Author's Notes: 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: Time in A Bottle by Jim Crose and Black Dirt by Sea Wolf
Chapter 16: Little Girls With Sharp Teeth
"So there we were. Bucky without a stitch of clothing, Mrs. Fanny McGregor getting ready to faint, and me no more than nine or ten trying to make sure no one woke up mother." Becca said through peals of laughter.
Maggie was sprawled out on the couch across from Becca, her side aching from the laughter.
"Fortunately, I was able to deescalate the situation, and exchanged a month of chores in exchange for her not telling our mother what she'd seen."
"That. Was. Beautiful." Maggie managed between several gasps for air, as she wiped at the tears streaming down her face
"Not as beautiful as my brother's expression being caught on the front stoop by our extremely elderly neighbor and his kid sister completely naked."
"Oh, Jeezus." Maggie wheezed between laughs. "Did he ever tell you what happened to his clothes?"
"No. And he swore me to absolute secrecy. I wasn't to tell a soul." Becca explained, taking a sip from her glass. She paused, her expression thoughtful. "I think this is the first time I've told anyone that story."
Maggie stopped laughing and sat up to catch her breath. She knew that tone, the long lost memories that come back to punch you in the gut at the most unexpected times. "I appreciate mortifying stories. I have a number of them personally. Most of them involve being stinking drunk. It's wonderful to know that stupid bullshit isn't a new invention." She said slowly.
"Oh, you young people have nothing on what we got up to back then. We were poor and had nothing to do but get into trouble." Becca smiled. "I think you and I would've gotten on like a house on fire if we'd known one another back then."
"Well, I imagine you and I would get into a lot more trouble now if I weren't on house arrest and down a hand." Maggie returned the smile.
"Oh, if I was twenty years younger, perhaps."
Maggie opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, grabbing one of the frozen grapes from the bowl on the coffee table, popped it in her mouth. Some things didn't require a response, and this was one of them.
After the 4th of July picnic, she'd been spending more time on Becca's couch, whiling away the long summer days. It was a welcome break from the monotony of the tower. Occasionally she got a funny story out of Becca about James Barnes or Steve Rogers before the war. Today's story had been particularly amusing, and if she was honest with herself, she'd needed a good laugh. It had been a week for bad news, particularly as it pertained to her. Her hand would be in the cast for eight more weeks, with little good news about the rest of her prognosis. Naturally, Sam was out of town, and Steve didn't need to deal with her shit, so she'd headed over to Becca's for their usual lunch date, and the older woman had sensed that she needed a pick me up. It was challenging to know what to say to that, though. Growing up, Maggie had never thought she'd make it to thirty, never mind live through what she had thus far. What could she possibly say to someone who had live through as much as Becca had?
"I have to say Magdalen dear, while it's a shame that you're cooped up with this old bird. It's been a pleasure having you around," Becca said with a small, almost sad smile.
Maggie nodded, reflexively reaching for the chain around her neck, stringing her fingers through the gold bands. "I've enjoyed being around." She managed.
"Your heart is heavy today, and you're a thousand miles away," Becca commented gently as she moved from her chair to sit beside her on the couch. "You want to tell me what's going on? Maybe I can help."
"Oh. I'm just being stupid." She shook her head.
"No, you're just being mean to yourself," Becca commented, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever it is, I'm almost positive I've heard it before. You've met my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I've seen and heard a few things in my time."
Maggie sighed, rubbing her face wearily. "I miss being home. It's been nearly four months. I didn't think it was going to take this long. I just want my life back."
"That's not stupid at all," Becca said.
"I don't know. I think Sam thinks it's a good thing I'm away from the ranch. That'll it'll help me move on from...from losing Riley."
"How long where you married?"
"Pardon?"
"You still wear your wedding bands around your neck."
"Oh." Maggie paused, her hand returning to the worn golden bands. "Five years."
"KIA?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Maggie could feel herself slipping into the grieving widow's club persona she'd developed when she'd gone to the support group.
"Gabriel was as well." Becca nodded. "Truly one of my greatest loves." She glanced up, meeting Maggie's gaze. "Young, foolish love." Maggie couldn't respond. What was there to say? "What was he like? Your husband, I mean." Becca inquired.
Maggie exhaled slowly. It had been a long time since anyone had asked her to talk about Riley. Sam was really the only person she spoke to about him. Even then, Sam had to be in a particular mood. Where exactly could she begin? "He is...was one of the sweetest men I've ever had the chance to know and love." Maggie started slowly. "He was probably better suited to the life of a school teacher or a professor, but every Underdahl man had served their country for three or four generations and so he was going to too. He was a hopeless optimist, always laughing and smiling and making sure Sam and I didn't take ourselves too seriously."
"Samuel Wilson?"
"The very same."
"Tell me about him."
Maggie paused. How best to explain Sam Wilson and their relationship to Riley to a woman born in the 1930s.
"He was Riley's wingman," Maggie said slowly.
"And I take it he and Sam were a package deal," Becca commented knowingly.
"Something like that."
"I always thought that would be the case with my brother and Steven. That they would be a package set if they decided to marry, beyond one another, I mean. Inseparable. Polyamory? I believe you young people call it. Back when my son was coming age, it was called free love."
Maggie's face must have looked as surprised as she felt because Becca continued. "One of my grandchildren came out as trans, and another as bisexual. It was unfortunate to find out they were concerned with what I would think. We all had to do some research, but it was a wonderful experience learning and helping them actualize who they are. I do wonder how things might have been different if things had been as open back when I was a child, coming of age."
"It's still not great," Maggie said dryly.
"No. I know. A number of my children and grandchildren are a result of parents kicking their children out." Becca said sourly. "I don't understand it."
"Neither do I."
Becca opened her mouth to speak but stopped, a knowing expression on her face. She wasn't an idiot, and Maggie knew the older woman could work out the meaning behind her words. "You lost your whole world when he died, didn't you?" Becca commented.
"He was the glue that held all of us together. Me, Sam, and Riley." Maggie paused, exhaling sharply, had to blink as her vision started to blur. "They were my boys." She managed, her voice squeaky and small.
"You are a brave woman. Magdalen."
"No. I just did what had to be done." Maggie said, shaking her head. "That doesn't make me exceptional. I've lost no more than anyone else."
Becca smiled sadly. "My mother said almost the same thing. Had the stiffest upper lip I've ever seen, and I come from a family of professional stiff upper lips. First, with my brother and then my father, we Barnes women were expected to soldier on. She never complained, never talked about the grief she must've felt. I learned a lot from her. Both good and bad." It wasn't pity in her voice. Maggie would know that a mile away. It was understanding from someone who had been through much of the same. "She was an amazing woman. You remind me a lot of her. The strength and grace you carry yourself with, despite everything you've been through. You would've gotten along. My sisters would've liked you too."
"What happened to your sisters. If you don't mind me asking."
"Oh, Abigail died of breast cancer in 1991, and before that, Rachel died in a car crash, 1977."
"I'm sorry."
"I appreciate your sympathy, dear ." Becca smiled sadly. "All of this to say, I know and understand what it's like."
"Thank you." Maggie nodded.
"So, tell me more."
"About?"
"Your Riley. About the good times."
The good times. That felt so long ago now she wasn't sure if she could remember what they were, or what it had felt like. She closed her eyes, struggling even to remember the sound of his voice. She'd only just listened to his audio letters a few days ago. Did he exist outside of those letters, those moments trapped in time? Could she remember his annoying traits along with those captured on audio? Was she losing him again? Before she could slip into a panic, she opened her eyes, meeting Becca's thoughtful, patient expression, and cleared her throat.
"What's there to say? He was my idiot, white boy. Gringo to boot. But he was mine." Maggie began slowly. "He couldn't cook to save his life, although he did try to cook for me when I was sick or just too tired to make an effort. It was very well-intentioned. He was a master at ordering take out and cleaning up the kitchen. He always did his part to make the house feel like home, and he was so tender with me. He would always rub my feet or massage my shoulders whenever I asked, or whenever the mood struck him that I needed a back rub because I was always the one doing all of the heavy manual labor. He always tried to make sure that the fridge was well stocked and would help me put together grocery lists whenever he was away. On the weekends, when he and Sam were on leave, they would take care of my chores for me and make sure I got a chance to sleep-in. Then when I did wake up, they made sure I got breakfast in bed." She smiled, chuckling softly at the memory of Sam and Riley bickering about who got what chores. "Riley loved watching movies. He'd organize movie nights, where we'd all get to chose a movie, and we'd draw lots to see what order we'd watch our movies. I think he always fixed it because he always drew the last straw, and Sam and I were always asleep by opening credits of his film."
"What would you watch?"
"Oh, all sorts of things. Sam was always in for a good buddy cop or road trip movie, I liked action movies or a good biopic if given a chance, and Riley, ever the romantic, liked the classic films or documentaries if given a second choice. We were going to do a binge of the American Film Institutes's 100 greatest films when they got back from tour. When he was on leave." She paused, feeling the lump form in her throat.
"But you never got the chance." Becca filled in the blank with a nod.
"Yeah. Tried to do it on my own but could never get through Citizen's Kane."
"Oof. That one was rough to watch even when it came out. The biggest drama was that Orson Wells had based the story on William Randolph Hearst, and there was a whole big stink about it. Still a wretchedly boring movie." Becca paused. "I was too young to understand most of what was going on when Bucky took Steve and me to see it. You should ask Steve about it. He had some strong feelings about it."
"I'm not sure he'd talk to me. He doesn't like to talk about the past, not with me."
"Don't take it personally. It isn't you." Becca stopped again to find her words. "I think he very much tries to forget who he was, before all of this. And I think it's easier for him because he was gone for so long. Unfortunately for those of us who took the long road of history, some things are harder to forget. Then again, the pain is easier to manage too. Which is why I'm glad to see someone like Samuel Wilson in his life, and of course you too dear."
"Just in a different capacity," Maggie said.
"Of course." Becca agreed. "Have you seen Steven's artwork?"
"No. I mean, yes. I've seen some of the stuff from like Museum exhibits, but none of his most recent work."
"Would you like to see some of my private collection?"
"Personal collection?" Maggie raised a mischievous eyebrow.
"Steve corresponded with me during the war when he was on tour and of course after that. I managed to save some of them. He would also include drawings since they weren't allowed to send photographs with anything that might compromise their position. Would you like to see them?"
"I would love to."
Becca rose and shuffled off to one of the back rooms, returning minutes later with a flat, slender box, an archival box. "Sit right there," Becca instructed as Maggie started to rise to help her.
Maggie put up her hands in surrender as Becca settled back down on the couch beside her, clutching the box to her. "You have to promise not to tell anyone what you see."
"Why's that?" Maggie furrowed her brow together.
"My dear. Captain America's wartime drawings of his best friend, who also happens to now be a known international war criminal? The Smithsonian would be after my head for withholding them, never mind that those drawings could go for millions at auction. Particularly with all the renewed interest." She said. She was trying to be funny, but the pain behind the words was palpable.
"Promise." Maggie smiled gently.
"Alright." Becca placed the box delicately on Maggie's lap.
Pulling off the lid, Maggie removed the first layer of tissue paper, revealing the top pencil sketch. It was James Barnes all right, in Steve's interpretation of the famous Howling Commandos jacket. He was laughing, his eyes squinty and crinkly with laugh lines. A sniper's rifle slung over his shoulder. Maggie had seen a similar drawing in the Smithsonian. This one, however, was far more finished, polished with an artist's mark and caption. "Sergeant Barnes laughs at one of 'Cap's' bad jokes." The next one was again of Bucky, but this time, it was one where he wasn't addressing the artist's gaze. He was wearing his famous Howling Commando's jacket. Steve, however, had drawn him graver this time. Bucky's jaw was clenched, heavy rings around his eyes, more of a slump in his posture. "A bad day." Is what Steve had called it. The third was Bucky asleep, face relaxed and free of lines and care. He almost looked angelic, hair falling over his face. "Snow White, waiting for true love's first kiss." Steve's elegant script announced, followed by presumably Bucky's tidy scrawl "Ha Ha Rogers, very funny, you punk." There were several others.
Bucky and the Howling Commandos. Bucky and Steve. Margaret Carter and Bucky in an almost study format. The last one, however, made Maggie pause. It was Bucky and Steve. Only there were no Howling Commandos insignias, no signs of Captain America. Instead, it was Bucky and Steve from before the war. It looked like they were sitting on a beach. Steve's face was gaunt and sickly, Bucky's face boyish and round, eyes vibrant and bright, their arms slung around one another. It was dated around January 1945. Only a few weeks perhaps even days before Barnes would fall from the train. Maggie glanced down at the caption, which simply read, "Just in case."
Maggie swallowed hard to fight back the tears that threatened to choke her. Just in case. She knew what that meant. Just in case we don't make it, this is how we want you to remember us. And now here they were. Steve Rogers, Captain America, and Bucky Barnes...well up until recently, he would've just been Steve Roger's best friend and Howling Commando. Now, Barnes was the Winter Soldier. Infamous. All signs, all hints of the young men in the drawing reduced to fading pencil marks and even foggier memories. She looked up at Becca, who was watching her intently. "How much of him is left to save, Magdalene?"
Becca's words made her flinch. Maggie had known that sooner or later, they would end up here. She'd wanted to avoid that, wanted to avoid telling Becca what she'd seen. She'd asked Becca, the first day they'd met, to tell her about her brother so that Maggie didn't have to think about the man that had slept in her barn, the man with the metal arm, the man who had ruined her life.
"I've done my research, Steven won't talk about it, but I know, I know that something has happened to him, something horrible." Becca looked away and down at the drawing on Maggie's lap. "He wants to protect me. He thinks he's protecting me by not telling me what he knows, but it isn't protection." She glanced back up at Maggie. "You've spent the most time with him, you know some of what he's become, and you won't lie to me. Tell me what my brother has become."
What could she say? What did Becca want to hear? The truth, that's what she wanted, but did Maggie even have the truth? Did she even have a partial truth? She couldn't rightly say. She'd been given half of a brief, less than half of a brief, and had set about trying to find him. Anything and everything beyond that had come from Becca. While Maggie trusted Becca, Becca's information was 70-year-old recollections of the brother had been, not the man who'd crawled half emaciated into Maggie's barn. But trauma changed people. She knew that. Becca knew that. They all knew that. So what could she say to this woman about her brother? The man that Maggie had met barely resembled a person, never mind the man represented in pencil and paper before her laden with memories.
Maggie paused, chewing on the corner of her mouth. "If I'm honest, I've really tried to avoid thinking too hard about the man I found in my barn." She began haltingly. "He isn't the first half-dead, half-starved man who's stumbled onto my property. Several of my very good friends and volunteers started that way back when Riley was still alive. He was very sick for al lot of the time he was with me. But he was eager to help when he could be. When he found out that my barn roof was leaking and in need of repair, he replaced it for me without payment."
"He always was very handy. He was an odd-jobs man before the war, and when work at the docks was slow." Becca said softly.
"That makes a lot of sense. It was frustrating that he wouldn't take money from me." Maggie nodded and focused back down on the drawing.
Steve had managed to capture Bucky's eyes, and they shone even though it was just graphite. She wanted to reach out and touch the carefully drawn lines as if that would somehow make it, make him real. He was real, though, and although the portrait held none of the anger and fear that the man in her barn and outbuilding had exhibited, there was the same intensity to them.
"He was very quiet and watchful like he was sizing me up. Patient and still. I suppose that made him an effective sniper during the war and well after he fell from the train. I could sense he was dangerous and that he was capable of hurting me, but I never felt afraid. Perhaps I should have been, perhaps that might have spared me and my ranch everything that I've gone through since then, but I knew that as much as he was a danger to me, he was almost more of a danger to himself." Maggie shook her head. "He's scary and dangerous, and I think part of the reason Steve is so determined to find him is because he could hurt someone, even unintentionally." She paused. Trying to find her thoughts. "But..." She said slowly. "He was afraid. He was so afraid. And yet he still stuck his neck out for me, helped out around the ranch. There was something truly...compassionate about him. I ..." Maggie shook her head again, running her fingers through her hair. "I don't know how much of your brother is left, I couldn't say, even with the time that I spent with him. But I do know that there is someone there worth trying to help still left in there."
Becca watched her, a firm grit to her jaw, a look of determination on her face, bracing for the worst. Then when Becca realized there wasn't anything more that Maggie was going to say, she nodded and exhaled slowly. "Thank you. For your honesty and for looking for my brother. Particularly after everything that you've been through because of him."
"I do my best." Maggie managed. What was she supposed to say? She slid the wedding bands along the chain, thoughtfully, trying to come up with something more she could say.
"It won't hurt this way forever."
"What?" Maggie made eye contact with Becca.
"Someday you'll be able to take off those wedding bands without feeling like you're removing a part of yourself. Not today, not for a while yet, but eventually, it won't hurt quite so much." Becca said gently.
Maggie could feel her grip on the bands tighten, but she said nothing.
"I'm sorry that you're hurting. And if there is anything that I can do to help to ease that ache, you need but ask."
Maggie nodded, clearing her throat before she spoke. "Thank you."
"Of course." Becca pat her on the knee, before gently returning the drawings to their box and covering them with tissue paper. Returning them to the place she'd retrieved them from, Becca stopped as she looked at the time on the massive wall clock. "Oh gracious, is that the time?"
"Yeah. I believe so."
"Well, I'm afraid I have to kick you out. While I do enjoy our lunches, dear, I have a doctor's appointment that I need to get ready for." Becca said.
"Everything okay?"
"Oh, you know. Usual stuff. Getting old isn't what it's cracked up to be." Becca waved her hand dismissively.
"We still on for lunch Thursday?"
"Absolutely. I wouldn't miss it for anything."
"Sounds good." Maggie collected her things, stowing them in her satchel before rising to her feet and crossing the room to where Becca was standing.
"Is your security person around? I know Steven gets a little touchy about that sort of stuff. I can have my guy drop you off if you need me too."
"He isn't. But there is an ice cream shop down a few blocks. I'll walk down there and have Fabian pick me up there. It isn't a problem." She smiled. "I could use the fresh air and exercise."
Becca offered two more times to have her security person drop her off at the tower, but Maggie made it out the door and down the road toward the ice cream shop. Becca had told her about soda fountains. Namely, all the times Bucky and Steve had taken her out for a soda, ice cream, or a malt. In late August it was sweltering, and the heat rose in waves off of the concrete, and a scoop of ice cream would be the perfect solution to a long trek back to the tower. Fortunately, given the time of day, the streets were less crowded than they would be at peak rush hours, so she was able to stroll comfortably down to the ice cream shop. Minutes later, she re-emerged with a scoop of vanilla bean with a cinnamon swirl in a waffle cone in lieu of a butter pecan (which they'd unfortunately been out of).
Do I really want to call Fabian? The subway stop is well within walking distance.
She knew Sam would be unhappy, particularly that he wouldn't like that she'd been out without her security detail. But it was a beautiful day, and while the late August heat was crushing down, she had ice cream, and she wanted to think.
Steven wants to protect me. Becca's words were scathing and stinging. Maggie wasn't entirely sure what to make of it all. Thus far, she'd tried not to. It was easier to think of Barnes in the context of Becca and Steve. Or even abstractly as a prisoner of war or a soldier missing in action. It was better than thinking about murder-death-machine she'd seen the day Hydra had ruined her life.
She sighed, a persistent ache behind her eyes. You really should try to get more sleep. The little voice in the back of her head reminded her, with the slightest tone of irritation.
It didn't matter what she thought of Barnes, or what Steve was or wasn't doing. At some point, she was going to have to reconcile the two, the man and the weapon, the prisoner and the soldier, the person and the myth. First, she'd walk to the subway, eat her ice cream, and do her best to enjoy not being killed by Hydra.
Maggie paused at the sound, of- the sound of nothing.
Something felt wrong.
It was too quiet. The sounds of the street, the sounds of the city, had melted away into nothing. She glanced around, the street deserted, and her stomach twisted. You should've called Fabian. You've made a mistake. She'd been stupid, and foolhardy and now she was going to pay.
She started walking faster. Not that it would make a difference if they wanted to take her. There wouldn't be anything she could do to stop them.
Terror pounded in her throat, and she could smell smoke and see the angry evil on the face of the hydra agents. What would she say? What would they make her say? She knew a lot more than she had back in April, she was more of a target now than she had ever been, and she'd been the idiot who hadn't called her security detail.
So what could she do? Running wasn't going to deter them, so, therefore, her only option was to fight.
Maggie turned just in time to see none other than Natasha Romanoff drop between her and an oncoming assailant who was wielding a truncheon and a taser. She didn't scream. She didn't have a chance to work up a good scream. It was over before it started, and before she could so much as inhale, there were half a dozen Hydra goons strewn out on the sidewalk.
Romanoff turned to look at her, leveling a sharp, decisive gaze on her just as the scoop of ice cream fell from the cone and onto the sidewalk with a wet splat.
"Leave it. We have to move." The agent said, grabbing her arm, they walked along the streets a quick pace, her eyes scanning the perimeter, for what Maggie didn't want to know and hoped they wouldn't find out.
A transmission crackled in the agent's earpiece, and a nondescript black suburban pulled up, and several men dressed in black climbed out, nodding at Natasha. Among them was Fabian, who gave Maggie a critical and disapproving look.
Maggie climbed wordlessly into suburban, and the agents followed, Natasha sitting shotgun, they started their silent ride back to the tower.
Maggie could hear her pulse pounding in her ears and feel it behind her eyes. Her whole body felt like it was shaking, her right hand sticky from where the ice cream had melted. She focused on the road in front of her, following the route she was taking, prepared if necessary to brace for impact or duck. Her brain was screaming a non-stop stream of profanities. It was the only thing that could keep her focused.
When they arrived in the Tower garage, Maggie released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Clambering from the vehicle, Maggie came to face with Romanoff, who was waiting for her.
"I'm going to escort you back to your apartment." She said flatly. Panic must've crossed her face because Romanoff added, "You're not in trouble."
Maggie nodded wordlessly, and Romanoff walked her the elevator. They maintained silence until they reached her apartment when Romanoff produced a universal key, "May I?" She motioned with her head to the door. "I'd like to clear your apartment."
"Sure," Maggie said, the sickly taste of stomach bile stinging in the back of her throat.
"On my six," Romanoff ordered, and Maggie slid into place behind her.
There was a breathless moment as the door swung open, and they walked silently from room to room, checking behind every door before Romanoff touched her ear. "We're clear here."
Then, as if her body was rejecting everything about the situation, Maggie turned to the kitchen garbage can and threw up. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut, praying against all hope that when she opened her eyes again, Natasha Romanoff wouldn't be standing there, giving her a disapproving look.
"It's not uncommon for your body to react that way after situations of high intensity." The other woman's voice cut through the silence like a knife as it drifted around her in the kitchen. "You were very disciplined during all of that." She added, turning on and off the water faucet, set a glass down beside her.
Maggie wasn't sure how to take 'you were very disciplined.' It could be a very backhanded compliment if you squinted hard enough. Straightening upright, she opened her eyes and wiped at her mouth before taking the glass of water in hand. "Thanks." She mumbled, taking a sip.
"Doesn't change the fact that you didn't call your security detail when you left the Proctor residence."
There it was, the slight note of chastisement, of ridicule. Not that it wasn't well deserved, it was more of a time and a place thing that Maggie had an objection to, and the underlying fact that Maggie didn't want to hear it. "Well, thank goodness I have you looking out for me," Maggie said with more of a twang than she'd intended.
"I don't think I can understate how dangerous Hydra is, or the lengths they'll go to re-obtain what they believe to be rightfully theirs. But I would be wasting my breath, considering."
"First-hand knowledge, one could even say," Maggie said dryly, glancing up at the other woman.
There wasn't anger, irritation, or even annoyance in her expression. There was, however, intrigue and perhaps concern on the super spy's face. Why? Maggie couldn't help but wonder. What was she to Romanoff? Why did she care? This was, after all, Natasha Romanoff, super-spy, Black Widow, Avenger, and bonafide badass. Maggie knew the woman could break her with her pinky finger without any effort. Yet, there was something nearly tender, perhaps even vulnerable about the way the woman was looking at her now.
"Why are you doing this?" Romanoff asked.
That question. Maggie hated the question, mostly because she didn't have a good answer, at least not one that didn't sound childish and asinine. "I cooperate, I help Steve find Barnes, Hydra stops looking for him and hunting me, I get to go home."
"Understandable," Romanoff said. "But do you actually believe you'll be able to walk away after all of this?"
Maggie didn't flinch, and Romanoff didn't blink. She wasn't asking to be cruel, it was an honest question, and it was one that had been slowly creeping and growing in the corners of her mind as the days had turned to weeks and then to months. "What is it that Steve is keeping from me about Barnes? Becca Proctor senses it, and I do too."
"That Barnes is dangerous."
"So I gathered."
"More than you could imagine."
"Try me. I have a fairly vivid imagination."
Romanoff opened her mouth to respond but hesitated as something very nearly approaching an amused passed over her face before she smoothed her features into a neutral expression. "You should be afraid." She said finally.
"Who's to say that I'm not?" Maggie replied.
"The more you know, the more of a target you make yourself," Romanoff explained.
"More than I already have? And anyway, why do you give a shit?"
There was a long pause as they sized one another up. Romanoff wasn't toying with her. Maggie knew what that looked like. No. This was something else, genuine concern, which was frankly more off-putting than if she'd just been playing cat and mouse with her in the first place.
"You did a good thing. A selfless thing. And you're being punished for it. Being pushed into a world, into a life that most don't choose for themselves." She said. "You could walk away at any time, why don't you?"
"You think I should."
"This isn't an easy life, and it's even more difficult to leave once you're in it."
"I'd rather be in control of my life than just wait around for someone else to come and save me. Witness protection or what have you didn't seem like I'd have options."
"That why you didn't call Fabian?"
"I didn't get him in trouble, did I?"
"There may be changes in how we run your security detail."
Maggie snorted. "What? You're not interested in using me as human bait? I'm collateral damage at best to people like you." There was more bitterness in her words than she'd meant, but it was true. It ultimately didn't matter what happened to her. She was just one piece, one part of a larger mission a larger objective that she was a part of, a mission focused on bringing Barnes home. What happened to her, and her life and her desires were utterly secondary to that, she knew. She just hoped that at the end of this, there would be enough of her left and enough of her life left to go back to.
"You're clever, which makes you more than just useful, and more dangerous than just bait. Which is why the more you know, the more of a target, the more of a threat you become."
"Is that why Steve is withholding information from me?"
"He wants to protect you."
"I don't feel protected."
"He wants to give you the ability to walk away if you want."
"I'd rather know what I'm getting myself into. I'd rather have the truth, the whole truth. So that I can make an informed decision."
Romanoff nodded, "Let me see what I can find."
"What?" Maggie stammered, doing her best to keep her mouth from dropping open.
"If you poke around indiscriminately, you may find things you're unprepared for, cross a point of no return accidentally. But you should know what you're up against, who you're facing. The truth, or a kind of truth, so that you can make an informed decision."
Maggie opened and closed her mouth. Why would you want to do that for me? She wanted to ask, but she wasn't sure if she wanted the answer. "Thank you." Maggie managed finally. "And thank you for coming to my rescue this afternoon."
"Those men may be of strategic value."
"Human bait? Agent Romanoff?"
"So to speak, Ms. Ramirez."
"I take it that won't be in my morning brief."
"Only if relevant."
Maggie rolled her eyes but nodded. "Well, if you have any pearls of wisdom, I'd be more than appreciative, Agent Romanoff."
"Code and encrypt your data, you don't want anyone off the street to be able to come in and read what you've been up to. And keep as much of it as you can hard copy. It's easier to destroy, harder to track that way."
Practical advice all around and Maggie couldn't help but notice, tailored to her particular lack of skills as a spy, soldier, or superhero. "Any suggestions on encryption and coding? Books I should read? Methods you'd recommend?"
"I can teach you some basics if you want."
"If you have the time and can spare a minute now, I would be tremendously grateful."
"Lead the way, Ms. Ramirez."
"Of course, Agent Romanoff."
Maggie led her to the office, the agent trailing behind at a respectable distance. I'm getting spy lessons from the Black Widow. Maggie wasn't sure if she should scream or swoon. Whatever the case, she couldn't help but think about what Romanoff had insinuated and what it meant. There was a point of no return. Did she cross it in the name of finding out the truth about Barnes? Or did she maintain her ignorance so that she could go home at the end of all of this? As this afternoon had shown, ignorance was not bliss, and no matter how far she stuck her head in the sand, there would always be a target on her back.
She knew she didn't have to cross the point of no return, not yet, not right now. But she also knew it was better to be prepared for when that moment comes when it inevitably would arrive. And if she couldn't rely upon Steve to give her the information she needed to make that decision, she would seek that information from anywhere and anyone who would.
I hope you enjoyed! I can't say this enough, but jeezus poor Mags! Next time we're going to get a bit of Bucky! I look forward to hearing what you think about this chapter!
As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated. Please help feed the plot bunnies (i.e., love and adore me, and you get updates faster). Happy Reading!
