She turned but stopped mid-step. "I'll be right back." She rushed before walking from the barn.
"Got your call, sorry I couldn't call you back last night. Robinsons had a mare go into labor, and the poor girl needed some help." Suzanne explained, climbing out of her truck. "Figured since I was going to be coming by any way that we could talk now."
"Sounds good. Wanna talk on the picnic bench?"
Suzanne nodded, and they walked over to the picnic bench overlooking the pasture. They both settled down on top of the table and looked out over the rolling green hills. It was beautiful, near picturesque, which was going to make the coming conversation all the more difficult.
"So. What's the plan?" Suzanne asked without looking over at her.
The dreaded question. The question Maggie knew that Suzanne was going to ask. "I don't know."
"Bill told me you emptied your savings for Tim."
Maggie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You two are a couple of damn gossips."
"Only when it comes to helping you keep this place afloat." Suzanne paused, glancing over at her. "And before you say 'it's fine' we both know that's bull, and that you're not going to be able to hide that fact from everyone for very much longer."
Maggie lowered her head, shame welling in her chest until she could practically taste it at the back of her throat. "I didn't call you for a lecture Suzanne." She managed weakly.
"Maybe that's what you need, Mags. I know you're pissed at me and Bill for calling Wilson. But we all know he's the realist out of the three of you."
"Two of us, you mean. And yes, I know." Maggie nodded.
Suzanne said nothing, looking back out over the pasture. "So what's your plan? It's the only way we're gonna have a snowballs chance to save this place."
"Can we talk about this Monday? I just need a yes or no today about the hay. Everything else can wait until after this weekend."
"Sure. I can let you share some of my hay, but we both know this isn't just about the hay."
"Suzanne."
"Monday. It can wait until Monday." She agreed.
Maggie sighed, rubbing her face. "I need a break."
"You deserve one." Maggie glanced up at the older woman who was watching her closely. "Sometimes, the best you can do is to know when it's time to pack it up."
"You mean give up?"
"Look. Whatever you want to call it, there's no shame in calling it quits for a while until you can get your feet under you." Suzanne reasoned.
"You know I can't do that."
"At this rate, you might not have a choice."
Maggie exhaled sharply but said nothing. What was there left to say?
"Come up with a plan between now and Monday, and we'll talk it over."
"Yes, Ma'am." Maggie nodded.
"I'm not a ma'am, Ramirez." Suzanne clapped her on the back. "Come on. We have a party to throw."
They rose and walked back to the barn, Maggie's head spinning. Just one more day, just make it through one more.
He helped Suzanne and Ramirez lead the horses out to pasture before climbing back up on the roof. Suzanne and Ramirez walked around below, preparing for the evening's festivities.
He'd heard her crying in the barn yesterday evening after Davidson and Mike had left. And now today she'd been later than she'd been before. He tried to focus, but everything felt sharp and jagged, raw. Something twinged in his stomach every time he saw her, but he tried to ignore it, ignore the nagging feeling that all of this was going to end badly.
"Hey, Matt."
He glanced down to where Ramirez was standing at the foot of the ladder. She looked exhausted, her eyes ringed with dark circles. "A favor?" She asked uncertainly. "If you have a minute."
He looked over his shoulder at Suzanne's truck as it pulled away. "Sure. I can spare a minute." He nodded, securing his tools and climbing down the ladder.
"Tables and chairs from my storage closet," She explained shortly, motioning for him to follow her up toward the house. "It might take us a couple of trips. I don't think we can carry everything all at once." She said lightly. "Suzanne had to run into town to get some things from the grocery store."
She led him through the back door of the house into what appeared to be a laundry room. On the floor there were a half dozen pairs of shoes, a majority of them seemed to be men's sized, abandoned, or at the very least forgotten by the look of them. They entered the kitchen, dirty dishes occupied the counter space, the island littered with rolls of tin foil and plastic bags. The walls of the kitchen were no more than support beams and wire in places. That's why there was all of the drywall. He couldn't help but think. From the kitchen, she led him into a large living area. The walls were covered in corkboards, each laden heavily with scraps of papers and reminders. Most of them appeared to be coated in dust or flecks of old drywall. Everything except a shelf with photographs seemed to be covered in some kind of dust. She continued off to the right, where there was a narrow hallway with closet doors on either side. He walked toward the shelf as if drawn in by some magnetic force, pulling him toward it.
There he was, Wilson, standing beside Underdahl and Ramirez. She knew him, Wilson. Wilson was the man who had helped Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff on the bridge, and then again on the Hellicarrier. Wilson was the Falcon. He glanced between the faces in the photograph on the shelf. She was happy here was his first thought. The smile, the laughter, the glint in their eyes. They had been in love, all of them together. Does she know who I am? Has Wilson instructed her to stall him? Was the thought that followed the first. That wasn't it, it couldn't be. The roof was a secondary issue, there was no way she could've planned having a roof leak. The terror and panic in her expression had been real, that much was evident.
How much time do I have? Not much. He'd leave while she was at the wake. Tonight he'd mingle and put on a willing face. He couldn't make a scene or arouse suspicions. Anyway, he'd be done with the roof tomorrow. Leave now, leave now if she figures out who you are she'll call in Wilson and Rogers. His mind screamed. And? Why not? He paused, taken aback. It was a new thought, or novel, to say the very least. But it didn't matter. He had to keep moving. He couldn't let Rogers find him, not yet, maybe not ever. He didn't know who he was, and he needed to get his mind in order before he could begin to sort through what it all meant, and the repercussions of that. He was a known international criminal. Steve Rogers might be Captain America, but nothing would change what he had done for Hydra. He couldn't let Hydra get their claws into him again either, and anonymity was imperative. He'd lingered too long. Soon, soon they'd come for him.
He glanced up and made eye contact with the statue set front and center of the shelf. Her gaze was stern, disapproving like she knew what he was. Like she knew what he was planning. Running away, as fast and as far as his feet would carry him. What was his alternative? Turn himself over to the authorities? Could they be trusted not to be Hydra? Would he receive a fair trial? Or would he be swept under the rug, repurposed as someone else's weapon? He couldn't take that chance. He wouldn't.
"That should be all of it," Ramirez announced, drawing his attention.
She'd hauled a dozen or so folding chairs and two card tables out of the closet, and they were all leaning against the wall. "Everything okay?" She asked, surveying him carefully.
"Thinking through what I need to do to finish up your roof," He answered shortly.
"Sorry for dragging you away. I'll return you to it here shortly. Promise. Are you close?"
"Should be done tomorrow." He answered.
"That's awesome!" She smiled. "I appreciate all your hard work. Seriously Matt, let me pay you for your time." She said as she started gathering up chairs.
"That's unnecessary." He replied firmly, collecting both tables in one hand, and three chairs in the other.
She starred, blinking before she wordlessly led them back out of the house again. She instructed him where to set up the tables and chairs, but he was mercifully allowed to go back to the roof when Suzanne returned with an armful of groceries.
Party preparation continued below as he worked, and as more people started to arrive the gloomy air that had descended over the place at the announcement of Tim's death began to ease slightly. Ramirez moved the radio out from the interior of the barn, and music filled the air, echoing over the afternoon air. When they brought the horses into the barn for the evening, Mike came to the foot of the ladder. "Come on, Matt, Ramirez isn't holding you hostage. Come down, get something to drink and eat, and meet everyone."
He climbed down wordless, and Mike handed him a soda and led him around to each group and introduced him to all of the volunteers and clients. They greeted him warmly, remarking on their gratitude for his work on the barn roof before Mike would take him to the next group. This continued until Mike was dragged away by Suzanne to tend the grill, leaving him alone. He didn't mind, it was nice to watch. It was what he was good at. It made him good at recon, made him a good agent.
Most all of Ramirez's clients and volunteers were former military or connected to the military in some way, but otherwise, it seemed they came from different walks of life. They all talked and chatted amicably, oblivious to his watchful eye. Bridget was talking about her day at the office with Mike, while Stephanie chatted about her students, eighth-graders, with Ramirez. Molly was sitting at the picnic bench with several other children coloring in pages from a horse coloring book. Mitchel was hovering by some of the other volunteers who were playing horseshoes. All around him, people were eating, talking, laughing, and generally enjoying one another's company. These people were all different, different, but for the virtue of knowing Ramirez.
He paused at the sensation of being watched and turned to see Davidson watching him from a distance. "Matt." Davidson nodded.
"Sir." He nodded in return.
"Not a sir, son," Davidson replied as he walked up to stand beside him.
He nodded, taking a sip of his soda.
Their gaze was drawn at the sound of laughter, at the center of it was Ramirez, wearing a reserved smile. "She's the lifeblood of this place," Davidson said, following his gaze. "The barn roof has needed to be replaced for a while now. We appreciate you taking it upon yourself to replace it." Davidson faltered. "I appreciate it." He amended. Every word felt forced as if the older man was battling himself for control, but what he was saying was genuine, meant it, even if he didn't want to.
What was he supposed to say to this man? He looked away and down. "It's the least I could do." He managed after a moment, taking another sip.
"The best thing you could do for her is leave," Davidson said shortly.
He didn't flinch, didn't even look over at him. Davidson knew what he was, knew that he was dangerous. He'd even told Ramirez as much. Yet here they were. "That's the plan." He said finally.
"Good." Davidson slapped him on the back. "Good talk, Matt" He walked away without another word.
He exhaled slowly, stomach twisting. Before he could begin to dissect what had just transpired, Ramirez's voice drew his attention.
"Hey everyone!" Ramirez rose, standing on the center picnic table. "I have a couple quick announcements to make before we cut the cake and start the fire pit. She glanced around as someone turned off the radio before continuing. "I want first to say thank you so much for coming this evening. It's always wonderful to see everyone. First and foremost, I want to wish everyone who had a birthday this month a happy birthday! And of course many many more." She glanced around, taking a deep breath. "Of course, tonight is also about memory. Remembering those who are no longer with us. For those of you who are interested and can attend, Tim's wake will be tomorrow. Bill is coordinating rides for all those who need or want them. I hope to see some of you there." She swallowed hard, looking down a moment. She blinked, taking a deep breath. She moved her mouth silently as if she was rehearsing what she was going to say. "Thank you for your patience with me this past week, and all appointments and schedules will resume Tuesday. Thank you again for all coming. I hope you're enjoying yourself! Now, cake!" Ramirez climbed down from the bench, and activity resumed, although a bit subdued than before.
The cake was cut and passed around, tables were cleaned off and stowed against the side of the barn, and the fire pit was lit just as the sun started to go down. A guitar was produced and passed around the circle of people gathered, a few people songs strummed out and sung badly before Ramirez was beckoned and sat at the center of the group. The ease of familiarity sunk in and around the group as they all found places to sit down. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. He hovered near the back, leaning against the barn wall, had a good vantage point.
Ramirez took to tuning the guitar before she glanced up and around at the assembled group. "All right, Bill." She smiled, eyes settling on the man. "You're the most senior of our birthdays this month, you get first request."
"The birthday song."
"The birthday song?" She echoed, picking out the tune to 'happy birthday to you.'
"No. You know the one I'm talking about."
Ramirez stopped, the lines of her face grave as she surveyed him. "Why that one, Bill?" A note of dread in her voice.
"Because it was Tim and Alice's favorite."
For the second time that evening, a heavy weight settled on the group. After a moment Ramirez nodded. "Okay. Okay, okay." She sighed. Clearing her throat, she began to strum, and then she began to sing.
"Estas son las mañanitas, que cantaba el Rey David, Hoy por ser día de tu santo, te las cantamos a ti…"
It was a sad, sweet-sounding song even though the lyrics were a celebration of the person's saint's day. Eyes closed Ramirez sang, her voice rich and true, piercing the silence of the early night, her hands moving deftly over the frets. It was beautiful, and as he looked over the faces of the volunteers, he found tears welling in their eyes. They were all grieving the life of their friend and colleague, yes. Yet, all of them were basking in Ramirez's light, which glowed around her in the firelight. He watched their expressions as they watched her. They loved her. He realized. This was more than admiration. They Love her, all of them do. Did she know? Did she know how much they all cared for her? Did they know how much she cared about them? He didn't know.
The song concluded, and there was a round of subdued clapping and less subdued sniffling.
Ramirez wiped her eyes before glancing around at the group. "So what's next? Mitchell. What about you?" She asked the gangly young man seated to her right.
He shrugged, eyes on the ground, but Ramirez leaned in toward him, and he mumbled softly. "Ooh. I like that one. But I don't think that I can get that low." Ramirez looked around, her eyes were bright, devious almost. "Mike. Johnny's I walk the line?"
"Aww, hell. That's a bit much, even for me."
"Come on, Mike."
"Fine. Fine." He cleared his throat.
"I'll count us off then." She smiled. "Two...three...four."
She played, and Mike sang, and almost everyone joined in. When they concluded, she clapped Mike on the shoulder. "All right. Since you were a good sport. You get to pick the next one."
"Marty Robbins, El Paso," Mike said.
Ramirez laughed, "You're trying to get on my good side, aren't you" She cleared her throat. "Bill. I think you and I can do this one. You know this one don't you?"
Davidson started protesting but was interrupted by the group, and he held his hands up in surrender. "All right. All right. Goddamn. Okay." He cleared his throat. "At your ready, Feelena."
"Ha. Ha. Ha." Ramirez rolled her eyes but started picking out the tune.
"Out in the West Texas town of El Paso, I fell in love with a Mexican girl…" Davidson sang, the slightest tinge of pink rising on Ramirez's cheeks, she smiled but continued playing. "Nighttime would find me in Rosa's Cantina, music would play, and Fellena would whirl."
The song ended with a round of cheers and clapping. Davidson extended his hand to the Ramirez, and she looked him up and down skeptically. "Yes?"
"My turn." He said firmly.
She handed over the guitar, and Davidson played a song before another member around the campfire asked for the guitar. They all sang along or clapped to the beat, every one of them beaming by the end of it.
"Now before we wrap up for the evening," Davidson announced. "I have one more that I'd like to play just for Ramirez."
She opened and closed her mouth, "Bill." She said, warning in her tone.
"Just stay put right there, Ramirez," Davidson instructed firmly as he started to tune the instrument for the song he wanted to play.
"Bill?" She repeated.
He flashed a wicked smile, clearing his throat before he began. "There's a yellow rose of Texas, That I am going to see, No other fellow knows her, No other, only me, She cried so when I left her, It like to broke my heart, And if I ever find her, We never more will part."
Ramirez went a bright shade of red, throwing her hands over her face as the rest of the group joined in singing and clapping along to the beat. The song ended, and Suzanne emerged with a bouquet of a two dozen yellow roses, tied with a black ribbon around the stems. Tears started streaming down her face, as she took the bouquet in her arms, and was immersed in a hug by the three nearest people who kissed her on the cheek.
People started lining up to hug her, and wish her goodnight. Until one by one, they departed, and it was just Davidson, Mike, and Suzanne remaining. "Well, that's another one for the books. Good job, kiddo." Davidson said as he came up to give her a hug.
"Thanks, Bill." She said, returning the hug. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, right?"
"That was the plan," Bill replied, releasing her from his embrace.
"You guys have a good night!" Mike waved as Davidson started toward the truck.
"I'll talk to you Monday about arrangements," Suzanne said cryptically as she pat Ramirez on the shoulder. "Night, Matt." She nodded toward him before she also moved toward her truck.
"Y'all have a good night." Ramirez waved as they pulled down the drive, watching as their tail light disappeared down the drive. "Now that wasn't so bad." She commented, sinking back down, the bouquet of yellow roses lying on the bench beside her, some of the blooms looked droopy and had begun to wilt in the heat of the evening air, the guitar sitting beside it.
"What do you mean?" He replied, moving from the barn doorway toward the fire pit.
"You don't seem to take well to crowds."
So she had noticed his discomfort. Well, of course she had.
"It's understandable. They can be a bit overwhelming." She commented, picking up the guitar, started plucking at the strings. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
It was a strange question. Enjoyment didn't factor into his daily experience, thus far. So he wasn't quite sure what to say. "It was interesting to watch." he managed finally.
Ramirez chuckled, nodding in agreement. "It certainly is that I'd imagine."
He glanced around, the ranch was quiet, the horses long bedded down. Ghost was out in the enclosure near the trough and under the overhang asleep. The stars were out and shining bright, and this woman was sitting here with him, playing the guitar as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Davidson's words echoed a thousand times in his head. The best thing you can do for her is leave. The man wasn't wrong. He had lingered too long, and he was putting these people, putting her at risk.
He should say something. Wanted to say something. What would he say to her? I'm leaving tomorrow? Thank you? Nothing seemed to cover what he wanted to express. His gaze was drawn upward as she started singing to herself. "Sometimes I wonder why I spend the lonely nights dreaming of a song." It was soft and sweet and tender, and he watched as she sang.
He frowned. I know that song. He'd heard it before. Somewhere. He could hear the crackling of the radio, a soft and tender moment, he was holding someone's hands. "Stardust?" He managed, his voice rough compared to her's.
She nodded, her fingers picking at the strings, hands working the frets. "My grandfather was always partial to Willie Nelson's version, which is part of the reason why I learned it. My husband always liked Bing Crosby's version." Ramirez said.
Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey, that was the version he'd listened to. He glanced back up at Ramirez, who had returned to humming the melody as she played. "How long have you been playing?"
"Oh. I guess on and off for about twenty years now." She commented, finishing the song, but the guitar back up on the picnic bench beside the roses.
"You play very well." He said.
"Thanks." She smiled. Glancing around, she sighed, rubbing her face. "I should probably head up for the evening."
"Do you want help moving the tables and chairs back in?"
"No. No, they can keep for tonight." She shook her head, looking down into the embers of the dying fire. "Thank you for your help today, and for your help with the roof in general. I do appreciate it. Tremendously," She said.
He nodded. Say something. Tell her something. Tell her thank you. Tell her you're leaving. His brain screamed.
"Have a good night, Matt. I'll see you in the morning." She rose, collecting the guitar and the bouquet of roses.
"You too, Ramirez." He replied. He waited until she'd gone into the house, and he could see her turn on the lights in each room she entered before he moved into the barn.
He lay back in the stall, his mind rushing and racing. Tomorrow he'd finish the roof, and he'd be gone. He couldn't endanger her any more than he already had. He'd lingered long enough. It was time for him to keep moving. He squeezed his eyes shut and fell asleep humming Stardust.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you're enjoying! Feel free to drop a line, I'm always happy to hear what people think as the story progresses. R&R! And until next time, happy reading!
