Steve Rogers glanced in the mirror, smoothing down his clothes and a frown blooming on his lips. He so wanted that Saturday in early November to be spent differently. However, it was not meant to be; the United Nations representative had chosen her arrival and tour for the base for that day, after months of delays and other obligations. It was his duty, as team leader, to be present for the event, and normally he would not be so put out to do so. It was the additional personages that would be accompanying her that gave him pause. That, and the fact that he had to make the effort to look well for the initial greeting and tour of the base. Of course, he would follow through, but that did not mean he liked it. Back on the stage, back in the tights, his mind chanted at him. Back to showing off and playing up a crowd with a persona he did not own.
He'd left that behind years ago. And while the situation he was in now was nothing like the tour days, it held the same distinct flavoring, in some aspects.
"This is ridiculous," he groused to his own reflection, hands braced on the edges of the counter as he leaned against it. The ends of his tie swung forward, the thing loose as he carded a hand through his hair. Holly, who had been shoving clothes and towels from the hamper into the nearby laundry basket, shot him a look before straightening. She knew how little he wanted to be a part of the whole, knew that his preferences ran to the work and not to the politics, but there was nothing for it.
"Hey, you know about the importance of first impressions. You can't show up looking like you've just tussled with rogue agents all morning," she reminded him in a helpful tone. As he passed a hand over his face, she let her eyes scan over him. Blue dress shirt, dark slacks, his good shoes...it wasn't a bad choice in the least. Especially once he finished assembling his tie and put the leather jacket on. Looking down at herself, still wrapped in her pajamas, she sighed. "It's not like you're required to wear a three-piece suit or anything."
"Yeah, but the councilwoman knows me already," he riposted, shaking his head. Lifting a palm, he gestured to himself. "This feels like...pandering. Particularly when it comes to the general."
If it had just been Hawley coming to the base, he wouldn't have been as affected. Hell, if Hawley had insisted on an entourage of other representatives coming along for the ride, he could've toughed it out. However, it hadn't been an entourage that would be infringing on the space. It would be Secretary Ross, and that rankled more than anything. Combing through his hair to make it lie right, he missed the thoughtful expression his wife donned.
"Well, he is the Secretary of Defense, now. A lot of what people do for politicians is pandering, to some extent," Holly pointed out, coming into the bathroom and hoisting herself up onto the counter-top. One leg swung back and forth, her heel barely thumping the cabinet door as she did so. Looking up, she caught the hardness invading her husband's expression, the light in his eyes dying as stiffened his spine.
"Secretary of State, actually. Not that he deserves it. Not in the least." Steve's jaw clenched, taking on a mulish set for a few seconds. In a hushed tone, he went on, "Not after what he'd done to Bruce, to his own soldiers."
She dropped her gaze to her knees as she considered the point. Though he had not shared explicit details (as most of those were still buried under mountains of red tape), a few finer points about the general's character had surfaced. Some which Bruce himself had alluded to, in the few, brief interactions she had with him. In essence, the general was partly responsible for the creation of the Hulk, his own desires to recreate the very serum flowing through Steve's veins sparking unforeseen consequences. Consequences that put a university at risk, caused damage to a neighborhood in a major city, and cost the lives and livelihoods of dozens of people. It would have been one thing if the man realized the danger of his own actions, of his own hubris, but publicly, he had shown himself to be unapologetic in the least for it. Indeed, he'd called for Banner's arrest and detainment almost as soon as the news from Johannesburg came in six months ago, calling him dangerous and the Avengers as reckless and uncaring of what damages they wrought.
"Maybe not," she conceded, not willing to argue in his favor at all, once she recalled all that she'd heard and seen (she investigated a few things for herself, on her downtime in archives; she definitely didn't like what she saw there). "For some, past service outweighs present, and he must've done some good in the past to stay upfront."
"When it comes to the bottom line, yes. He did." Steve did know that the general had distinguished himself during the Vietnam War, rising through the ranks as the years went by for his tactical brilliance and valor. Still, that valor and honor had not been maintained well over the years, and it had started to show. Especially after the failed attempts to make another super soldier. His eyebrows rose slightly as his hands went back to the tie, ready to finish what he started. "But there are several reasons why he's primarily a politician now."
A politician that was very vocal about his team's position in the world, and about their efforts. Or lack thereof. A disgruntled man who hated them more for letting Banner go than for the collateral damages they wrought (and who ignored their clean-up and relocation efforts just as easily). His mind thusly occupied, Steve's fingers fumbled with the tie, and he huffed out an irritated breath.
"Here," Holly murmured, crooking her fingers at him to come closer. As he stepped up to her, into the V of her legs, she carefully seized the ends of his tie. As he let out another hum of frustration, she concentrated on tying it for him. She wasn't as adept as he at the task, but given his state at the moment, she was his best bet at getting it finished. Making the cross and looping it under slowly, she glanced up at him, dark eyes peeking beneath the lashes. "You're not doing this for him. You're doing it for Hill, and the team, and for yourself. It's important, even if it feels like it's not. Just remember that when you feel like ripping this off and running for the suit. Or your sweats. Although that would be quite a sight."
Concentrating on her ministrations, he allowed himself to be lulled out of the darkening musings of his mind. A corner of his mouth lifted at her words, his palms coming to rest at her sides.
"You'd like that, huh?" he wondered suggestively, thumbs brushing along her hips. Her eyes flicked up, and her own grin widened.
"Of course, I would. But we both know you won't do that." One last loop through, and the tie was completed. Her fingers went to the top buttons of his shirt, securing them before drawing the tie to sit snugly in place. "So you'll just have to suck it up, buttercup."
"Right," he sighed heavily. The bright blue of his gaze dulled again, and his head drooped. Her hands moved down the front of his shirt to loop around his back. Splayed palms kept him in place, the pads of her fingers gently circling in the shirt's material.
"It'll be fine," she tried to reassure him, pecking him on the cheek, the warm and spicy scent of his aftershave lingering faintly. He would do alright, she knew he would. And he'd have Maria and Tony there with him to back him up in case there was any trouble. "You'll see."
The barest nod of his head came after that, his own hands going to the small of her back and his forehead resting against hers.
"Wish I could go with you, instead," he lamented aloud.
"I wish you could, too," she confided, deflating a little as she thought about what she needed to do that afternoon. "I'm not sure he'll be glad that it's me picking him up."
Where Steve would be spending his Saturday afternoon catering to the whims of a councilwoman and a blowhard general-turned-secretary, she would be traversing down to Albany to pick up a reformed assassin. Bucky Barnes had been approved for his discharge from the rehabilitation facility, and was due to arrive back East within the next few hours. A short, tense discussion between the pair and Director Fury had concluded with Holly being tasked with bringing the fellow away from the airport. They had decided it would be better for someone he knew to come get him, rather than to be bundled to and fro by agents as if he were a lost parcel and not a human being. She could afford to give him that decency. Still, it was hard to say who had gotten the better deal out of the events of the day, considering the history between her and Barnes was not the best.
"It will be okay. Bucky knows you," Steve said, withdrawing from her embrace to grab up his jacket. As he slid his arms into it, he shot her a snarky grin. "So long as you don't try hitting him with a bat, you'll be good."
Holly scoffed, going to cross her arms over her chest and choosing instead to wrap them around her middle at the last second.
"I only did that because I thought he was attempting to kill you after breaking into my apartment," she muttered, shaking her head. "Forgive me if I've offended."
His smile brightened significantly. "Already forgiven, doll."
The groan in her throat was almost a growl, her eyes rolling up and her hands cutting through the air dismissively. Jumping down from her seat on the counter, she moved around him to go back into their bedroom, avoiding his curious glance as she hunted for clothes to change into.
"Hey, come on," he called out, her hunching shoulders her only answer. After swiping his fingers through his hair one last time, he flicked off the bathroom light. Leaning against the doorjamb, his eyes lingered on her as she pulled a long-sleeved tee over her head, jeans replacing the sweatpants she'd been wearing. Her movements were controlled, but there was a terseness to them, a jerk and twist in her fingers as she got ready. Like him, she was uncertain of what the afternoon could hold, of a certain person she would have to interact with, and it was telling. As she gathered up her hair into a ponytail (just past shoulder-length now; it was the longest it had been since he'd first met her, and he loved it), he strode over to her, the loose strands around her face twined gently around his finger before being tucked behind her ear. "It will be alright. And odds are, Fury will have you tailed to make sure nothing does happen."
Wary brown eyes connected with hopeful blue, and she scrubbed a hand across her brow, very aware of the sudden role reversal.
"Comforting," she retorted sarcastically, a wry grin turning her lips in spite of her feelings. A discreet escort being provided did not surprise her in the least, and perhaps it should have bothered her, but at the moment, she was grateful for it. Once she completed dressing, Holly and Steve went about the unspoken task of last-minute chores. One load of laundry was chugging away in the washer, the breakfast dishes rinsed and drying the rack (despite the house coming with a dishwasher, both of them were still used to doing the task by hand). Coats were gathered up, thrown on as they exited the back door and locked up the house. Strapping his shield onto the harness along the back of the seat in his truck, Steve came around to Holly's car just as she threw in her purse, triple-checking to make sure she had the clearance pass to enter the airfield.
"Be safe," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly for several seconds. Returning the embrace, she rested her chin on his shoulder, gaze darting up. Beyond the paneling and girders of the garage lay an overcast sky. The chill in the air was biting, a crisp scent in the cold.
"I'll try. Hopefully we'll get back before the snow comes in," she replied, thinking back to the weather forecast she'd heard that morning. Upstate, in the valley of the mountains, there was a tendency for snow to accumulate early, and the meteorologist had predicted some flurries for the later afternoon. A native Midwesterner, she knew how quickly flurries could turn into a storm, and she did not want to run into one of those. Drawing back a little, she kissed him farewell, soft and sweet. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he breathed, taking her encouragement and holding onto it. One last press to her lips, and then he stepped back, watching as she got into her car and backed out of the garage. He waved a little when she turned back, her horn tapped twice in a return gesture before driving off.
The trip into Albany was uneventful, save for the pockets of leftover roadwork that Holly hit along the way. They were remnants of the summer work, a few bumpy patches here and there that were tolerable. Still, there was nothing to really complain about as she navigated the New York roads, turning off the freeway past the country club. An hour and a half had gone by, but Holly had hardly noticed, given her immense concentration and being lost in her own thoughts.
It had been six months since she'd last seen Bucky, when she was bidding him good-bye along with Steve and Sam. Off to find healing, true healing, and to figure out what he wanted to do in the world. He'd seemed so lost then, underneath the thick layer of blankness and hardness. She was did not know what she would find. Each time she'd met with Bucky, he'd been altered from the previous encounter, changing and unpredictable. It made her nervous about what his condition would be like. From what Steve had shared of his letters, he seemed to be making improvements, forming into someone her husband actually recognized as containing pieces of his old self. It just made her wish that Steve really could be there to see him, to judge and look to see what she might miss.
Driving to a gate further down the way, she showed the guards the temporary pass she'd been issued, letting her in with little incident or ceremony. She was directed to a far hangar, parking and joining a small crowd that had gathered for the incoming flight's occupants. Her hands thrust deep into her pockets for warmth, one curling around the pepper spray and the other around her Taser. Not knowing who to trust in the swarm of people put her a little on edge, and she'd come prepared, just in case. If neither option did the trick, she did have her collapsible bat clipped to a belt loop, ready to be extended and charged if needed. The nausea she'd felt earlier in the morning had returned, her stomach clenching tightly at the thought of Bucky's return being imminent. Soon enough, the small, white aircraft was descending, hitting the runway at a distance and braking hard. Rumbling close to the hangar, a tiny cart-like vehicle sped out, attaching to the front of the jet and towing it inside. The crowd around her stirred as it reached a full halt, some of them beginning to surge forward as the motorized stairs sped out and latched onto the side hatch. Hanging back, Holly watched as passenger after passenger filed off, a couple of tired businessmen in overcoats followed by a haggard mother and her diffident teenage son. A man in a dark blue ball cap lumbered down the stairs behind them, his thick canvas jacket shrugged on over his sweatshirt, heavy boots clomping with each step. Hands were wrapped in gloves, the right tucked away while the left hefted a large duffel bag. Stormy blue eyes scanned the crowd, focusing intently on Holly when he realized she was there. Inclining his head, he made his way over to her, gaze shifting back and forth as he walked (old habits dying hard, she surmised).
"James," she greeted him tentatively when he was close enough. Unsure what sort of opening gestures he'd accept, she settled for extending her hand out to him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from his pocket, taking hers and shaking it carefully.
"Hi...Holly," he replied, brow furrowing a little as he spoke. Eyebrows quirking up, she snickered a little at his hesitance.
"You played bodyguard for a year, and you almost forgot my name?" she wondered, not a little incredulous as she dropped his hand. Granted, he hadn't called her by her name in the time that she'd known him, but she never thought that he'd forget it that quickly.
"Actually, it was only for about six months," he corrected mildly. Shrugging a shoulder, he continued, "And I did remember, I just...I just didn't know if you wanted me to use it."
The corner of her mouth turned up, and the clench in her stomach loosened. "What else would you call me?"
"Well, you are Missus Rogers, now," he retorted, shooting a look at where her left hand resided in her jacket pocket.
"Missus Holly Rogers, yes," was the affirmation. Tipping her head to the side, she started to lead the way out to the parking spaces, ready to get out of there. Flicking a few fingers in the air, she said, "Formality's not a big thing, particularly not after...well, everything."
Not after stumbling into her path, leaving a wounded hero in her charge. Not after breaking into her apartment, just to get answers. Definitely not after repeatedly watching out for her, protecting her from enemies she did not know about. Most certainly not after he met her challenge to assist the team, to help Steve, in an hour of greatest need. If that didn't put them on a first-name basis, she didn't know what would at that point.
Comprehending all that, Bucky's lips twitched, a facsimile of a grin growing as he followed her out.
"True enough, I guess."
Tripping back to the Buick, Holly cast another look over her shoulder at him. Nothing about his expression told her that he was displeased to see her there, but she knew he had to be wondering why it wasn't Steve at the airport, why his friend could not greet him as well.
"Steve wanted to be here, but..." she hastened to explain, trailing off when unsure of exactly how much she was actually permitted to tell him. After a few seconds, she came to the conclusion that telling him a couple of minor details couldn't hurt; it wasn't like if he was of a mind to do something about it, that he could do anything, anyway. "The base is supposed to undergo a review, and today happened to be the day the rep picked. If he missed that, it wouldn't be good."
"I think Fury mentioned something about that," he responded, dipping his chin as he dumped his bag into the backseat. It landed with a muffled thump, and she tossed a glance at it as he closed the door and moved to the front passenger seat. Climbing in, his hand slid awkwardly to the seat belt, buckling it with unsteady fingers. "The United Nations is involved, right?"
There was little that he knew about the major organization, other than that his friend's team was associated and sponsored by it, and that it promoted international peace and security, among other things. That was the briefest overview that he was given in his time away, one minute in the hours spent in research to better understand the world around him. If he wanted a better definition of the organization or its policies, he was going to have continue his research on his own time.
"Yes," Holly answered shortly, turning the key in the ignition and firing up the car. She hadn't meant to sound curt, but Steve's earlier reticence resurfaced in her mind and spilled over into her voice. Though she encouraged him to make the best of the situation, she herself didn't hold out hope for the Secretary of State to behave. Already thinking ahead to what might happen, it was coloring her attitude. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to push it down and away, finally putting the car into drive and taking them away. Observing her in silence for a few moments, Bucky snorted aloud.
"Strange to think how much has changed, and still...some things haven't."
"Such as?" she queried, negotiating a right turn and getting back onto the highway.
The smirk he was holding back came to the fore, and he looked down at his hands as they folded in his lap.
"Being forced to put up with bureaucracy, no matter what decade it is or what theater you're in," he said, shaking his head and directing his gaze out the window. "Pain in the ass."
Laughing at that, Holly nodded. "Absolutely."
Due to the impending weather, or more accurately, due to the behavior of people whenever the slightest bit of impending weather was announced, Holly had directed the vehicle across town to one of the chain stores for some supplies. When given the option of going inside with her or staying out on his own in the car, Bucky elected to remain where he was, listening to the faint purr of the engine beneath the music playing on the radio. Evidently she preferred piano compilations when driving, and he could see why; though unrecognizable, they were calming, soothing him after the harrying flight. The morning for him had been a blur of packing, hurried farewells to Libba and being shunted out the door by waiting agents to get him delivered and onto his flight without delay. Flying the way he had allowed him to retain his anonymity to some extent. It was less conspicuous than landing with undue pomp and ceremony at either the base or the helicarrier, and for that he was grateful. Glancing out the window, tapping his fingers against his knees, he glanced around the filling parking lot, noting a couple of noteworthy characters (agents, he knew that much, sent by Fury; he remembered the blonde woman from her stint in August, and she had caught him staring across the lot. A wink and smirk were her only acknowledgment as she continued to pretend to chatter on her phone). The back door whipped open again, and he witnessed the growing pile of plastic bags filled with groceries tumbling from Holly's hands.
Purposefully rerouting the car to avoid the leftover construction projects, Holly would occasionally ask a question, or put forth an opinion on something, just for the sake of having more than pure silence between them. Bucky found it amusing, and would answer one way or another. At the back of his mind, though, a nagging feeling sat, one that he couldn't ignore or push aside. It grew a little bit in volume every time they exchanged words, and he knew he would not be able to quell it for much longer. The city began to melt behind them, trees and hills bordered by mountains in the distance. The sight captured his attention, the raw beauty of the terrain so different from the homey nature of the Country House. He'd been to so many places, seen mountains and hills like it before, but he could appreciate the scenery stretching around them as they moved off the freeway onto the country roads. Minutes ticked by, and they eventually turned off the tarred road, crunching up a gravel path. A slate-blue house swam into view, the two-story building nestled between banks of pines and maple trees. They ground past the front porch, a bench hidden behind the slats of the railings. Going around to the back, the car halted inside a wide garage, empty save for some storage units stacked along the far wall and the covered motorcycle parked in the corner. The engine ticked and pinged in its cool-down, the pair climbing out of the vehicle to start unloading. Throwing the strap of his duffel to cross over his body, Bucky assisted Holly in bringing in the grocery bags, peering over her shoulder as she strode up to the back door. A digital panel appeared, and she tapped at the displayed keypad hurriedly.
"We'll get you a set of codes for yourself for entry soon enough," she told him, a set of locks clicking and with her inserting her key to complete the action. A wash of heat flowed over him as she swung the door open, banishing the brief chill that had encompassed them. Stepping into the kitchen, the bags were shunted onto the wide counters and the table pressed into the nook. Her coat was slung off, draped over the back of a chair before her purse joined it. Fixing her bobbing ponytail, she took stock of the room, not seeing anything out of place. Awkwardly, he stood in the middle of it all, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. Inclining her head, she started to pad away. "Here, I'll show you your room."
She led him over the threshold into the hall, another door opening to the steps that led to the basement. The floor at the bottom was tiled, the space wide open with the exceptions of the two rooms. At one end stood a weight bench and lifting set, a punching bag strung up securely. At the other, an easel with boxes of art supplies stood, ready to be used at a moment's notice. Passing the laundry machines set up around the corner, she showed him the bathroom that would be his. It was a small space, but the shower, sink, and toilet would suit his functions well. The bedroom, which actually was a den space, was just beyond that. A full-size bed took up the far corner, the window above it shaded for security purposes. Well-loved sheets and quilts in varying shades of blue were heaped on it, the bedside table matching the dresser and old desk's darker tones. A tiny, empty bookshelf was shoved into the opposite corner, and in the middle of a floor stood a woven disaster of blue and orange, covering the panels under the feet.
Staring at the ugly monstrosity for a few seconds, Bucky coughed. "...Like the rug."
Holly snorted out a laugh, shaking her head. "Survivor of the college days. Better than stepping onto cold tile in the middle of the night. There are a couple rooms upstairs, too, but we figured you'd want a bit of space while you're here."
More likely they wanted their space, free space without him encroaching on their territory, he muttered inwardly. Not that he blamed them for that, no. The fact that Steve and his wife were opening up their home to him period was enough. Outwardly, he dropped his bag onto the end of the mattress, sinking down beside it. It was a place to stay, a room for him to utilize. He could appreciate that.
"I guess," he mumbled, casting a glance around him again. Meeting her eyeline again, he told her, "Thank you."
Canting her head to the left, she lifted a shoulder, pivoting on her heel to go. "No problem."
The nagging voice in his mind returned, demanded attention. Demanded to be heard. And before he could stop himself, his tongue was moving on its own accord.
"You're okay with this." It wasn't a question, but he was curious as to her answer. Her true answer, without Steve's filter applied to it. Exhaling softly, she turned to look at him again, lip caught between her teeth as she pondered her answer. Pondered how honest she should be. Well, it wouldn't do for her to lie about the situation, not to his face. But she could attempt tact.
"You wouldn't be here if I wasn't," she said plainly. The guilelessness in her face told him that she wasn't concealing anything from him, but the flick of her gaze to the side told him there was more to it than that.
"Really."
Dark eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, going into a defensive stance that told him to be on guard.
"Yes, really," she emphasized, blowing out another breath. Reaching up and pinching the bridge of her nose, she continued, "Look, I know you and I don't have the best relationship—"
"Yeah, I intimidate you and you hit me with baseball bats," he cut in, summing up their interactions as succinctly and sardonically as he could.
"—But I do know that all that you were made to be is not who you are. You've proven that a few times now, at least in my presence. And you stepped up when it counted." Holly met his gaze directly, her arms tightening subconsciously around her middle. Taking another breath, she sputtered, "If you want me to be honest, then fine, I don't have the same, unwavering level of trust that my husband has in you. Lack of history between us hasn't made that possible. Or, lack of good history between us, I should say. Still, I do trust you enough to let you have a place to stay." Pausing, the strength of her words, of the truth behind them, sank in. "If it had been a year ago that I was asked to do this, then the answer would've been a no. That's changed. We've changed."
His stark, unwavering gaze locked onto hers for a long moment, and then he nodded. "Alright."
"Good. I'm keeping faith in the situation. You should, too," she iterated. Another brief silence, and then she hooked a thumb backward. "You get settled, I'm gonna go start the next load of laundry."
Turning around, Holly went out the door, preparing to leave him to his own devices. Before Bucky even had time to rise from his seat on the bed, her pattering footsteps clattered outside the room. Reappearing in the doorway, she jabbed a finger in his direction, her brow furrowed.
"And I only hit you one time with the bat!"
Bucky smirked, shrugging a shoulder. "Technically, you hit me twice. But who's counting?"
Her eyes narrowed, hands settling on her hips. "Do you wanna go for a third?"
Though not frightened in the slightest, Bucky did bow his head, a corner of his mouth turning up in a genuine grin.
"No, thank you, ma'am," he intoned politely, watching as she rolled her eyes and walked away, her mutterings about sarcastic super soldiers lost as she tromped back up the stairs. Chuckling to himself, Bucky moved to his bag, unzipping it and preparing to deposit his few worldly possessions in his new room. The muted noises of her steps, of her mumbled curses at the machines and the clothes she was moving around, popped in and out of his hearing as he went. Clothes fit into the dresser, the couple of books he had sneaked out dropped onto the shelf. The letters and photos he was sent were scattered across the desktop before he moved back to the bathroom to distribute toiletries. The task was over quickly, and soon enough he was shucking off his boots, jacket, and cap. Debating on whether or not to catch up on his sleep (unacknowledged excitement had kept him up over the last couple of days), he ultimately decided against it, instead wandering back upstairs in search of something else to do.
Turning right down the hall, he entered upon the living room, eyes going wide at the tall bookshelves surrounding the television. His doctor had accumulated quite a collection, but most of those were medical and psychological texts, things he didn't have a hope of understand. The private collection of the facility had a few good titles, but nothing quite like that. It wasn't massive, to be sure, but he wasn't expecting there to be many books in the house. His initial plan of watching the television (after obtaining permission) went right out the window. His gaze flitted from one to the next, series beside series—they had the continuation of the fantasy stories he'd started back at the Country House, and he let out an appreciative whistle. A familiar title caught his attention, and he was hard-pressed to ignore it. Removing the slim paperback from its perch, he turned it over in his hand, large eyes rimmed by wire frames above a city decorating the front.
"Good choice," came a voice from behind him, his head snapping up and his body whirling around to face the intruder. He had heard her coming in, but he did not think Holly would encroach on his space as she had. Hastily, she took a step back, hands raised in a gesture of supplication. Taking a few deep breaths, he managed to nod at her, schooling his expression into one that was less...disturbed.
"Yeah, I...I remember reading it, back in the day," he confessed carefully, fingers shuffling along the spine. "I liked it, I think."
"Me too, once I got out of high school English and actually gave it a chance." She flapped a hand in the air, brushing it off. "Required reading sucks, but this one turned out alright."
"This is required material for courses now?" he wondered, looking at it again with renewed scrutiny. From what he recalled of the plot, he did not think that teachers would want to involve that story into the curriculum. According to Holly, he was wrong. "Huh."
"Yeah. I imagine they're having a tougher time reinforcing the whole 'no movie version' rule now that the one with Leo is out."
An eyebrow spiked, confusion evident in his gaze. "Leo?"
A hand passed over her face, palm muffling her mouth, though he heard the stifled "old men," "more pop culture," and "Good God." He blinked rapidly at her, and she removed her hand, the ghost of a giggle at the back of her throat.
"Read the book first, and then I'll introduce you to DiCaprio's Gatsby," she stipulated, returning to the basket of laundry she had dropped on the other side of the couch. Hoisting it up onto her hip, she strode away, rounding the corner to go upstairs. Raising her voice, she called back to him, "And then you can pile on with Steve when it comes to historical inaccuracies in the movie."
Nonplussed, he let her go without a word. Instead, he settled back into the adjacent armchair, thumbing through the pages and letting the crisp paper flutter. In comparison to some novels, the book he was holding was relatively shortly, less than two hundred pages long. As it was, Bucky took his time with the book, moving through the chapters slowly. The sweet rush of memory flowed over him as the city's landscape bloomed in his mind, the trains that traveled to and fro, the imagined valley built from ashes drawing him in. Hot summer days spent in a sickroom, a scrawny blond sixteen-year-old pointing out favorite passages in the pages to him, coughing all the while. He'd taken it home after, read it, and had weird dreams about giant eyes staring down at him, downcast and despondent. Becoming engrossed in the story, and the memories swirling at the periphery, he hardly noticed the time passing. Just as Daisy had come to tea, a ploy set up to allow Gatsby to meet with her again, the sound of a muted groan and the thump of plastic dropped onto something solid filtered in.
Frowning, Bucky got up, determined to discover the source of the noise. Placing the book on the arm of the chair, he tread lightly down the hall, freezing in the arch of the kitchen. Knowing through Steve's insinuations that his wife wasn't exactly a homemaker, he still wasn't altogether shocked to find Holly pouring over a tablet, various ingredients sprawled along the counters and her bent over the center island, staring at the screen. The process for putting together a meal was laid out before her, and she seemed entranced in whatever she was looking at. A recipe, perhaps, he supposed. With the day being what it was for all of them, she must have figured she would give home cooking the edge over takeout or delivery (two more things he wished he could've experienced more in his past). It seemed ambitious, though, to his eyes.
Maybe he could do something about that, he thought, combing the strands of hair that fell over his brow.
"Can I...do you need some help?" he asked, thumbs hooking into his pockets and his feet becoming a fascinating sight. A few seconds passed in which she stared at him, and then she sighed.
"That depends. Can you cook?"
He scratched the back of his neck, a rueful grin sprouting as he looked up. "A few things. Enough to get by."
Vague memories of being taught a few basic recipes by his mother so that he could handle living on his own surfaced, and he had expounded on those during rehab. He needed to know how to take care of himself; at least some of the foods provided these days had written instructions on them. Still, he did remember how to make a couple of simple dishes from scratch.
It was the least he could do, to start earning his place in the house, even if Holly had never breathed a word about doing so.
To his relief, she returned his grin. Tipping a palm forward, she ushered him into the room, indicating he come over and help her look.
"Me, too. Let's see if we can make something a little more than passable for dinner tonight," she said, pushing the tablet over to him and letting him choose where to start first.
xXxXxXx
The sun slid lower in the sky, afternoon light turning to darkness as that part of the world inched closer and closer to winter. The base was quiet, the subdued activity typical for a Saturday milling sparsely from floor to floor. On the upper decks, near the private offices, the elevator at the back of the hall came to a stop. The doors slid open, allowing the five people aboard to disembark. Maria Hill, in a cool blue business dress, led the way, portfolio and tablet in hand. Just behind her came Councilwoman Hawley, swathed in black and her demeanor pleasant. Secretary Ross was hot on her heels, his suit smart and his quick eyes missing nothing. Steve brought up the rear with Tony, casual wear traded for a suit the reasserted his position as the owner of the world's largest tech conglomerate. The end of the official tour was close at hand, and the captain was itching to get it over with. As predicted, Hawley had arrived promptly with the ex-general, determined to go over ever nook and cranny, observing each department and assessing accordingly. While her inquiries tended towards being succinct and polite, Ross's were brusque. He could not afford to probe deeply, and he knew that, but he did ask enough poignant questions to get under the skin of everyone around him. Tony often stepped in to diffuse his remarks, trading wit with the man that bordered more on the barbed end. Little pricks were dug into one another, distracting the fellow so Hawley could interject her own opinions.
It was difficult to attend to Ross. He was hardly likeable on paper. In person, he was much worse. But, Steve reminded himself, he would soon be gone. Unlike the councilwoman, he would not be staying the night. Duties in the capital required his presence, and he had to be back as soon as possible.
"So far, I like what I'm seeing," Hawley expressed when they all paused in their journey, careful delight spreading over her features. From behind her, the Secretary of State snorted, his pale gaze running over the far wall.
"Despite your lack of detainment facilities," Ross asserted, the glaring flaw at the forefront of his mind. It was a point he had labored at sporadically through the tour, mentioning it enough to make them all a little suspicious. Maria Hill tilted her head to the side, spine stiffening.
"Any detainment that is done, is done through the local channels of the country the threat originated from," she explained calmly to the secretary, controlled breath expelled through her nose. "Depending upon the severity of the situation and the risk of the people in question, then they are passed into NATO's capable hands."
Ross darted a look at her, an eyebrow arching at her answer. "Still, as supposed arbiters of justice, you must have some security measures."
Steve shared a lightning-fast glance with Maria, hands clenching on his belt slightly as he stepped in.
"We have a few, sir."
"Ross, I have a feeling you're leading somewhere," Stark cut in, rotating his hand in a motion to get him to hurry along. "Mind getting the pony down the track and to the finish line?"
The ex-general stood up straighter, the closed portfolio he had carried throughout the tour gripped tighter. Shooting a significant look to the councilwoman, she sighed under her breath.
"The secretary has compiled a proposition for the team. However, I insisted that it only be aired while I am present," she announced, not liking being put in that position at all. Nodding to one of the nearby conference rooms, she continued, "If you wish to discuss it, I suggest we move to a more private setting."
As one, they moved into the glass-paneled room, Steve breathing out his groan as he sat down at the head of the table in the center of the room. He dearly wished for a notepad and a pen; doodling would have been a welcome distraction. Instead, Ross waited until they were all seated before launching into his speech. It had become apparent, to him that with the ever-increasing appearances and actions of empowered persons in the world, there would likely be a direct rise in criminal activity. It would not be enough to merely send high-stakes criminals to a normal prison, where they could potentially break out or buy their way out of the system. Those with the highest count of evil deeds, with the longest records, with the threat level great enough to bring about global anarchy, should have a different place to be incarcerated. Sliding printed-off blueprints and a written proposal to the men and women gathered, Ross asserted that such a prison could be made. Indeed, it was nearly completed, but it had yet to be unveiled.
"What we would like from you is to be granted your public endorsement when we do unveil it," he said, revealing his purpose in conveying the information. "And perhaps, together, we could install further safety measures worldwide. Ones that would be beneficial to both the Avengers and the United States."
Swift, steely looks were passed from person to person, Tony's tight-jawed glare meeting Hill's pragmatic glance. Processing his words, comprehending them and letting them sink in, the director of the base's operations swallowed quietly.
"We aren't a private police force, sir. Even if we were willing to cooperate with you in regards to endorsing this prison, you have to understand we wouldn't be working for you, or for the United States government, exclusively," Maria pronounced, observing the slight darkening in the ex-general's gaze as she spoke. "The Avengers were granted immunity to protect the world, not to enforce our personal agenda on it at the behest of a single country. We don't meddle with their structures, and we don't subject anyone to another's meddling."
The statement was confirmed by Hawley's decisive nod, but Ross merely sniffed.
"Huh. Your own proposals to the U.N. suggested otherwise. Or they could be interpreted that way, I mean," he informed them, as though he was simply stating that snow had started to fall outside. A sharp glare was shot so quickly that the captain was still reeling from the burn minutes afterward. "It is a very thin line you're all walking, after all. Not everything you've done—or haven't done—could be seen as pure justice."
"Well, you would know a lot about walking thin lines, wouldn't you, Mr. Secretary?" Tony butted in then, his previous good humor having dissipated. Staring at the conceptual drawings and blueprints, a fire was being stoked deep within him, and he was hard-pressed to keep his breathing even. "Interesting design, this facility has. Seems very...solid...like it could contain something of great size and strength. Or someone, I should say."
The announcement dropped like a lead weight, the ring of what wasn't said clanging in all their ears. Taking another long look at his copies, Steve felt shock and horror flood through him as he realized that the billionaire was right. How could he...?
"That is the point. There are greater threats than regular men out there, ones that should be prepared for," Ross insisted, bending at the waist to rest his hands along the glass tabletop.
"Of which we're very aware, sir," Stark ground out, the hold on his temper weakening with every passing second. "Again, something you yourself are familiar with."
The Secretary of State smirked, noting the rise he was getting out of Stark and visibly relishing it.
"I think it's better to be ready when they come and decide to turn on you."
"Assuming that would be the case," Steve retorted, folding his arms over his chest and capturing the fellow's attention.
Stark's dark eyes glittered, though there was no mirth in his gaze or voice. "And you know what happens when you assume, Thaddeus."
Gaze volleying back and forth between the men, Maria rose from her chair, palming her phone and sending a message to her personal assistant to come and escort Ross to his waiting conveyance.
"Thank you for your time today, Secretary Ross. We'll consider the proposal you've put forward and—"
"Ms. Hill, I didn't make the trip all the way out here just for a tour and a chat," Ross barked, interrupting her. She blinked, stunned by the blatant lack of disrespect she was shown. Tony was fully glowering at him now, and Steve was poised on the edge of his seat, ready to spring up and come between them if needed. Sensing the discord he'd wrought, the ex-general took a literal step back from the table, smoothing over his features into a more pliable expression. "I need an answer about the Avengers and their...willingness...to be involved in this project."
The captain glanced from one colleague to the next, and decided to give the answer that the secretary desired to have.
"If you insist on an answer now, sir, then it's going to be a no," he told him, getting out of his chair and pushing the documents he'd been given to the side. Hands going on his hips, Steve shook his head. "Make your announcement, if you want, but you'll be doing it without our approval or endorsement."
"Nor will you find the United Nations to be more amenable, as far as forcing this team's hand," Hawley interjected smoothly, reminding them all about the actual authority she had, as opposed to Ross's, which was nonexistent. The ex-general's gaze narrowed in on her as she stood, pointedly standing near Maria in silent support.
"I never intended to force anybody, Hawley. I did, however, hope that this team would be more sensible," he stated bluntly. A cutting glare darted to the head of the table, though Ross's veneer was stolid. "Or, at least, that their leader would be."
The dig that had been shot at Steve did not faze him in the slightest. Instead, he met the secretary's stare with his icy one, an eyebrow barely inclining and his posture rigid.
"I have a sufficient amount of sense to know a poorly-executed plan when I see one. Sir," he tacked on belatedly. The ex-general took a half-step towards him, the fingers of one hand curling into a fist. Light knocks came at the door, and Maria's assistant (new hire, a young girl fresh out of college but with a will as ironclad as her employer's) entered the room, informing Ross that his jet was waiting for him. Sharp breaths shot out of his nose, and he gave them all a clipped nod as he gathered his portfolio, coming within inches of Steve as though he would shoulder him out of the way. At the last second, he maneuvered around him, promising to call Hawley within the week as he stepped lively. Maria's assistant shot them all a sympathetic glance before she went after him, guiding him in the correct direction to the landing pad upstairs. A brief silence engulfed them all, their steadying breaths echoing around them.
"That bastard," Tony eventually growled, forcefully flattening his palms on the surface of the table.
"Seems like he's moved on from his old projects," Maria posited, glancing at the design sheets the ex-general had left behind.
"For the time being," the captain murmured, the others shooting him grim glances. "Given half a chance, I don't doubt he'd be back trying recreate Erskine's work."
"Or, as he sees it, improving upon it," Tony spat, shoving the papers away in disgust. "That prison has Bruce's name written all over it, no matter how he tries to hide it."
"In spite of the fact that he has immunity, too," Maria concurred, the dread of the statement spreading over them in a terrible wave. "Which is most likely why he wanted our approval; he wanted permission to one day detain him and hole him up there."
Hawley shook her head, the silvered locks of her bobbed cut shifting over her shoulders. "While I don't disagree with the idea of a maximum security facility being built for the greater threats of the world, I cannot condone Ross's methods."
Steve sat back down, pulling a sheet forward and glancing over it again. "Building a prison is one thing, but building it and only being able to use it if we further a particular party's interests? Without any regard to the rest of the world, or to the people who actually need the help? How is that fair, or right?"
"It isn't, but he's not seeing it that way." The billionaire rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in contempt. "His sense of justice and righteousness has been skewed for years; this pretty much confirmed it."
"At minimum, the way he's going about it would actually constitute the endeavor as a misappropriation of funds from this organization," the director of the base's operations muttered, looking again at the numbers configured for 'upkeep' and 'proper donations.'
"He's trying to manipulate us. The budget and the building have already been green-lit, most likely slipped in between other motions and such put forth in the last few years. Something that size can't just pop out of nowhere, and people are going to wonder about it." Stark punctuated his words with a sharp snarl in his voice. It appalled him, galled him to think that Ross would stoop to that level, and then try to play it off as a simple request. "Slapping our approval and name on it, and likely funding its upkeep, would have made it okay with the taxpayers. Without it, it will make the government look suspicious and paranoid. And piss people off for paying for yet another prison."
The captain, staring hard at the oblong structure's layout, at the proposed design and thick, broad walls, exhaled sharply.
"Either way, we can't be behind it. Not with the strings he's attaching to it. You'll make the U.N. aware of all of this, ma'am?" he asked, turning to the councilwoman. The tablet she had carried within her own portfolio had been taken out, and her fingers flew as she compiled the update on the day's events, the information to be forwarded to her colleagues at the United Nations.
"Already in the process, Captain." Hawley cracked a small grin as the others around her nearly sagged in relief. Tapping out a few more words, she fired off the email on her tablet, nodding once to indicate completion. "I believe it would be best, at this point, to call it a day. Ms. Hill, if you could escort me to my quarters, we can discuss the agenda for tomorrow. Thank you, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark."
With that, the two women withdrew, leaving a disgruntled billionaire and perturbed captain in their wake.
"As if there weren't enough problems to deal with, Ross has to go ahead and pile on," Stark groaned, scrubbing at his face and leaning back in his chair.
Steve's eyes were fixed on the far hall, as if he could see beyond it, to the jet bearing the Secretary of State away.
"We need to keep an eye on him, be prepared for the next thing he tries to pull."
"Roger that," Tony breathed. A final disdainful glance was shot at the blueprints, which he gathered up with alacrity. While he knew some copies would no doubt find their way down to filing and archives, he wanted to keep some for himself. Just in case. "Well, I think I'm gonna go ponder this one for a bit. You gonna stick around?"
A wry half-grin twisted Steve's lips. "Gotta get the team up to speed before heading home.
"Alrighty, then. Better work fast." The men cast dubious glances out the windows, watching the snow drifting lazily to the ground. It was getting to the level of cold where it could start sticking, and that would not be pleasant to work through. "Don't want Wifey to worry about you driving in that snow."
Clapping the captain on the shoulder, he departed, taking himself to the second set of guest rooms available and disappearing from sight. Grumbling aloud, Steve threaded his fingers through his hair, stumbling out of his seat and trotting down to the private rooms. In the central lounge between apartments, he found Natasha and Rhodey—both of whom had wisely steered clear of the whole affair that afternoon—imploring them to get the secondary team in on a conference call and to tap into the private comm channel (Sam, Wanda, and the Vision were off doing strict reconnaissance somewhere in Oregon, oddly enough). The reception from both teams about the information was mixed, but in general, it seemed that the inspections were going well. Hawley would remain for another day or two, and then she'd be off to London. Chapman's team had little time to prepare, but they would do their level best.
When the sun had fully set, and the blackness of night had taken over the sky, Steve finally made his way home, tie loosened in the truck as he drove and the weight on his shoulders lifting little by little. Turning up his driveway, he could see the glow of the lights on the ground floor, and he smiled to himself. God, he was glad to be there. Parking the truck, he palmed his shield as he circled around to the back door, code punched in and access granted. Stepping into the warmth of the kitchen, he glanced around, almost startled by the clearing throat that interrupted his train of thought. Swallowing down a derisive laugh at himself, he met the gaze of his old friend as he sat at the table.
Bucky was there, really was there, and he was glad for it.
"Oh, hey," he greeted him, smile widening slightly. Bucky looked well, he was relieved to note. Well, and if not happy, at least not upset. A book was spread open before him, another one perched to his right. An abandoned plate of half-eaten food was near at hand, in case he wished to partake once more. And he was alone. Steve's brow furrowed as he noticed that, resting his shield against a lower cabinet.
"Hi," Bucky returned, his expression placid. Deep down, he was pleased to be there, but he was still wary of being too open about it. Too afraid that it would vanish in an instant, that he would find himself in some hovel, confused and terrified about himself and the world around him. Catching Steve's quick glances around and away from him, he figured he could guess where his mind had wandered. "She's upstairs. Said she felt tired, and she was going to reclaim her Return of the King to wind down, whatever that means. I assumed it was a book."
"You assumed right," Steve said, his musings about Holly assuaged as he grumbled under his breath. "Damn, I was in the middle of that, too."
"She mentioned that. Apparently, three months is long enough for being the middle of it." Now Bucky smirked at him, gaze latching back onto the book. "Food's in the icebox if you're hungry."
The stomach rumbling almost on cue nearly made them both laugh, and Steve adjourned to the refrigerator, intent on getting something to eat. Though disappointed in himself for not returning in time with them, he was glad to find that they'd left enough for him. Evidently, it was more than enough; there leftovers specifically for him, and then others for the next day. Possibly for lunches on Monday, too.
"That is...a mix," he mumbled, opening the containers and peering at the contents. Spaghetti with meat sauce in one, grilled chicken and potatoes in the other. Tinfoil-wrapped garlic bread was unwrapped alongside it all. There plenty left of each in the fridge in other containers, but he hadn't expected that much to be whipped up and set aside.
Bucky looked up again as Steve plated his finds, and snickered. "We tried."
The captain blinked at that, fingers stilled around the handle of the microwave. "You cooked, too?"
"Figured I should do something to help out," his friend replied, shoulders rising up again before his concentration returned to the book in front of him. They couldn't agree on one or the other, so they'd made multiple options. Well, that explained the varying dinner choices, he mused privately, setting the timer as best he could and starting the microwave. In minutes flat, he was at the table and eating, nearly inhaling the mixed meal before him. Risking a glance up, the captain swirled his fork around, lulled into an old memory.
"Kinda reminds me of the time when you tried to make our C rations into something beyond edible," he remarked, testing the waters to see Bucky's progress for himself. Both he and his therapist had seen marked improvement in his recollections, but he honestly wondered how far he had gone.
Bucky cracked a small grin, and looked up. "With those spices I nicked from Italy. Is it really that bad?"
Immediately, Steve shook his head. "No, this time the experiment went right, as opposed to then."
"Didn't realize there was such a thing as too much oregano."
"There is for meat and potato hash. At least it made mealtime interesting that day."
It had, truly; Falsworth had sworn off Italian spices after that, let alone oregano (the herbs mixed in were incredibly overpowering) and Dugan had called him a baby before scarfing down his abandoned fare. The two men chuckled at the memory, falling silent again shortly afterward. Bite after bite, followed by turning pages as they went at their separate endeavors. It wasn't long before Steve was staring at him again, unsure of where to pick up the thread. Scraping up the last of his potatoes, he decided to just try.
"You okay, Buck?" he asked, the question more loaded than it seemed on the surface. Carefully, Barnes closed the book before him, resting his hands on the table before looking him in the eye.
"Not bad, considering," he replied slowly, a rueful glint in his gaze and his metal hand passing through his hair. Expelling the truth was something he was still adjusting to, even after all that time. Still, he knew it would do no good to lie. "After six months, I'm still not used to the quiet."
Steve snorted. "I hear ya."
Bucky nodded, his lips thinning. "Fury wants me back in training again in the next few days. As per the agreement."
"Don't feel obliged to, if you're not ready," the captain countered, not willing to push on the issue. The director may feel that Barnes was ready to begin engaging again, but he would not allow him to be forced into service if he did not feel up for it. It was a major commitment, which they all knew, and Bucky would not be committed if it was not his will.
A slow breath poured out of his friend's mouth. "I am, though."
"Getting antsy?"
"I left antsy behind in July, trust me," Barnes scoffed, rolling his shoulders back. "I want...I wanna do this."
A few minutes' silence, the clock on the inner wall ticking away the seconds, and then Rogers dipped his chin.
"Okay. Well, we'll bring you in on Monday or Tuesday, get you acquainted with everything." A sly glance was shot at his friend, and he smirked. "Pretty sure Nat's looking forward to putting you through the paces."
An unbidden smile decorated Bucky's face as he laughed derisively, scrubbing a hand at his five o'clock shadow.
"Any chance she might go easy on me?"
The deadpan look Steve shot him spoke volumes, though he did deign to give a verbal response. "Less than a snowball's in hell."
That made Barnes laugh again, and he leaned back in his chair. "Good to know."
Nodding, Steve scraped up the last of his food, swallowing quickly and picking up his plate. Taking his friend's deserted one, he scraped the leftover bites into a container, marking it with a note and putting it away. Dishes rinsed and placed in the dishwasher that time, he stretched his arms above his head, the heaviness of the day's events wearing off. Casting another look at Bucky, he hooked his thumb in the direction of the living room.
"Well, I've got some stuff on the queue I want to catch up on. Want to join me?"
Looking from his book back to him, Bucky made his decision quickly. "...Sure."
Accompanying Steve into the living room, Bucky took the chair again, with the captain taking the couch. Manipulating the controls, he managed to get the television on, choosing an episode of a series he'd been picking through slowly. Bucky was a little concerned about not understanding the premise, given that he'd never seen the show before. However, Steve's brief summation about the times and trials of Lucy and Ricky Ricardo was all he really needed. It was simple, but it allowed the story to go almost literally anywhere, keeping it open and funny. Partway through the second episode they were watching, Holly crept downstairs, going to Steve with a kiss and curling up beside him on the couch. Conversation ebbed and flowed, with the captain expounding on the decent impression the councilwoman had thus far, and his wife inquiring after a retired general. Soon enough, they were treated to an earful about the general in question, and Bucky had to hold back a snicker. The man sounded like a hard case, and he was relieved to not have gone anywhere near that. As the hours slid by, the young woman on the couch drifted off again, head resting in her husband's lap and his fingers tenderly combing through her hair. It was something the ex-assassin had never thought he'd see, his erstwhile best friend being sweet with a gal. Part of him blearily recalled wanting Steve to find happiness with a dame, but it was still something he was not used to seeing. That, and the friendliness. Undeserving of it as he was, he still was so grateful for that.
Shaking his head, his mind turned to other thoughts, the fingers of his metal hand tapping lightly on the arm of the chair.
"Thanks," he murmured quietly, after the silence between them had settled. Glancing over, he caught the flicker of confusion in Steve's eyes. Clearing his throat, he elaborated, "For letting me stay. And, well, yeah."
A slow grin curved Steve's mouth, and he merely canted his head.
"You're welcome, Bucky," he replied, dipping his chin and letting seriousness bleed into his expression. "Really. You are welcome here."
His friend's gaze flicked down to Holly, sleeping soundly and ignorant of their speech. "More or less."
Another episode passed before Bucky declared that he would take himself to his room. Rising from the chair, he was preempted from going as Steve rustled around in his jacket pocket, the article slung over the back of the couch long ago. Fishing for a few seconds, he removed a bent envelope, the looping handwriting familiar as he peered at it.
"Natasha gave me this to pass off to you," Steve explained, watching him as he turned the paper over in his hand. "She was gonna mail it, but figured it would be better to save on postage."
"Yeah. No idea how she'd ever be able to recover that fifty cents," Bucky riposted, lips twisting.
"Forty-nine," the captain corrected. Blinking, he looked at him, eyebrows drawn together in befuddlement. "Were you being ironic or unironic?"
"I...honestly don't know," his friend murmured, thinking back on his words and having no answer.
"Me, either," Steve muttered, with a slightly sad tone. The relevancy of prices for things as mundane as postage stamps was silly at times, and they both realized it. Shrugging it off, he watched Barnes move off, detouring to the kitchen to retrieve his borrowed books before going downstairs. "G'night, Buck."
"'Night, Steve," was the call back, the brunet man clomping down the steps, two sets of treasures in hand and his own space to indulge in them. Sprawling out on his bed, he unfolded his letter, losing himself in the words of another friendly soul as the night stretched on.
A/N: Another long chapter...I need to learn self-control. I'm so sorry, to those irritated by that. These chapters are getting crazy. Pretty sure the next one won't be as long. Maybe.
If there's anybody out there who likes General/Secretary Ross, sorry for the bashing. I cannot like the man. Not one bit. I've always thought him to be an arrogant, hypocritical ass, and I cannot portray him otherwise. I've liked some true villains better than I've liked him. That being said, he is difficult to write, and I hope I did okay with him. To me, the Raft is the first step in actively going after Bruce, but Ross can't just sell it based on that. Not after everything. So he tries for Avenger endorsement. And fails, but still, he tries.
On a more positive note, Bucky's officially out of rehab. That's good news, right? And if anybody's curious about the actual location of the base/Steve and Holly's house, I've reckoned those to be somewhere between Saratoga Springs, Gloversville, and Queensbury, NY. Rough guesstimate. Might not make the geography 100% accurate, but I'm trying. Also, stamp decrease did not happen until 2016, so the price is more or less accurate.
I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references (The Great Gatsby—both book and Baz Luhrmann film—I Love Lucy, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!