Three weeks. It took three weeks of appraisals, negotiation, inspections, and paperwork, but the house was theirs. The seller had accepted Steve and Holly's offer, the end of the month scheduled as their move-in date. Everything was signed, sealed, and processed, the first mortgage check written out. Even if the completion of the whole house-hunt opened onto new obstacles to traverse (such as packing up possessions and shuffling them to a new location yet again), they were relieved and pleased. They finally had a place of their own, a house to make their home. It was a good feeling.
That good feeling was one they tried to hang onto when Halloween rolled around, the Saturday being their chosen day to get the last of their belongings onto the property. With things split between three places—the new base, the Tower in Manhattan, and the storage locker Steve had been renting out in Maryland for the last three years—it was difficult to coordinate. Steve had struck out for the locker on his own a day ago, in spite of her misgivings. He was still recovering from injuries sustained in the last mission the team was on, and she would rather have him take care of himself first. Instead, he objected that he felt well enough to go, and he would be having someone come along to help, anyway. Movers were granted temporary access to the Tower, watched over by JJ and Stark as the few pieces left there were carted away and hauled upstate. Sam Wilson had promised to help transport the larger furniture from the base if Steve was not back by the early afternoon, his SUV at their disposal. The whole week, in between work and research (and still more calls with the publishing company), the smaller items were packaged up, ready to taken away.
"I am so over moving," Holly groused, dropping a box she was carrying on the floor of one of the smaller bedrooms. Her phone was tucked between her shoulder and her ear, shifting into the palm of her hand as she tapped it back to speakerphone. The guys from the moving company were hauling in things from the truck, nearly finished with the task as there had not been much taken from the Tower. She scratched her scalp, hair shifting and skewing the ponytail she had pulled it into. On the other end of the line, a dramatic sigh poured out.
"Twice in a year is kinda nuts," the bright, cheery tone of the recipient crooned, voice smoothing out. How kind of Sarah to point that out, she mused inwardly. Her best friend exhaled softly before going on. "But at least this one's permanent."
Holly closed her eyes, head tipping forward as she rested an edge of the phone along her forehead.
"Thank goodness," she muttered. After all that was done to obtain the house, she prayed it would remain that way. The conversation moved on, as the two young women were bent on catching up. Though they exchanged texts frequently, it was not the same as actually talking to one another. Sarah Collins had been busy in the months following her best friend's relocating and subsequent wedding. Some of her dance pupils were going to competition again, but she had also arranged for a few couples from her adult classes to enter in ballroom challenges. In between the training, she'd also been looking into starting her own studio, figuring out the numbers with her boyfriend's help. The easy camaraderie between the two women flowed, with Holly easily segueing into her own work woes. The publishing company had pushed her too far, and she had decided to cut her losses and retreat from them. With still no contracts signed and their refusal to take her wishes seriously, they had let her go, contact cut and leaving her twisting in the wind. The literary agent she'd hired was already at work following up on other companies she'd sent submissions to, and that was the last she'd heard. The disappointment in her voice was obvious, but she refused to be bullied into anything she truly did not wish to do. As they spoke, she had made a few trips from the garage to the house, boxes and bags unloaded and placed in their correct rooms. The movers had left after awhile, their task completed, and she was alone for a few minutes. The roar of an engine shooting up the driveway stalled her voice, cutting her off as it pealed up to the property.
"What in the actual hell?" Holly cried, running to the closest window and peering out. There, parked in the driveway close to the front door, was the new truck her husband had been after for the last month. The box was filled, the contents covered with thick tarp and secured with cords all around it. Pressing the heel of her hand to her head, she watched as Steve climbed out of the passenger side, shooting a dark look as Tony Stark coolly exited from behind the wheel. The sunglasses he had on were pushed up, a little unnecessary for the cloudy fall day, and he smirked broadly at the captain. When he tossed the keys over the hood to Steve, he muttered something. They traded remarks back and forth, their voices muffled by the barriers of insulation and glass, but she could hazard a guess that it was merely friendly sniping between them, as always. Sam's familiar Acadia rumbled up behind them, an open trailer hitched behind it and a few of the bigger pieces of furniture situated in it.
"Something wrong?" Sarah broke through, anxious about her outburst. Tapping at the sill, Holly rolled back her shoulders.
"No, just the arrival of the cavalry," she reported, a lopsided grin blooming as she spotted Steve glancing up and spotting her, his hand waving for her to come down. Extending a finger in the one-minute gesture, she told Sarah, "I gotta get down there, start hauling in the big stuff."
"Okay. Let me know if you survive, alright?" the petite blonde asked, tutting at something on her end. "I'll need to start looking for a new matron of honor as soon as possible, otherwise."
"Fine." The words registered with Holly, then, and pulled her up short. "Hold on, did you just—"
Her phone blipped then, alerting her to a text message that had just come in. It was from Aaron's phone, their numbers having been exchanged months ago. Tapping at her screen, she opened it to reveal the picture sent: a band with a small diamond nestled on her friend's hand. No doubt, he'd sent it at his now-fiancee's bidding, just to prove the truth of what wasn't directly said.
Jaw dropping, she spluttered into the phone, "Sarah! Holy crap!"
A resounding, excited laugh floated out of the other girl's mouth. "I've been sitting on it for a couple days, but I couldn't take it anymore."
"That's awesome!" The burst of happiness in her chest made Holly pause on the stairs, sitting down on the top step and pouring out congratulations. "Details?"
"Details later, I promise," Sarah responded, making her groan loudly. A shuffle crackled over the line, and the other woman hurriedly said, "I've gotta run myself. Hit me up later, okay?"
"Of course! Holy balls..."
As she signed off, Holly was still somewhat reeling from the news. Her best friend had gotten engaged...Sarah was going to get married. Processing it for a few moments, she eventually got to her feet, beaming broadly when she finally got to the front door and made her way outside. Off her husband's inquisitive glance, she shared the news with him, and he let out a low whistle. Her excitement continued to bubble below the surface as she belatedly greeted Tony and Sam, thanking them for coming out to help. Brushing it off, Stark beckoned for her to take a look at the new toy Steve had gotten. Rolling his eyes, Steve's gaze lingered fondly on the cab of the black Dodge before he tripped to the back, unwrapping the tarp with Sam's aid. Once she was situated behind the wheel, Tony leaned in, pointing out the upgrades and the features of the vehicle to her. Four-wheel drive, installed seat heaters, defroster on the back window, satellite radio...it was quite a bit to take in. However, she noticed a few things that were by no means standard with any truck she'd ever been in before: veil shielding that could be deployed from the wheel, high definition display set-ups that were connected to project onto the windshield, voice command receptors and access to databases via JJ and the Oracle grid. There even were harnesses hooked up behind the front and passenger seats for the vibranium shield to be stored (where it was still sitting, waiting to be retrieved).
"Well, that explains why it took so long for it to get up here," she said, climbing out of the cab and jogging up to the porch. The truck had actually been purchased roughly a week ago, but it had not made its way upstate until then. Stark pulled a messenger bag out of the back seat, motioning for Sam to go with him to examine the lines of the property, the fallen leaves crunching under their feet. His main purpose would be to help set up the security accouterments, getting the house connected to the programs and protocols set up on the base and at the Tower before the day was out. Moving in the furniture could wait for a few minutes. Steve rested his hip against the balustrade, running his eyes over the truck with satisfaction as he set down the load of boxes he'd brought up with him.
"When he picked it up for me, he insisted on making some adjustments," the captain told her, nodding in the direction Tony had gone. The billionaire had actually wished to hold onto the vehicle longer, to upgrade it even further, but Steve had declined. At that rate, he'd never get the truck back, and it was needed.
"And how much did that cost?" she wondered, crossing her arms and cutting a glance at him.
"Other than the cash I offered...wearing whatever costume he chooses for the party tonight," he confessed meekly, hands going into his pockets. Holly's eyebrows rose a fraction. Giving Tony free reign with his personage at a public event. The agents at the base were going to have a field day with it once he showed up at the company party in whatever Stark chose to inflict on him.
"Oh, good. So your pride, then."
He inclined an eyebrow at her. "That implies that I had any to begin with."
She fixed a stare at him, a sardonic chuckle slipping out of her mouth.
"Please." She observed as he lifted a shoulder, bending a little to brace himself along the railing of the front porch. As his gaze focused on something she could not see, she continued, "You're praying for another mission right now, aren't you?"
He snorted, looking at her out the corner of his eye. "You have no idea, sweetheart."
"Maybe it won't be so bad..." she trailed off when he simply shot her another look. She knew Tony better than that by now. Sighing quietly, she reached up, attempting to fix the stray strands of his blond hair (due for a trim, although she was trying her hardest to talk him into growing it out and adopting his old hairstyle again. Without much success, but she still tried). Aloud, she muttered, "You've already done quite a bit this week."
To her mind, that was definitely true. The team had gone to engage with a group of arms dealers with close ties to Klaue, hoping that shaking them down would reveal information regarding him or his current location. The round-up quickly devolved into a brawl, leaving several members of the team bloodied up and bruised. Steve had come back with a nasty black eye, cuts all over his jaw and mouth, and he'd been hit hard enough to actually strain a couple ribs. When asked, he mumbled something about a truck and high walls, hissing sharply as the nurse in the infirmary wrapped his torso. Holly frowned at that, her stomach quaking at seeing him in real pain. Injuries were almost always a given whenever they returned, but Steve rarely came away with that much (the shield continued to serve its purpose, whenever he wasn't flinging it at someone). The next few days were meant for them to take it easy, but no matter the extent of the trauma, they were still charging ahead. Moving, it seemed, was actually considered light work, as far as he was concerned.
A corner of his mouth twisted up, the split in his lip no longer marring it. "Well, we'll see, won't we?"
With a grunt and a muted wince, he gathered up his boxes again, her eyes following him as he went inside. Rubbing her fingers against her temples, she grumbled to herself as she went in to help.
About a half hour later, Tony and Sam returned, sensors placed at key points along the edges of the property. Parting ways, the billionaire went indoors, taking the bag of micro-cameras and sensors that he'd once installed in Holly's apartment in D.C. from her and starting the hook-up in the house. In between the others shoving in boxes or rearranging furniture, he would call for assistance, one of the other three usually helping brace while he wedged the tech either in a high corner or along a windowsill. Taking Steve's tablet, he plunked himself down on the couch in the living room, consulting his own handheld and chattering with his AI as he completed connecting and testing. During the last legs of the installation, he called over to the captain, crooking his finger at him and imploring him to check out the set-up. The digital grid of the house sprang up via a specially-made application, and he carefully went through the accessibility and the channel for each camera, live feed picking up. Jokingly, he waved at the one in the far corner of the room, and Steve snickered as he watched it show up on the screen. Passing him the tablet, he allowed him to get a feel for the application, allowing his dark gaze to dart around the space. The house was nice, a little kitschy for his tastes. Then again, he was very much about streamlined, modern touches and finishes, so it wasn't surprising that it didn't exactly conform to his preferences. The furniture brought was pretty much dumped where there was room for it, very few boxes opened and ready to be unpacked. The living room was almost the only space that looked near completion. The record player along the inner wall needed to be scooted over a bit, and the couch was at an odd angle, but the television and its stand were situated. As well as that...
"Good Lord, that is a lot of books," Stark murmured as he stared at the bookcases. They were tall and broad, framing the television stand and packed from top to bottom. Blinking, he hooked a thumb forward, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "You gotta get with the times, Rogers. Watch some Netflix or something."
"Actually, those are all Holly's," Steve informed him, his voice infused with warmth. Even when at her busiest, she still consumed books with a passion, which was something he appreciated. Classics were interspersed with modern fiction, mysteries by science fiction, historical fiction shoved up by fantasy. Even a few textbooks from her college days were mixed in as well. There would be no lack of reading material in their house. Screwing up his brow, he continued, "Well, about ninety percent of them are hers. That one shelf there is mine."
He jabbed a finger at the right case, the top shelf. It had saddened him to know that out of all the things the historical society had saved from his life, his books had not been part of the acquisitions. That was a shame; they had been some of his closest companions in his childhood, taking him out of his mind and away from whatever ailment or crummy cold he was afflicted with at the time. Collecting anew, he managed to scrounge up copies of his old favorites, along with the few new biographies he'd acquired over the past couple of years. Those and a few art books were squeezed into the space of the shelf, some of them well-thumbed already. Leaning forward, he deposited his tablet on the askew coffee table, carding a hand through his hair.
"And for the record, I do have a Netflix subscription."
"Yeah, and the whole queue is filled with documentaries and I Love Lucy," Holly spouted from the steps, adjusting her hands as she and Sam steered the box spring up the staircase towards the bedroom. Spying this, Steve discreetly rose from his seat.
"Hey, you watch them, too," he remonstrated in good humor, vaulting over the back of the couch to take her place. As he and Sam pushed the box spring up the steps, Holly blew out a breath, shaking her head. Catching Tony's eye, she tipped her head towards the door, tacitly asking for his assistance. Sighing heavily, he complied, going out and helping her haul in the mattress next.
"So where's the bed frame, by the way?" Sam wondered when she and Tony brought it in, flopping it atop the box spring. It was curious; when they'd started loading the furniture back at the base, he noticed that that certain piece had been missing.
"Ordered and on its way out," she told him without missing a beat, wiping the sweat off her brow. It was too bad; that frame had been with her since she'd moved into her apartment in D.C., headboard and all. At least there was money to work with after negotiating the price down with the seller so they could buy a new one. Placing her hands on her hips, she reported, "It should be delivered in the next few days, give or take."
"What happened to the old one?" Tony asked, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel overshirt and watching their reactions covertly. The couple shared a glance, bright blue connecting with gleaming brown before Holly coughed.
"It's, um, broken." Off the ring of surprised looks around them, she hastened to add, "To be fair, it broke when Steve fell back onto it going to sleep."
On top of being hurt, that was just another sharp hand they were dealt in the last week, and Steve had let out an inventive stream of curses when the thing had snapped under his weight. All in French, of course, so she wasn't actually sure he was cursing, but she'd heard a "merde" dropped once or twice, and she thought she'd gotten the gist of it.
Sam arched an eyebrow, flicking his fingers at them. "But I'm sure the pair of you didn't help the matter along or anything."
Color flared into their faces, and Steve's jaw set tightly. A sharp inhalation from Tony's direction drew his ire-filled glance, and the billionaire immediately looked up at the ceiling.
"...No comment," the captain said, turning swiftly and propelling a laughing Stark out of the room with a palm firmly placed between his shoulder blades. Holly grinned weakly, pivoting on her heel and striding over to the bag with the bedspread bundled into it, determined to make the mattress ready for use that night.
"Your mother would be so pleased," Wilson teased, laughing as he watched Holly's face flush a deeper red and walking out of the room before she chose to retaliate.
xXxXxXx
"When's Hawley coming?" Tony asked, choosing to get down to business right then. He had returned to the base with Steve after the last of the possessions were moved into the house. Sam and Holly would be coming in later, after they prepared for the party themselves. The sun had drooped low in the sky, night rushing in upon them. They needed to get back to oversee the set-up for the base's Halloween bash and to also take a look at the cordoned wing that was to be his. As his probationary period had ended, he was still unsure about whether or not he would resume his place on the team. Still, Stark had more than earned a right to the space, given that the base was leased out from him. There was a good, open bank that could be converted into a laboratory, and it could also accommodate suit storage. He just needed to check out the specs.
"A couple weeks or so," Steve told him, matching his stride as they tromped through the garage to the elevator bank at the back. Their U.N. representative had called in just before their last mission, expressing the need for her to make the trip over. "She wants to do an evaluation, inform the U.N. of any needs that we might have. She's starting here, and then she'll move onto London to check on the progress of the other base."
"Seems a little backwards," the billionaire mused aloud. Arching an eyebrow, he wondered, "Is she coming alone?"
The captain's eyes flicked away for a second, attention paid to the doors of the elevator sweeping open. Getting on, he waited for Tony to board with him, jabbing the button for the correct floor before answering.
"I've been told that...well, she's said that some others would be interested," Steve owned up, crossing his arms and a grimace surfacing. "One of them is very adamant about attending, and it's becoming too difficult to avoid now. If we don't accommodate him, it could get very ugly, very fast."
Tony scoffed audibly, tapping at his handheld for a few seconds and readjusting the strap of his travel duffel on his shoulder.
"Despite your attempt at tact, I have an idea of exactly whom you're referring to." Brown eyes flashed, a dark and hard edge coming in. "And you're right; he could make things very uncomfortable for everyone if he's not appeased in some way."
Steve's expression flattened out, and his lips thinned. "Believe me, I'm more and more grateful each day for the fact that he has no say in operations here."
"Thank God for Hawley and Hill."
"Oh, I do," he replied, absolute honesty surfacing. Exhaling sharply, he moved to rest his hands on his belt buckle, and he glanced at Stark warily. "Do you think you could be here for it, Tony? You might be a good deterrent for any...extras that come around."
"Please, stop flattering me, Rogers," he retorted sardonically, the elevator coming to a halt and the doors sliding open. Carefully, the duo picked their way across the floor, heading straight for the guest quarters that were set up for visitors. "Yeah, I can swing back up here. Pretty sure heading off the good General Ross outweighs a golf date with a CFO."
The rapid swivel of the captain's head nearly made him laugh in his face. "You golf?"
"It was the lesser of two evils, trust me," Stark grumbled, using his designated access code at the door of the quarters when they'd arrived. Stepping into the compact space, he gave it a cursory glance as he let Steve ponder his statement. It was almost untouched from when he'd made his first inspection months ago: the kitchenette was tidy, opening up onto a wide living space. It was a glorified studio, really, but it wasn't meant for long-term living. Crossing the room, he tossed his bag onto the bed, the dark red comforter muffling the drop. Running a hand through his close-cropped hair, he tsked under his breath and shot a look at Steve before speaking his mind once more. "He might try to make demands, regardless. I don't think he'd be above pulling rank, if he had to."
The captain's spine stiffened, clenching his jaw as stoicism set upon his face. The blue of his eyes turned icy as he considered Tony's words. Much of what he'd heard about General Ross had indicated that his friend's suppositions were on the mark, and that did not sit well with him in the least. The man would be determined to find fault, and equally as determined to push his way into the organization, despite having no real authority with either them or the United Nations.
"He has no one to pull it over up here," he pronounced carefully, the storm in his gaze intensifying. His tone, however, remained low and even. "I'd like to see him try."
A long moment of silence passed, each man ruminating over the posited situation and considering how future events could transpire. It would be best for him to be up there for the visit, Tony concluded. He'd dealt with Ross before; he would most likely have the best chance of keeping the fellow in line. Shaking off the shiver that had just run down his spine, he turned his attention onto his bag, taking it in hand again.
"Speaking of trying..." Tony trailed off, unzipping his duffel and removing a couple packages. The clear costume bags held two distinctly different outfits. Tapping his finger along the side of one, he politely inquired, "Which one would you like to try your luck on?"
Eyeing up the offerings, Steve's face crumpled into mild distaste. "Neither, if I'm being honest."
"Hey, I retrofitted that monster you have parked in the garage," the billionaire asserted, jabbing a finger at him. "You owe me."
"I did pay you," the captain pointed out. Money had been passed between them, but he even he knew that Stark had knocked down the price. He just wished the windfall could be made up in another way.
"True, but I prefer the blackmail potential this has," Tony told him outright, amusement lighting up his face. "I could've been cruel, you know. Made you struggle with a pair of tights. Though I suppose you would be an expert at those by now."
A smirk reflected back at the deep frown, glimmers of humor in their eyes as they stared one another down for a few moments. Tearing his gaze away, Steve glanced back and forth between the two options presented, sighing deeply.
"...Then, this one, I guess," he said, selecting the one on the right, nudging away the accessories for the costume off to one side. It was something of a cliché for him to choose that particular outfit, but it would at least be bearable. And at least moderately appropriate.
"Ah, ah," the billionaire reprimanded him, pushing the additional bagged items back at him. "Beard, too, or no deal."
The captain scrubbed a hand over his brow, barely suppressing a wince. "You know, you were talking about the lesser of two evils before. I think this more adequately fits the description."
xXxXxXx
Whoever claimed that organizations like SHIELD or the offices of the Avengers were stolid, stuffy, and boring had clearly never gone to one of their designated company parties. The reputation they had carried certainly made one think that the people involved had to be humorless and stiff, but it was far from the truth. Holidays were among the few things that allowed the agents and other staff to actually let loose and be who they truly were at their cores. Consequently, when they took the time to celebrate, they celebrated. Hard. After all, it could very well be their last party (for some of them); living it up was an absolute requirement. The connection to Tony Stark just made it all the more impressive and exciting, as he was directly funding the parties that year.
The open-air front lobby was swathed from top to bottom in decorations, fake webbing and ghosts dotting the walls, and an honest-to-God pumpkin patch in the far corner. Lights flashed and shined, reflected on the disco ball strung up in the rafters. A top-notch bar flanked the east wall, the DJ setting up his booth along the west. Of course, staff would still be on-duty, but the trade-off kept the flow thriving and jumping. Attendance was not mandatory, but if one was employed at the base, one could not possibly think of an excuse to miss out.
The costume parade was definitely not something that could be overlooked. Some people did find it amusing to dress up as the "top brass," so to speak, but many of the employees and interns had engaged their homemade ingenuity to assemble their ensembles. From the cheap and cheesy to the downright astounding, the mix was incredible. And, depending on the viewpoint, cringe-worthy.
"This must be a proud moment for you," the blue-haired pixie crowed to the sexy (though she argued the term) baseball player, passing one of the cups she'd retrieved from the bar to her. Kay's black eyes cut to the right, darting over the sea of party-goers to the object of their attention. A hard snort flew out of her companion, and she had to smother a giggle.
"Oh, it is," Holly remarked sarcastically, leaning back against the wall and taking a healthy swallow of her drink. Her gaze followed along with Kay's, watching as the captain made his way across the room, poked and prodded in the back by Tony. Or, more to the point, Sherlock Holmes—deerstalker, pipe, and all—was pushing him around. They'd been flagged down and accosted by the billionaire almost from the second they stepped into the room, and he'd spirited her husband away before she could get a word in edgewise. Steve tried to reach out, bring her along, but he was swept away, and now she could only watch from the claimed position by the wall as he was shoved to and fro. The red and white striped trousers caught around his legs, the blue jacket was ill-fitting and the beard and top hat were lopsided. However, that had not prevented him from actively owning the damn thing as he moved, false confidence buoying him. She huffed out a breath and shook her head. "I'm so glad that the old Uncle Sam jokes can get revived due to this. Because we haven't heard those in awhile."
Kay outright scoffed at that, adjusting the top of her costume discreetly. "Hey, you married him."
"That I did," Holly replied immediately, fixing the bill of her new ball cap so it would sit properly, even when on backwards. "He was given a choice, and frankly, I don't blame him for making this one; Tony does like to try and embarrass the hell out of him, if he can. I mean, I would've quite liked the second choice, but, well...not for here."
Meaningful glances passed between the two women, one arching her eyebrow and the other grinning suggestively before dissolving into laughter. Before Kay could inquire about what the second choice of costume was, Holly jerked her chin out, gesturing out to another section of the crowd.
"Meanwhile, looks like Zorro's got his eye on you."
The other young woman followed her gaze, sizing up the fellow swathed in black, plastic sword on his hip and a grin that threatened to grow larger now that he was being noticed. Holly wasn't sure who he was, most likely one of the lab rats, if she had to guess, but she was interested in Kay's reaction. As far as she knew, her friend's affair ("Oh, geez, that makes it sound so classy when you put it that way," was the sniped response when she termed it thusly weeks ago) with the winged Avenger was still going strong. However, when the two women spoke, they generally tried not to allude to it in respect to the agent's wishes. To say she was curious about where things stood was an understatement, but she had bitten her tongue on the subject. However, she wasn't above prompting about other people taking notice and using it as a gauge.
The answer became fairly obvious when Kay did nothing more than flick her gaze over the guy, a hand dabbing at the glittering pattern dotting across her temples and cheeks.
"I don't know," she murmured, turning her head slightly to the right and eyeing up another person across the room. "Kinda digging the guy in the Top Gun jacket."
In spite of knowing whom she was referring to, Holly still glanced over to the person in question. Sam had his hands tucked into the pockets, aviator sunglasses perched on his nose and his own dog tags chained around his neck. He was trying to maintain a conversation with the masked vampire (Rhodey, who was poking at the brown bomber jacket disparagingly) but his posture unmistakably kept opening up in Kay's direction. Well, it was unmistakable to those who were looking for it. Cutting her eyes back and forth, she barely caught the three taps her friend made when she brought her hand up to her shoulder. When her head tilted slightly to the side, she narrowed her gaze at the brightly-attired woman, missing Sam's careful exit. After a few moments, she understood what had just happened, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. If Sarah had been there, she would've been on Kay for further gossip so fast; the mental image flew through her mind so quickly, she barely managed to stop from crowing outright.
"Oh, that's...so subtle," Holly mumbled into her cup instead, her companion huffing and scratching the corner of her eye pointedly with her middle finger. Glimpsing it, she laughed out loud and bumped her shoulder with her own, causing her to giggle, too. Taking a step or two back, Kay's face was creased in question, a shoulder shrugging. Realizing that she was wondering if she should stay or go, Holly flapped her free hand in dismissal. She would be fine on her own; she was literally in a room full of people dedicated to the causes of security and safety, and everyone had to go through scans just to be let into the building.
"Scram. Have fun," she bade her, Kay squeezing her shoulder in thanks before she darted off into the crowd. She waited until the flicker of blue hair vanished from sight, and she snickered to herself before taking another gulp of her beverage. Alone for the moment in a crowd...she was okay with that.
"Sometimes it's hard to believe she's an agent, albeit a search-and-rescue one. A neon sign is less obvious at times."
Holly jumped at the new voice to her left, choking on the swallow she'd taken of her drink. Coughing and pounding her own chest, she glared up as she tried to catch her breath. The new arrival patted her back lightly in sympathy. Once she was breathing properly again, Natasha merely smirked, smoothing down the material of her low-cut black gown, her wig of long, dark hair falling around her. Calming herself, Holly registered the implication beneath the tone of the other woman's words, and stared at her.
"How long have you known?" she wondered, incredulous. Kay hadn't told anyone else about her thing with Sam, and she definitely hadn't heard him breathe a word about it. Natasha's bright eyes glimmered in the flashing lights, her smirk taking on a smug air.
"Since June 20th," she confessed, sidestepping into a flare of light. It illuminated her perfectly, as if she had planned it earlier. Holly gaped at her, both due to the unfairness of the Black Widow's touched beauty and for the statement she'd made. Cupping a hand in the air (and lifting her trailing sleeve further away from the floor), she chuckled, "Isn't that cute, sharing an anniversary with them?"
"Shut up, Morticia," Holly retorted out the side of her mouth, adjusting the fitting ball jersey as nonchalantly as possible. Glancing in the direction her friend had gone, she frowned slightly, concern washing over her features. "It's, it's not supposed to be public knowledge."
The female Avenger shrugged, languidly leaning an arm against the wall and sighing.
"Maybe not, but the way they're going, it's not going to be a secret for much longer." She shot Holly a significant glance, waiting until she nodded comprehension. It was a warning to be delivered as was seen fit. If that pair wanted to maintain their privacy, they were going to have to take better care than they were. Even so, Nat's smiled stretched wider, and she flicked a few fingers in a flyaway gesture. "I'm half-tempted to go find them and tease them about the beautiful, blue-haired babies they'd have."
"Oh, that's evil," Holly said, the concern melting into a form of sinister humor. "I'd pay to see that, but maybe under different circumstances."
"I'll just keep it in my back pocket for another time, then."
The younger woman canted her head at that. "Got any more room in those back pockets for another secret?"
"Infinite storage space, trust me," Natasha laughed, giving her own bottom a firm pat. Waggling her hand in farewell, she turned away, weaving back into the crowd seamlessly towards the bar. The other woman just leaned back against the wall, darting looks at her neighbors and wondering if the grist in the gossip mill had just received a boost. For the most part, she was ignored, and for that she was grateful. Though she hadn't hidden her face, being in costume provide a shaky anonymity. Less people stared or intruded on her space; only when Steve powered through the crowds to find her did people seem to realize she was there. Once found, Holly stayed near at hand, tugging him out to dance once in awhile. Mostly, that involved him holding onto her hips, face reddening as she reminded him how much the activity had altered over time. More often, they were off to one side, chatting with whichever one of his friends circled by. At one point, the Vision had paused by her side, twitching at the sleeves of his sweater and looking uncomfortable. Though she did not often speak with the android, she did try to be polite, asking him if he was enjoying himself. Hesitance colored his words, as he was still treading on unfamiliar ground, but he could not say he was having a bad time. He seemed at a loss...until Wanda wandered by, playing up her witch persona by dressing up as one. It almost seemed as though he lit up around her, cautious happiness in his form as she approached. Holly's dark eyes took this in, but she said nothing about it. Rather, the three cobbled together some form of conversation as the lights an music swirled around them.
Nearly three hours into the revelry, she and Steve had found a bench to collapse onto, their own conversation lapsing into companionable silence. Her back pressed against the wall behind her, and she inhaled deeply.
"You doing alright?" he wondered, arm curling around her waist and focus directed to her.
"Yeah, I'm good," she said, nestling closer to his side. "Sort of tired."
The point was punctuated by the yawn she couldn't quite quell, covered by the back of her hand. The busy day had changed into a high-intensity night. She couldn't help it; she was slowing down. His grip around her waist tightened a little, and he tutted under his breath.
"Want to go home?" he asked her, the politeness barely covering the hope in his eyes. A little grin formed as she thought about it, thought about how they finally had a place of their own to go to. Away from the noise, the insanity. Just for them.
"...Yes," she replied, taking his hand and leading the way out of the teeming party. The density of the crowed thinned significantly by the time they'd entered one of the back halls, past some of the lingering agents and office workers as they regrouped and separated. Someone cracked a joke about Uncle Sam being taken out to the ball game, but they ignored it. The base's garage was practically empty, which they took advantage of. Standing guard, Holly watched out for any passersby as Steve started changing out of the costume, desperate to get it off and put on the regular clothes he'd stashed under the truck's back seat. Shielded as he was by the opened doors, she still kept an eye open for anybody chancing their way into the space. Once he'd finished, he called out to her, waiting until she swung herself into the cab and buckled up before starting the engine. Minutes later, they broke free of the garage, the Uncle Sam costume shoved out of sight as they motored away.
"I take it Tony was satisfied with your appearance?" asked Holly as they turned off the frontage road on the main track. A muted groan echoed in his throat, and she covered her unbidden smile with her hand.
"After taking all those pictures with me with the interns, yes," he grumbled, glancing at her out the corner of his eye. Tugging at the collar of his white henley shirt, he went on, "Distracting him with the fifth of scotch got him off it, finally. And then Pepper, of course."
Ah, Pepper Potts. She could always be counted on to wrangle in her significant other in ways that no other human seemed to possess. Even when she was a long distance away, checking in on him and pulling his attention onto her long enough for Steve to make his escape. What a lovely woman. The captain owed her a thank-you card, at minimum.
"Mm," was Holly's response, her gaze focusing out the window for a few seconds. Slowly, she turned it back to him, examining his form as he drove. One hand on the wheel, the other on the middle console. The shiner on his eye was nearly gone, the scrapes along his jaw almost fully healed, the cut on his mouth healed. The bruises hidden under his shirt, along his ribs, no longer pained him. It was almost like the events a few days ago had never occurred. Biting her own lip, she considered voicing her concerns, finally just urging herself to get on with it. "How are you feeling?"
Another sidelong glance, and his head tilted a mite in her direction. "Fine, all things considered. Why?"
"Just...just worried, that's all. You came back from the last one pretty banged up, and well, we've been running around so much since then..." she paused, unsure that she should continue. His eyes had flicked down briefly, fastening on the road again as he quirked his jaw. Her fingers curled in her lap, her leg bouncing a little as she thought. In public, she had to maintain an outward appearance at calm whenever the team was neck deep in trouble, and sometimes she had to carry that appearance home with her. Right now, though, she couldn't help herself. It was his life, had been since before they'd ever met, and she respected his choice of occupation, his sense of duty. She knew the risks and the danger, and she knew she had the courage to face it all. But sometimes, it was hard to have courage, hard to act strong. It felt like pretending, and she didn't like that. Examining her hands, she nearly whispered, "I just don't want you to think—"
Abruptly, Steve flicked the turn signal, pulling over to the side of the road for the benefit of whomever would be driving behind them at that hour. The truck ground to a slow halt, and he threw it into park with alacrity. Brow furrowing, Holly attempted to say something—a continuation of her sentence, a question as to why they'd stopped—but nothing came out. Meanwhile, Steve unclasped the belt while thumbing the hazards button. Flipping up the middle console, he scooted over a little into the freed space. Pressing down to release her belt, he barely gave her enough time to shrug it off before he was gathering her up in his arms, face pressing into the crook of her neck. Taken aback, she wound her arms around him, eyes closing against the upsurge of emotion that was catching her. She felt stupid and silly for bringing it up, but she wanted him to know that, even if they weren't talking about it, she still worried for him. As she was lamenting over the fact that she couldn't keep her mouth shut, he pulled back to look at her. Sincerity lit up his irises, and he cupped her chin, the thumb stroking along her skin.
"Hey. I'm okay." It was what he'd told her when he'd finished being treated two days ago, and it was truer at that moment than previously. Previously, he'd said it to stem an onslaught of her fear, the fear that would never go away for as long as he continued his work. The fear that she had tried so hard to keep in check for his sake. Now, he was saying it because it was simply the truth. He waited for her nod of understanding, tipping forward and capturing her lips with his. She responded eagerly, glad to accept his embrace. Breaking away to catch his breath, he felt the corner of his mouth turn up. "My lip's at least all healed up. That's gotta count for something."
A full smile broke as she snickered at that. Leaning forward and bussing her once more, he moved back over to his seat, eyes searching hers.
"Good?" he asked, wondering if his reassurance had helped.
Nodding, she answered slowly, "Good."
That said, he canted his head, buckling up again. As she strapped back in as well, he tapped off the hazards and put the truck back into drive, propelling them onto the road to take them to the house. When she flipped the middle console down again, he promptly laid his hand across it, wiggling his fingers at her. Snorting, she grinned and complied, palm resting in his then. Halfway through the drive, Holly nodded off, and so she was unaware of Steve eventually negotiating the turn for the driveway. The house was a looming shadow, the trees stirring in the breeze and rustling softly as they drove up. Pulling quietly into the garage next to her car, he leaned back against his seat for a few seconds, listening as the engine ticked and pinged. A long sigh poured out of him, but he did not linger there. Climbing out, he made his way around to her side, opening her door as lightly as he could.
"Home, Holl," he said, trying to rouse her. He savored the taste of the word on his tongue. Home. Theirs. He crooked his wrist along the top of the open door, watching as she mumbled something and adjusted her head against the back rest. "You can't sleep in the truck."
More mumbles, more shifting, but she otherwise kept her eyes shut. Exhaling carefully out his nose, he rolled his eyes heavenward and tapped his fingers impatiently along the top crest.
"I'm not gonna carry you in."
One eye flew open, and then it narrowed at him. "Thought you were a gentleman."
A half-grin came to his lips, pleased to have caught her out. "I did open the door for you."
"Okay, fine," she conceded, taking the hand he proffered then and levying herself out of the seat. It really wasn't terribly late, but it had been a long day. Steve's palm came to rest on the small of her back as they made their way out of the garage, doors locked as they went. Clambering up the back steps, he hastily punched in the codes, deactivating the security systems long enough to allow them inside and out of the cold wind. Padding into the kitchen, he asked Holly to wait there, quickly performing a check of the basement to ensure that no intruders had broken in. No matter that JJ's presence and abilities should have been enough of a deterrent; he still had to look. She rested against the table, casting a sour glance around her at the myriad of boxes taking up the space. They hadn't gotten nearly enough done that day, and it irked her. Under her breath, she muttered, "Lot of unpacking to do."
"In the morning," Steve assured her, coming in from the hallway. His checks were completed, and evidently the house was safe. Meeting her wan grin with a rueful one, he reached out to her, waiting until she came forward and threaded her fingers through his. "Upstairs, c'mon."
Treading slowly, they walked past the half-finished living room, rounding the corner and climbing the stairs. Proceeding past the bare front rooms (making sure she wouldn't see them and get disheartened by the lack of progress) they stumbled into their new bedroom. The room would also have to undergo a new set-up, but they had agreed that merely having the bed ready for them was enough for the night. Phones were turned off and plugged into chargers, resting on the dresser pressed into a corner. Silently, they went through their nightly routine, with Holly changing into a tank top and sleep shorts while Steve brushed his teeth. Joining him later at the double vanity, she playfully flicked a few droplets of water at him, giggling a little when he retaliated. Exiting, he left her to finish up and made one final check of the house, accessing the security grid with his tablet. Nothing, just silence and stillness around the property. Letting out a slow breath, he put the tablet down when she came out, face devoid of make-up and her hair loosened. Grinning softly at her, he toed off his boots and socks, letting her switch from the overhead light to the lamps by the bed.
"Won't have to worry about breaking the bed getting into it tonight," she breathed, kneeling down the mattress and box spring set on the floor. The effect of it sitting below the level of the bedside tables was comical, and he nearly laughed aloud at the image. Shaking his head, he removed the jeans he was still wearing, deciding to forgo sleep pants for that night.
"True," he mumbled, dropping down to join her. Draping the sheets over his lap, he paused, scratching the back of his neck. "The new frame's, um, reinforced, right?"
Holly shot him a look before giving her pillow a forceful thump. "Damn right it is. I'm not planning on replacing it again anytime soon."
He dipped his chin at that, leaning over to give her a good-night kiss before reaching up and turning off the lamp. Laying on his back, Steve crooked one arm behind his head, steady breaths making his chest rise and fall as he stared up at the darkness. The minutes ticked by as his mind churned over the events of the day, unable to rest. Two weeks wasn't a very long time, and there would be so much to do to get everything ready for Hawley's visit. Not to mention having to prepare for the general's likely accompaniment, and what he would attempt to inflict upon the team. Hill would likely have the base locked down in preparations, but he was more concerned about the team. Work would have to start as soon as possible, to prove their continued competency and relevance in the world. There was also nearly the whole house to unpack, and Tony would be staying over at the base to install the remainder of his wing for the new suits, and Fury had mentioned heading up a review for Bucky in the next few days—
"I can hear you brooding all the way over here," Holly piped up suddenly in the darkness, the covers shifting as she pulled them tighter around her. Of course she wasn't asleep yet. Of course she knew that his mind was burdened. Again. As always. Though he could not see her expression, mired in the night and turned away as she was, he could well imagine the concern lacing it, peeking through her tiredness. Breathing out a sigh, her tone gentled when she spoke up again. "Worry about it in the morning."
A snort flew out of him, his hands scrubbing at his face.
"Not that easy, doll," he informed her, an eyebrow spiking as his arms fell to his sides. Useless, to tell him to not worry. Ironic, considering that she was far and away the worst worrywart in the relationship. Still, it was well-meant, and he knew it. For her part, she scoffed back at him.
"Try, sweetie," she implored, rocking the bed slightly as she attempted to get comfortable. His head turned toward her then, squinting to make out her form in the blackness. It was difficult to shut off, but...well, there were ways. Moments of peace were not simple to come by in his life, but he had to say, a lot of them seemed to involve Holly in some way, shape or form. In the last year and a half, at least. Turning onto his side, he lifted up the bedclothes, shuffling over until he was directly behind her. Propping himself up on an elbow, he considered one of those ways as he peered down at her, faintly able to see the outline of her profile. Her very enticing profile.
"Well, I could try something..." he said, running a finger gently over her arm as he emphasized the last word. Sliding up to the strap of her tank top, he toyed with for a second or two before pulling it down. Bending closer, his breath fanned over her as his hand ducked below the covers, coming to rest on her hip. As he started tracing lazy circles around it, she exhaled sharply, a snicker barely cut off. It wasn't exactly hard to figure out what he was doing, but it was amusing how he acted coy about it. Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help the brief smile that rose at his ministrations. Still, it was the end of a long day, with the promise of the next being just as filled. She had to be firm, and she fixed her mind towards that goal.
"Something's tired. Something needs to sleep, and so do you," she retorted in what he was sure was supposed to be an imperious tone, but the slight waver in it could not be missed. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes, the firmness she vowed to maintain slipping away as he pressed against her.
"It would help me get to sleep. After," he murmured, the innocence in his voice at odds with the smirk that was threatening to bloom. The muted chuckle in her throat prompted him further. Tenderly, he planted a kiss to her bare shoulder, his hand sliding from her waist down and over her stomach. In truth, all she had to do was say the word, and he would stop, but given the way she circled her hips and pressed back into him, he concluded that she was at least willing to take things further. "Could make me downright exhausted."
"You don't give up, do you?" she sighed, humming as he trailed a line of kisses up to her neck. Warmth pooled low, heating them both. Turning her head up, she accepted the slide of his lips over hers, opening up to him when his tongue brushed at the seam.
"It's not what I'm known for, generally," he responded genially when they parted, smiling against her skin and nuzzling at the curve of her jaw. A giggle freely floated out of her, which he attributed to him ghosting his mouth over the sensitive spot below her ear, but he was proven wrong soon enough.
"Yeah, doesn't quite fit in with the theme song, huh?" Holly replied, and he blinked, thrown slightly. Off his discontented grunt, she began to hum a few bars from it. When Steve groaned outright and actually pulled away, she followed, rolling on top of him and singing a couple of the verses that she could recall with false cheer. Sleep was forgotten for the moment, as she caught a second wind getting a rise out of him. Her knees framed his hips, boxing him in as she hovered above him, the teasing with the USO song continuing. The pads of her fingers tapped the beat against his chest and she nudged his jaw with her nose, following the line of it as his head turned in a vain attempt to get away. Pleading with her to stop accomplished nothing—and pushing her off would make it worse—so he endured it. Good grief, that song was irritating; he hadn't minded it all that much back on the tour, but right now it was digging at him. Whoever had reminded her about the song's existence was due for a good punch (when he later found out that it was Sam, ages ago, he made good on his promise and socked him in the shoulder). Despite himself, the soft crooning of her voice stirred him and was overpowering the annoyance that flared up. More likely the sparking in his veins had to do with her proximity to him, and her skittering touches, as she "pinned" him to the mattress. By the time she started poking him in the sides, prodding his ticklish spots and going on about the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, he'd had enough.
Tangling his hand into her hair and crushing his mouth to hers, Steve flipped Holly underneath him, her laughter muffled and dying away as he kissed her breathless. In that moment, he was determined to start making her sing a different tune entirely.
xXxXxXx
Knocks pounded against the front door, echoing through the quiet house. The floorboards creaked underneath the runner as Doctor Gregory strode across it. The low of hum of activity that always seemed to be present in the summer months had died down quite a bit, the bite of fall wedging its way into the lives of all those residing at the Country House. At the moment, the staff was at the bare minimum, the patients whittled down to one current resident. Combing a hand through her silvered brown hair, she took a couple deep breaths before opening the door, pulling herself up to her full height and plastering a pleasant smile on her face.
"Director Fury," she greeted the visitor, expression cordial. It had been some time since he'd stopped by the house, given his varying schedule at the moment. He was poised on the front porch, flicking a glance back to the open space down the gravel path, the quinjet she'd heard earlier cycling through its cool-down.
"Doctor Gregory," he returned, adjusting the lay of his black jacket. Tipping a hand forward in silent question, he waited until she stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside. The heat of the house flooded over him once she'd shut the door, welcoming him as it had done for so many others.
"You're early," she stated bluntly, crossing her arms over chest and meeting his gaze directly.
"I prefer to see it as right on time," he countered lightly. The humorous glint in his eye dimmed somewhat as he cast another look around the place, the turn of his lips evening out. "I'm here for evaluation."
"I know, director." It was typical of Fury to come in near the end of a patient's treatment, to take a look at timeline of progress and assess accordingly. From there, he would discuss with her, or whichever doctor was working on the case in particular, whether or not to extend rehabilitation. However, she was not about to let him be buoyed by false hope; she hadn't done so for the twenty years she'd known him, and she wasn't about to start now. "But, as always, I will remind you that the healing process is fluid, and there are no set end points for it, no matter what deadlines you may impose."
"And, as always, I'll say that I understand," he replied blandly, focusing on her again. He held her gaze for a long moment, a thread of gravity entering them. "I do, Libba."
A long pause stretched between them, the grandfather clock ticking audibly down the hall and Nick scratching below the band of his eye patch.
"He can't stay here forever."
Libba was hard-pressed not to snort and chuckle at that.
"I should think he'd have a few objections to doing so, no matter what he says to the contrary," she informed him, hands going onto her hips. Nodding towards the door down the hall and to the left, she continued, "Since it is his evaluation, I will require that he be a part of it."
Fury did not raise any objections to that, instead treading down the carpeted boards to the door she'd indicated.
"I'll be waiting in your office."
The dismissal was impossible to miss, and she felt her lips quirk as he disappeared behind the door. Shaking her head to herself, she cast a glance heavenward before squaring herself up again. She had to go find James, and she knew exactly where to start.
Her hypothesis of his location was confirmed as she heard the muffled grunts and thumps coming from behind the door of the barn. From almost the beginning of his treatment there, he often would stay out there for hours at a time, the converted gym space at his mercy as he exorcised whatever demons he had lurking in his soul that their talks and walks could not erase. On his bad days, which thankfully were thinning out, he could be out there all day, absorbed in the weights, the punching bag, the gymnastics equipment, losing himself so as to not lose his mind entirely. However, she had it on good authority that today was not a bad day.
Thumping hard on the door so as not to sneak up on and startle him, she alerted him to her presence.
"James?" she called, sliding the panels to the right to enter. When he did not answer her right away, she hovered in the door frame, curious as to why he did not respond. Closing it behind her, she rounded the corner, the sight before her making her eyebrows incline and her head tilt to the left. Barnes had been working out with the punching bag, a fairly normal exercise for him. However, due to his repeated assault on the bag, the material around it had started to fray. Unfortunately, so had the bindings around his metal hand. He was caught up, literally, in the strands, attempting to free himself and making a bigger mess out of it the longer he went on. Purposefully clearing her throat, Libba tamped down the laughter she was tempted to let loose as he whipped his head up. Though his face already burned from exertion, she was sure that he felt it heating up even more at being found in that manner.
"Hey, doc," he drawled, a corner of his mouth turning up almost sheepishly. Carding his free hand through his dark tresses—recently cut again, the loose strands flopping over his brow—he inclined his head at the bag, catching his breath. "Got a little carried away again."
"Not a problem," she replied, coming forward to help him out. It wasn't the first time she'd found broken equipment and James in the same room. At that point, it was almost bordering on routine; his advanced strength got the better of him at times, and then his cybernetic arm would enhance the problem if given the chance. It was an exasperating routine, to be sure, but she believed it went with the territory of treating a super soldier-turned-assassin. Gently disentangling the knots that had formed around his fingers, he was freed soon enough. Muttering his thanks, he walked over to the far wall, to the bench pushed up against it. A water bottle was perched there, and he took a long drink from it.
"He's here," he blurted when he'd finished. It wasn't a question; he'd known that Fury would be coming soon, as Libba had warned him would be the case. He'd also heard the jet when it had landed, but he had ignored it at the time, too lost in his movements and routine to let it bother him.
"Yes," she confirmed for him. He exhaled sharply out his nose, eyes dropping to the floor. Libba tucked her hands into the pockets of her sweater. She would not push into attendance right away. She would give him the option of cleaning up first. "We'll be waiting for you in the house whenever you're ready."
As she turned on her heel and marched out of the barn, Bucky took several deep breaths, willing the sudden spring of anxiety to lower (a meditative technique Natasha had shared with him in one of her letters. He didn't have to hold with the notions behind it, but she did import how it had helped calm her down in times of stress). Though he had been told of the director's imminent arrival, it was still hard to believe that he was so close to the end of his tenure there. There were times during his stint in which he wanted nothing more than to be gone, away and doing whatever he wished, so long as he wasn't there. And then other times, he could not fathom leaving the place behind. For the first time in years, he'd actually gotten a sense of home there, gotten the sense of safety. Perhaps it was artificial—for sure, it was temporary—but he had not felt that good about being somewhere on his own in such a long time. The world was bearable, not seeming like it would tilt on in its axis and throw him off at any given moment. If he had to give it a name, he would call it peace.
He frowned to himself, frowned at the sentiment that did feel belonged to him. Taking another swig from his water bottle, he stowed it in the small bag he'd brought out with him, leaving the barn and trudging up the short path to the house. He had half a mind to make the director wait as he showered and changed, but he decided against it. He was too eager to hear whether or not he would be allowed to go back into the world in fourteen days. Dropping his workout bag by the foot of the stairs once inside, he proceeded to the back room to the left, where he knew the doctor's office would be. Forgoing knocking, he swung the portal open, catching Libba mid-sentence, her focus drawn from the man in the chair to the doorway. Turning in his seat, the man looked up at him, eye scanning him with an unimpressed air.
"Sergeant Barnes," the other man said, nodding once to him. He did not extend his hand to shake, merely laced his fingers together and set them in his lap. Oddly enough, Bucky was grateful that he was ignoring traditional pleasantries. It was better to simply get down to business.
"Sir," he murmured, blue eyes darting between him and the doctor as she went around to the other side of her desk. Gregory tipped a palm towards the open chair, motioning for him to sit down as she did. Taking the seat, Barnes settled in for what he was sure would be a long, drawn-out process.
Case notes stuffed into a file folder were laid across the blotter, though she only went through it and selected a few pieces of paper. Nearly six months worth of papers, solely about him and his progress in retaining the humanity he'd snatch back over a year and a half ago. Stats, buzzwords filtered in and out of his hearing; Bucky was not truly paying attention to all that they were discussing. A few of the various exercises and treatments used were mentioned, and his mind trailed away, upstairs to the stash of letters he had save in the drawer of his bedside table. Those sheets of paper really had been his saving grace, the friendliness of Steve and Natasha's brusque brand of kindness anchoring him in a way he had never expected. If he passed the evaluation—and nothing in Fury's demeanor gave away the truth, one way or another—he would get to see them again. Get to actually talk to them, get situated in the real world beyond the small patch of farmland. He could start over, something that he wanted so terribly in that moment, he could almost taste it. Silence creeped in them, and he had finally noticed the sets of eyes boring into him. Clearing his throat, he fully focused on the doctor, a lopsided grin given in apology.
"Overall, your initial prognosis has improved, James. You are doing fairly well," Libba declared, no hint of maliciousness or deceit in her words. She genuinely thought he was improving. He had no answer for her, other than lifting a shoulder. "And I believe you will continue to do so, provided you actively seek that improvement. If you still wish to work with Director Fury at the end of your tenure here, I will recommend continued appointments. I can refer you to a few other doctors who can assist you, or we can communicate via video calls twice weekly, if you would prefer to still work with me." She paused again, a lightning-fast glance shot to the director. Spotting it, Bucky stiffened in his seat, watching her and waiting for what she had to say next. "However, I cannot and will not force you into anything you do not wish to do. If you decide instead to leave permanently, that is your choice."
His choice. It would be his choice. There was a chance that he could simply walk away, refuse Fury's offer from May, blend back into the world and attempt to start a life on his own. However, he didn't think he could do that. Not now. He understood how limited his options were in the outside world. Even with the treatment he had, he knew deep down how impossible it would be to go out and pretend he was like everyone. The truth was, he wasn't like everyone else. Not anymore. He would only get by for so long in denial before the worst caught up to him. Frankly, he did not want that to happen. Or, rather, if the worst did catch up to him, he would rather have it happen when he was in a position to fight back against it. Fight against it with a friend or two at his back.
He did have a choice, but he'd known which one he was going to pick before it was even presented to him.
"If I'm cleared to leave in two weeks...I'll go with you," he said, looking at Fury for the first time since he'd sat down. A hint of a grin played at the man's lips, though he appeared as calm as ever. Bucky's lips curved up a bit as well, lighting it up as he shrugged his shoulders. "Might as well."
"I appreciate the confident attitude, Mr. Barnes," Fury returned flatly, the hint of sarcasm coloring the statement. Rising from his chair, he looked down at Bucky, holding his gaze steadily for a moment or two. Extending his left palm, he waited for him to return the gesture, metal grazing across skin as they shook hands. Bending slightly at the waist, the older man's eyes intensified as he removed his grip. "Two weeks. Don't waste them."
Bucky, though not intimidated, did nod compliance. There was no way he would do so.
"No, sir."
"Good. I'll let Rogers know what you decided, see what we can work out for you. In occupational terms, I mean. I think you have the housing one squared away?" He waited until Barnes dipped his chin again, straightening up when that was confirmed. The captain had obliquely indicated that, one way or another, Barnes was going to live with him and his wife until he was steady on his feet. "Alright, then."
Closing the distance between the chairs and the door, the director cranked open the handle, stepping out into the hall. Inclining his head once more, he bade farewell to the two remaining occupants of the room before swinging it shut. Silently, they listened as his footsteps faded, the front door opening and slamming shut. The house was still for a second, the quiet broken only by their separate breaths. Soon enough, Bucky let out a deep groan, leaning forward in his chair. Elbows were on his knees and he laced his hands together, pressing them firmly against one another to stop himself from being overly exuberant.
"You have done well, James," Libba reaffirmed softly, the pleased smile decorating her face filling him with a sense of hope. She believed it, and perhaps he could start believing it, too.
"Thanks, doc," he told her, taking a deep breath, and then another. "I think I'm ready to move on. Gotta reenter the world sometime."
The somberness in his eyes cracked then, the truth of his person shining through in that instant. The doctor leaned forward in her chair, scooping up the case notes and returning them to the folder with a resolute air.
"Well, then we better make good use of the next two weeks."
A/N: Holy balls, another incredibly long chapter. Thanks for sticking with it, if you did. It is appreciated, believe me...
So much going down for everyone in roughly two weeks' time. Crazy, right?
By the way, I did not mean to come off (inadvertently) like a prick in the last chapter's author's note. Really, truly...I didn't meant anything malicious, I promise! I know that, unlike me, you guys have busy lives of your own, and you've got other priorities than this story. I'm sorry if I insinuated anything awful, that was not my intent at all!
Anyway, I thought it was about time to return to Bucky. I know, I haven't really showed much of what his progress has entailed. That's mainly because I am very, very leery about applying any technical psychological terms and treatments to the poor guy, given that I actually know little about such things. However, there's no way I would disregard the poor guy. I think he's getting good treatment...just off-page at the moment. As the doctor said, recovery is fluid. I know that much. Meanwhile, he'll be out of the Country House very, very soon!
I totally think SHIELD would throw bangin' parties. It's a celebration that you made it to the holiday period, and you could die before the next one. Live it up!
And yes, Steve and Holly got the house. There was no way I was gonna tease that and then not have it happen. :) I'm getting a little too good at writing the cutesy, fluffy stuff. Can't help it, though. And I know a bunch of you guys are primed and waiting for the other shoe to drop...oh, don't worry, stuff's gonna happen. It's just going to take a little while to get there. In the meantime, enjoy the cavity-inducing sweetness. :-P
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Netflix, Top Gun, The Addams Family, Sherlock Holmes, etc.) And in this universe, I Love Lucy is available for streaming on Netflix. Because why not?
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!
EDIT: To all my unsigned-in/anonymous and signed-in reviewers...thank you all for your support and kind words! I try my hardest to make the writing/characters come off well and be enjoyable to read. I hope this suffices in thanking you guys. Everybody rocks, and deserves a cookie!