The subsequent investigation into the captured records and assets of Ulysses Klaue had not yielded much more than the man himself. When the others had returned from their winter sojourns, Steve and Bucky had relayed all that they had found on their own, which was not much. Even with Natasha falling onto the new findings with gusto, with her expertise at ferreting out the small details, there was not much to add. Apart from his dire threats and warnings, there was no evidence of the outside employers who had used him, except for the detailed surgical and rehabilitative notes in regards to his new, metal arm. What the Avengers did find, however, was enough in cargo manifests and mining of his computer data to at least keep him locked up indefinitely. It had jarred the balance in the black market underworld, and they would wait to see who would fill his place. They would wait to see if his threats would ever come to fruition. In the meantime, there were other calls to answer, other missions to go on. Other things to take care of.
From there, the business of heroes continued as usual, and the others surrounding them did their best to keep up. In the archives department, new projects were found and assigned, with Holly being accorded some transcripts from a few recon missions into Romania from the 1960's. In between those, a second appointment with the OB had been scheduled, with Steve barely able to make it with her (he'd cut it down to the wire, returning from a mission literally minutes before her departure). It was much shorter than the time before, but they had come away with something better than pamphlets and pills: the first sonogram. Multiple copies were printed, excitement filling Holly as she held onto hers. Steve could not tear his eyes away from them for long; unspeakable, deep emotion made him inarticulate as he traced a finger along the outline. Around the tiny head, circling the still-forming body, it shook him to the core even as a giant smile stretched his lips. The image of him doing so was seared into her heart and mind.
Also, there was the imminent departure of Bucky Barnes, yet again. Having completed his trials, he was given a week's grace period to wrap up anything that was awaiting him back in New York before being tasked to the helicarrier for work. Sadly, it appeared that a week was about six days too long for preparations, but the ex-assassin was not about to rush himself out. He took his time, resuming his training and gathering himself as the days slid from one to the next. Too quickly, the fifth rolled around, a detachment of new recruits joining him on the platform to head out to the helicarrier. As the quinjet was prepped and the others bustled to and fro, he took his time to say his farewells. Steve had worn a look akin to pride as he clapped him on the back, wishing him luck for the next few weeks. Holly, who was unable to see him off, had bid him farewell over breakfast, squeezing his shoulder gently before she had left to get to work herself. That gesture went a long way to assuaging things between them, her small smile meaning more than it had in previous days. Unlike last time, Natasha would not be escorting him out, and so she had stood off to one side, hands tucked into pockets as he approached her. Scratching the back of his neck, he was about to offer her a handshake farewell and a thank you when she stepped forward, resolutely wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in tightly. To say he was shocked at such an open embrace was an understatement; even Steve's eyes had boggled a little at the sight. Bucky was barely able to return it before she was stepping away, a demand for him to report in by the next week on her lips. The dancing light in her bright eyes stayed with him as he waved farewell and boarded the jet, occupying him as the recruits murmured around him.
Two Sundays had passed since the South African raid, and Holly had found herself busying herself with weekly chores. After chatting with her literary agent, she had forged a connection with a new publisher, intent on discussing terms with them within the next several days. Her hopes for a better outcome that time played in her mind, the possibilities of the future tripping through her mind as she unwrapped the garlands from around the door and windows, packing them away. Carrying down the last box of decorations when she'd finished—she had been stalling in getting most of the Christmas stuff put away, with the exception of the tree the previous week—Holly paused at the foot of the stairs, resting against the bannister. For a few moments, she watched as Steve blithely continued with his exercises, ignorant of her presence. He'd been at it for awhile, as evidenced by the long, branching line of sweat that darkened the back of his gray shirt. Arms pistoned, striking hard against the bag suspended from the ceiling and rocking it. Apparently, the early morning run before church in the freezing cold had not done enough to release his pent-up energy, and he had been hard at work since then to let out the stacking aggression. Staring at his hard line and the tight coil of him, Holly eventually shook her head, smiling to herself and deftly holding down her own aggression. Moving off towards the laundry area, she moved to the shelving unit along the back wall. Pulling out the step stool with her foot, she climbed up to put the box on the top shelf. As she slid it towards the back with a grunt, she bumped into the shelf below, her stomach peeking out from the rise of her shirt. Folding back the cloth, she traced along the curve, along the few small weals that had embedded themselves into her skin.
"This does not look like a fat bump anymore," she crooned, the same thought she had that morning as she dressed finally spoken aloud. Sighing, she let her shirt drop back into place, let it hide the bump and stretch marks. A chuckle sounded from behind her, and she turned in time to see Steve standing there, sweat glistening on his face and drinking from the water bottle he held. Evidently, he had finished with his boxing bout; four hours must have been deemed good enough. Leaning against the far wall, his bright gaze slid over her form, affection and something deeper lighting them. She examined him as well once she turned, smirking as she noted his sweaty brow and the way he plucked at his shirt in an attempt to cool off. Spotting the hand wraps wound around his knuckles and tutting under her breath (why the man still neglected to use proper gloves was beyond her), she stepped away from the shelving unit, ready to take care of it. Taking one of his hands, she picked at the secured end point, winding the wrap around her own fingers as she undid the loops. Around the wrist, the thumb, wrist again, through the fingers. Over, under, and over again; she reckoned there had to be something almost therapeutic about it all, wrapping the hands before kicking the crap out of a stationary bag of grains and sand.
"It never looked like that in the first place, doll," he was telling her as she worked, placing the water bottle on top of the closed washer lid. Brushing the drooping strands of his hair away from his brow with his free hand, he watched as she flicked a glance up at him from beneath her eyelashes.
"I really hope you're saying that because you already know what's in here, and not that I've always looked fat so it made no difference," she half-teased, a mocking frown decorating her lips as the last wrap came free. Tossing the cloth away, she suppressed a snicker as he groaned in response, letting her start on the other hand.
"Don't go picking fights when you know what I meant," he admonished lightly, flexing his unwrapped fingers. She snorted at that, a muted giggle in her throat. Oh, he wanted to talk about picking fights, did he? It was brushed aside, though, as she stuck her tongue out at him, Steve shaking his head and grinning at her. Hooking his thumb into his sweats pocket, he nodded down at the growing curve of her. "But you're right: people are going to be able to tell from here on out, I think."
Wan smiles were shared, but she could tell his didn't reach his eyes. Although there was a great amount of happiness and pride in his expression, Holly wasn't foolish enough to believe that any of it had eradicated Steve's anxieties. Or her own, for that matter. They were upon the last days of secrecy and privacy with their unborn child, and when that ended, the microscope of the world would focus even harder on them. Once the word got out about Captain America and his wife procreating, the edges of their safe haven would contract, the chances of danger would increase. A part of her was relieved to still have her job at the base. Though it was (more than likely) going to feed the gossip mill, she did at least feel safe there, behind the thick walls and with a veritable battalion of agents and crew members standing between her and the potential evils of the world. And the team, too. Or, at least, she hoped they would stand with them on it. It was happening, one way or another, but support was always appreciated, and if they could get that, then well, bully for them. If not, then she had Steve, his shield, and an electrified bat to accompany her pepper spray.
Reality had a way of weighing down optimism, she thought to herself.
"If they haven't already picked up on the earlier context clues," she muttered aloud. The end of the wrapping came away, and she dropped it to join the first skein. Taking a few steps away from him, she settled her hip against the far wall, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, how do we approach this?"
Steve blinked, a corner of his mouth lifting. "If you have any ideas, I'm all ears."
She tapped a finger against her chin for a few moments, and then she facetiously suggested, "Announcement over the PA system too much, you think? It would get it done in one shot, and you do give rather rousing speeches."
"Yeah, well, that might be a little over-the-top," he remarked playfully, snatching up the water bottle and draining it. Carefully propping it by the wall when he was finished, he opened the washer. A load of sheets had to be done, and it wouldn't hurt to throw his workout clothes in with them. Dumping in a cupful of detergent, he considered their options. Over his shoulder, he posited, "We could do it tomorrow night. Communal dinner at the base will be happening since everyone will be on-site, barring any emergencies."
Holly inclined her head as she pondered that; communal dinner was something the team tried to achieve as often as they could. When time and missions permitted it, of course. It had started as a way to facilitate bonds and understanding between the varying members, to bridge the gaps and make them a better-functioning unit, but over time it had become so much more. Even with the couple having moved into their own home, they too tried to attend the dinners when they could. The practice had fallen by the wayside in December, with so much happening, but they had all resolved to resume it in the new year. It would be a simple, easy way to make an announcement to them all, given how they would all be in one place. She could readily agree to that, and did so.
"Okay, and we'll just proceed as normal then during work," she summed up, his concurrence made plain. Tapping her fingers along her arm, she inquired, "Mind if I invite Kay to it? I would like her to know, too."
Close friends were hard to come by, she reasoned inwardly, in the new world she was occupying. Kay had proven herself to be a good companion, and she felt she could trust the other woman enough to tell her the truth. Steve tipped his chin up at the request before cupping a hand in the air.
"I don't think anybody would have a problem with her coming along," he stated. A cheeky glimmer filled his gaze as he continued, "Not Sam, at least."
"Right," she replied absentmindedly, reaching up and tightening her ponytail. When the last words of his sentence registered, her eyes whipped up to meet his gaze. For a moment, she could only gape at him, and he grinned blandly back at her. Once it all processed, she exhaled sharply and lifted a shoulder. "Well, guess that secret's officially out, then."
Steve snorted, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Has been for awhile, though they still pretend otherwise, publicly. You should've heard some of the excuses Sam has given me to cover up meeting with her. I've seen soggy newspapers hold up better than some of the lines he's fed me. Had to tell him to drop the pretext, eventually."
"Wow..." she breathed, before a mischievous look dawned. "We gotta make them sit next to each other at dinner."
"If you're gonna try to stir them up," Steve proclaimed, toeing off his shoes and taking his socks off, "count me out. I will take no responsibility for your conspiracy."
Her eyes narrowed, spying the wry smile he was trying to hide. "Will you stop me, though? That's the question."
His expression smoothed out then, showing nothing but confidence and placidity. "I think I can trust you to make the right decision here."
Dropping the socks into the washer, he made quick work with removing his sweatpants. Fishing his wedding ring out of one of the pockets (he wanted to save it and his fingers any potential damage while throwing jabs), he pushed it back on before depositing the pants as well. Canting her head, she halfheartedly raised a fist skyward, giving it a mild shake and twisting her face in faux disgust as she abandoned her plans for the pair.
"Curse you, Rogers," she gasped, her tepid attempt at sounding menacing making him laugh outright.
"Heard that before, just in a more long-winded form. You sound infinitely better, though, and are," he asserted, fondness lighting up his irises. "No matter what you plot."
"So I'm a nice villain, then?" She pressed a palm over her heart, adopting a look of shock and wonder. "Perish the thought of you being married to someone so devious."
"Eh, we all have our faults." He smiled broadly, dropping his shirt into the washer as she giggled again. Devoid of everything but his boxers, the cooler air sent a bit of a shiver down his spine as he bent and retrieved the waiting sheets from the basket. He could practically feel his wife's eyes burning him as he finished loading the washer, the lid falling into place as the cycle started. Pivoting back to Holly, he caught the dart of her gaze down his body, something he returned in kind. Barely holding back on a smirk, he held out his hand to her. "Shower time, come on."
She scoffed audibly at that, her fingers curling at the hem of her shirt. "Uh, I'm not the one who reeks of gym funk, honey. And even if I did, both of us will not fit in the shower down here. Even if I wasn't preg—what are you doing?"
Her rebuttal was stymied by his sharp turn, by the impish cast of his face, and her brow furrowed. Swiftly, he covered the space between them in less than five seconds, draping his arms around her and pulling her in close. Wrapping her into a very warm, very sweaty hug, Steve locked his arms tight as Holly squirmed and rocked against him, trying to loosen his hold and let her go.
"Oh, God, Steve, stop!" she groaned, squealing a little when his hand came up to cup her head and press her face into his chest. He couldn't quite quell the laughter as she struggled against him, her retching crow mixing with it. A few more seconds passed before his palms went to her waist, allowing her to bow back a little. She brought up two fingers, tracing along her now-dewy face and neck, her scowl not holding so much ire as something else altogether. His own gaze darkened upon seeing it, and he tugged her hips against his, with her stepping forward of her own volition and hands splaying upon his skin.
"There, no excuse now," he breathed. He gripped her elbows and started to move her with him, walking them both away from the laundry area and towards the steps. "And our shower upstairs is plenty big, sweetheart."
Dark eyes dilated at the implication, and Holly met his desirous gaze with her own. A flush ran through her, then, worming through the discomfort of having Steve's workout sweat all over her face and arms. Another layer was added as he cradled her head, his mouth claiming hers, her softness molding against his tones and cut. It felt so good, the intimacy that had stalled a few weeks ago returning full force to them. He'd caught her on a decent day, wherein she did not feel as sore as she had previously, where she felt nearly like her old self again. She didn't know if he had perceived this, or if he was just incredibly fortunate in his timing, but she did not want to question it. Breaking away from his hungry lips, his questing tongue, she gathered her breath, tugging at the short strands of his hair.
"You're lucky...you're lucky..." she stuttered, unable to form a retort or reprimand. Swallowing hard, she let her need flare up, ready to meet his. Reaching down, she threaded her fingers with his and maneuvering around him. Leading the way up the stairs, she merely blurted, "You're just lucky, you know that, right?"
The chuckle he gave was downright sinful, the timber of his answering tone making her move at double time.
"Believe me, I know," he whispered, matching her pace eagerly. Her murmurs about thankfulness and second winds were lost in their haste, but the words were appreciated fully despite that.
xXxXxXx
Monday evening rolled around soon enough, the dreary work day melting by so quickly Holly barely registered it. Clock in, clock out, and she met up with Steve at his office before she knew it. At least formal wear wasn't a requirement; she could get away with her loose-fitting blouse and the biggest jeans she owned (tight as they were feeling at the moment). Upon passing the security points and entering the communal areas of the Avengers' apartments, Steve and she waved their hellos over to the chefs for the night. Wanda waved back with a salad fork at them, and the Vision tipped his head in greeting as well. The auburn-haired woman handed the utensil off to him, imploring him to keep mixing the greens as she consulted a recipe on a nearby tablet. The others were wandering in from their separate quarters, back slaps and handshakes exchanged. When a certain blue-haired agent came in, her temporary access pass tucked away discreetly, she made a beeline for the other non-Avenger in the room. Kay was looking well, her time spent in the equipment testing department hitting a new stride; some of the fellows were looking to incorporate a titanium weave into some of the tact gear, making it more durable and providing better protection from straight-on attacks. As well as that, she'd brought out her iPod, sharing one of the ear buds with Holly and selecting the newest musical import on the device. The album was from one of the new hits on Broadway, the play about one of the founding fathers. Though the agent had never been particularly fond of the genre, she was addicted to the beat and the intelligence of the lyrics, and she had been listening to it nearly non-stop since she'd received it for Christmas. Digging the beat herself, Holly had begged her to send her the links, abandoning her bag and humming along. Steve sneaked a look out the corner of his eye, spotting Sam's pleasure reflecting in his gaze before snickering to himself. Natasha came over and took a listen for herself, marking herself up for the burn queue just as Rhodey poked at a container on one of the end tables. Lifting the lid, he peeked at the assortment of cookies within, snatching a hand away just as Sam slapped it back into place. His mother had airmailed them for all to indulge in, but not until after dinner was had.
The culinary exercise that the Maximoff girl and the android had participated in had actually turned out decently. Granted, it would've taken some talent to totally wreck chicken parmesan, but it was still a good effort for them. Particularly as neither were completely inclined to cooking, generally (Wanda, more often than not, had to cook back when she lived with Pietro, mainly because he was monumentally terrible at it. However, she was more willing to do so now). As fate would have it, Kay and Sam did end up sitting next to each other, both of them expressing pleasantries but no overt affection. Sitting across from them, Holly had to silently thank the powers that had conspired in her favor for that, as she could easily spot one or another sneaking sidelong glances as they ate or their brief touches as they passed dishes. What she missed was the conspiratorial wink passed from the Enhanced girl to the redheaded ex-agent from the opposite ends of the table, congratulating each other on a job well done. Rhodey, from his position at Kay's left, toasted the two cooks, the Vision nodding and grinning beside Steve as the rest joined in his chorus. He even partook of the meal, saying he was adhering to the colloquial rule of only a bad chef would not eat his own creation. At least there was enough to go around; pasta dishes of any variety made for a good group meal.
The conversation was tenuous at first, as talking shop had to be edited somewhat for the unauthorized parties in the company, but in time a couple of funny stories broke the ice. Kay had shared about her mother's addiction of buying as-seen-on-TV items, and how she'd been gifted everything from booties for chair legs to a set of pajama pants that looked like jeans. The worst part was having to model the pajama pants, and finding out they had matched the shade of her hair exactly. The mister and missus of the group let the voices chatter around them, pitching in their two cents on occasion. They would wait, wait until the end of the dinner before unloading the truth onto the others. Gently, Steve's palm slid over Holly's knee, thumb stroking against the material of her jeans before she reached down herself. An illicit grin passed between them as her fingers threaded with his.
"Hey, hands above the table, you two," Sam chided playfully from across the table, sizing up the married couple with a teasing eye.
The captain arched a brow at that, faint amusement in his tone. "Really?"
Pointedly, he flicked his gaze between the fellow and the blue-haired woman beside him. A spark of apprehension streaked over Kay's eyes, but she otherwise held her pleasant expression. Sam's smirk lessened somewhat, but he remained as stoic as her. Breathing sharply out of his nose, Steve guided their hands up, resting them on the table and showing how their fingers were interlaced. Nothing wandering, nothing inappropriate or untoward was happening between them. Holly curled her hand a little tighter in his, the minor tremors hidden in his solid grasp. Satisfied in their conduct, Sam gave them both a nod of approval, another forkful of food disappearing into his mouth. Tacitly, Holly shot a glance at Kay, who shifted slightly in her seat and brought her free hand to rest on the flat surface. It remained there, but she cottoned onto the fact that Sam's had remained out of sight. And leaning slightly towards her.
Another glance passed between Steve and her. That cheeky bastard. He was just lucky the table they were at had an opaque top.
The conversation around them ebbed and flowed, moving from Wanda's travails with her brother in London to Rhodey's wrangling of nieces and nephews over Christmas, stories that there was no time to tell up until then. As the chat and banter went around them, Holly smiled pleasantly enough, her food picked at slowly. Spying her reluctance in every bite, Steve scooted nearer to her with his chair, leaning closer and using the cover of the voices around them.
"You gotta eat, doll," he whispered in her ear, fingers squeezing hers. Annoyance flared up, her dark eyes flying up from her plate to meet his. The lack of actual reproach in his gaze brought her up short, but she did manage to say something.
"Trying," she replied, attempting to squash the cattiness in her tone. His concern was well-meant, but it wasn't like she was avoiding eating on purpose. She just dreaded what was coming. Dipping her chin once, she let go of his hand, wandering away from the table to the bag she'd left lying in the sitting area. Withdrawing a small bottle, she unscrewed the lid and tipped out a couple tablets before tucking the bottle away again. Moseying back to the table, she set the tablets to one side, ready for her when she needed them. Off the questioning looks that were shot in her direction, she picked her fork back up and shrugged. "Heartburn's a bitch."
"Hear ya on that one, sister," Rhodey concurred, tipping his head to her in a wincing salute. She snorted at that, lifting hers and doing the same to him. The first flare started not too long after that, the marinara driving it up, and so she dutifully swallowed her tablets. It was easier to handle than some other developments of pregnancy, and thus far hers hadn't been too bad. Nothing to do but tough it out and get through it. The cookies were eventually brought in, a real homemade treat which paired really well with the wine Natasha had furnished for dinner (as discovered when she ingested both at once).
"Sure you don't want some, Holly?" she prompted the other woman, knowing her preferences towards reds.
Automatically, Holly canted her head in denial, a rueful grin on her lips as she sipped from her glass of water.
"No thanks, I'm good."
"Some wines actually aren't bad with heartburn," Sam pointed out. Taking up the nearest bottle, he missed the rigidity flooding Holly's posture while squinting at the label. As Natasha narrowed her gaze at her, he continued, "Pretty sure this one has low acidity."
"It's bad for her, no matter what," Wanda suddenly interjected then, catching the rest of the table's attention with her pronouncement. Confused gazes darted to the other young woman in question and back to her, ricocheting over Steve on and off. Her green eyes connected with Holly's brown, both sets broadening as each word hit home. Beside her, the captain's jaw was set, pink flushing up his neck into his face. Realizing she had spoken her objection out loud, she swallowed thickly. "Uh..."
Holly's eyebrows inclined and she shot a look to her husband, who met it with one of his own before covering his mouth with his palm.
"I told you," she said, nudging Steve with her elbow. He closed his eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of them starting to roll. Sighing, she edged her glass further away, forcing a small grin onto her lips before facing the auburn-haired woman again. "Should I make the announcement, or should you, Wanda?"
"I, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" A waving hand cut off her apology.
"Don't sweat it," Holly said, running a finger over her scar briefly. "It was on the docket for the evening, anyway."
The mild confusion around the table's occupants was still evident, and Sam felt his eyebrows shoot up.
"Um, what was?" he prompted, wanting her to get to the point. With a captive audience, with the moment upon them, Holly felt her tongue tie slightly. Seeing her stiffen, Steve cleared his throat, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back and rubbing soothing circles.
"There was something we wanted to tell you guys," he started, swallowing again and breaking into a shy smile. With a last glance darted to his wife, he told the others, "We're, uh, we're having a baby. Due July 27th."
Unnatural quiet followed, and Holly had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her smile from wavering too much. Especially when the assortment of gazes riveting into her weren't wholly reflecting surprise.
"Please tell me some of you didn't know already," she said, injecting levity into her tone even as her eyes darted between team members. That appeared to shake them out of their stunned postures.
Rhodey raised a hand at that, dark eyes wide. "I didn't."
Natasha canted her head, fiery hair shifting as she smirked. "Didn't have any solid leads, but I knew something was going on."
A snort was barely stifled; of course, the Black Widow would suspect. Sam and Kay shook their heads in tandem, the bewildered expressions on their faces saying it all. When she turned to hear the Vision's answer, Holly was not totally astounded to see the wry grin. His electric blue orbs dropped down, the pupils contracting and dilating. It was an action he did regularly when he was considering, thinking...seeing. A sharp intake of breath rattled her when she realized that perhaps he had seen more than what was on the surface.
In answer to her unspoken discernment, he inclined his head at them both. "I wanted to respect your wishes in regards to telling others, whatever they were. Congratulations, Mrs. Rogers, Captain."
Gratefully, Steve nodded, taking Holly's hand in his once more. "Thank you."
A chorus of congratulations erupted around them, then, once the shock had completely worn off. It was somewhat endearing, listening to Natasha wax eloquent on her impeccable qualities as an aunt, and suggesting that certain names or their derivatives might be better than others with a wink. The colonel was a bit reserved, hesitant, but he did clap the captain on the shoulder. Brief, mumbled apologies from Sam were fobbed off; it wasn't like he'd poured wine down her throat instead of talking it up. It hadn't hurt anything, and so she brushed it off. Relief flooded through them as the news settled, both sides of the family now told. Green eyes alternately darted and skittered away, and Holly had to breathe out her giggles through her nose.
"How long have you known?" she inquired, giving Wanda the chance to not feel contrite and awkward any longer.
The other woman gave her a sheepish smile, combing her hair to fall to one side. "Weeks. It is very hard to concentrate on a single soul when two are in the same body."
"Damn. Should've just gone to you, could've avoided the blood test altogether. The first one, at least," Holly scoffed, the deadpan look on her face making the other woman giggle. After a pause, her tentative grin started to slide, and with an edge of insecurity, she wondered, "There is just one in there, right? I mean, we got the sonogram and all, but—"
The Maximoff girl lifted a palm in placation, assuring her, "Just the one. You won't suffer like my mother did. Or so she liked to tease us."
As the evening wound down, it felt as though it were a success. However, their final announcements had to be made, and Holly prepared to address those as she followed Steve to the elevator. Having scanned in the copy of the sonogram into her computer several days ago, she had transferred it to her phone, ready for the last people she had in mind. The first two were contacted easily enough (and at least the lines would be secure; finally upgrading to Stark Tech was worth it). She had been dying to tell Sarah for weeks now, and with the team finally made aware, she could share the news. And Clint Barton was still a friend to them both, a friend who had gone through a similar experience with having children and a high profile life. He was still a part of the team, no matter how far he had gone or what he had chosen to do. The last, though, took a great deal of thought. Attaching the photo one last time to the particular number she had in mind, she bit her lip, considering the message she would send with it for a long while. It wasn't until they had pulled into their garage that she had thought of what to say. Tapping the letters quickly, she turned the screen to Steve, silently asking him if he would still be okay with sending it. For a long while, he stared at the words on the screen, sadness and stillness enveloping him. Slowly, cautiously, he nodded, his thumb moving with hers as they pressed the send button together.
Miles away in Manhattan, in the beacon of the Avengers Tower, a cell phone vibrated. The incoming notification made the device rattle in the pocket book it had been stashed in. Soon enough, a pale hand dipped in, retrieving it. Unlocking the screen, the recipient's eyes widened at the number featured below the text message bubble, stopping her in her tracks. It had been some time since Pepper Potts had received any sort of message from Holly Rogers; due to the nasty shock and subsequent spiral Tony had gone through a month ago, the captain's wife had taken his silence edict to heart as well as her partner. It had extended even to her, as she did not want to intrude in case Pepper was just as infuriated about what had happened. Indeed, she was deeply upset about the entire matter; time and again, she had been a witness to Tony's pain over the years, the loss of his parents having broken a part of him that would never fully heal. It made her almost want to delete the message. Almost. Curiosity (and her remembered liking for the sender) drove her, made her thumb tap against the screen again. As the image before her lit it up, she let out a small gasp, her hip coming to rest against the couch she had circled around. For many long moments, she stared at the phone, at the message's contents, her mind roiling and a flush running through her. Slowly, hesitantly, she dragged her gaze up, looking towards the back of the penthouse. Conflict warred in her even as she came to a decision. Numbly, she carried herself back towards the bedroom, heels kicked off on the way to keep herself steady as she walked. Pushing in the door, she swiped a loose strand of red hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. Looking across the room, she met Tony's dark gaze in the mirror, his hands smoothing down the attire he had chosen for dinner out that evening. He'd wanted to take her out, show off his girl since she was in town for the next several days. Lamplight washed the room in a golden glow, accentuating his build and his dark features well. The low whistle he let out at her up-do and dress broke her out of her staring, and she managed a weak smile for him.
"Hey, Pep. Almost done with this," Tony told her, fingers making quick work of the tie he'd been assembling before she'd come back. Speaking of, she was supposedly going off to find Happy, tell him to get the car ready. Clearly something had happened, if her pale face and loose clutch around her phone was any indication. Spiking an eyebrow, he asked, "Something wrong?"
Pepper cleared her throat, shooting a look back at the device between her fingers. Coming fully into the room, she crossed the space until she was beside him.
"No, nothing's wrong," she told him, all joviality replaced with dreadful seriousness. Unlocking the screen on her phone again, she held it out to him, her bright gaze holding his brown one for the moment. "Just take a look at this."
Blinking carefully, he accepted the device, shooting it a fast look. And then he looked at it again, examining it closely. The curved swipe of black and white strands revealed a blot in the center, a small, oblong oval with little dots jutting from it. In the back of his mind, the terms describing what he was staring at were being backlogged. It was the name at the top of the picture that had the blood draining from his face, eyebrows scrunching in furious concentration. A sharp glance was shot at Pepper, who merely nodded that it was real, it was the truth. Noting the text underneath the picture, he took a deep breath, reading it slowly.
Our first sonogram at nine weeks. We're at eleven weeks now. No matter what, we still wanted you both to know when everyone else did. If you want to delete this message and number afterward, you can.-HJR
Long, tense silence filled the air, and then the billionaire coughed.
"Well, you didn't delete it," he muttered wryly. The strained grin Pepper gave him went unnoticed as his jaw quirked, eyes flicking from side to side as he thought about the information presented. He blinked once, twice, and then he looked to her again. Astonishment and incredulity bloomed on his features, and off her quirking brow, he spoke his musings aloud. "When he...when they told me about...she was pregnant already then." A shaky breath was inhaled, and he closed his eyes. "And Steve told me, anyway."
She inclined her head, having come to the same conclusion herself. Despite the risk and the cost, the truth had still come to light. Barnes alone had risked quite a lot in telling Tony what had happened to his parents; it was mind-boggling to think of what Rogers had put on the line to follow through, as well. The man had a martyr complex, that was for sure. Plucking the phone from his grasp, Pepper tossed it away, it landing on the bed with a muted thump.
"So, what do you think?" she wondered, her palm resting against his cheek, stroking over the stubble on his jaw.
What will you do? was the question that hovered between them. Several interminable seconds passed as Tony ruminated. What could he do? In his darker moments, he had thought to pursue a hard avenue in regards to Barnes, bring him down and take down those who stood with him. What had stopped him, though, were several factors, one of which being that he would willingly damn some of his friends in the process. (Or, at least, the people he once considered friends.) He could condemn them all for actions that were not intentional, that had spiraled out of control long before any of them had entered the scene. And he, in turn, could be condemned for doing so, for destroying multiple lives even after they had inadvertently skewed his. A child, an innocent child, could have been made to suffer. No matter how outraged and broken he felt, he couldn't do that. Tony Stark had been that child, had lost his father due to something bigger and beyond his control. There was no way he would be the one to perpetuate such a cycle.
"Think I'm gonna...carry on," he whispered, shoulders slumping and deep breaths taken to combat the rising anxiety. A shuffling step, warmth washing over him, and then Pepper was resting her forehead against his. He looped his arms around her waist, the smooth, silky back of her dress caressing his palms as he held her. His anchor, his solid rock, kept him there, kept him safe in the winds and storms of his life, of his decisions. Clearing his throat, he snickered ruefully, "Can't guarantee staying calm, though."
A few more minutes passed in her embrace before Stark extracted himself from it. Striding over to the bed, he collected her phone again. Tapping his way through the security codes and swiping to the messages, he forwarded the sonogram picture to his personal, hackers-need-prayers-and-the-intelligence-of-forty-genuises-to-break-in server.
"JJ, insert this file into the system. Mark it under private and lock it down," he directed the AI, erasing the message from the device. The number, however, remained intact. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he murmured, "Security and protection is a must. Because God knows that kid is going to need it."
Tony snorted to himself. He'd thought he'd had to live up to ridiculous standards when he was younger. The littlest Rogers wasn't even born yet, and he knew the poor kid would end up being judged six ways to Sunday for the rest of his or her life, just for being the child of a national icon, a hero. Same song, different singer, he mused. The least he could do was make sure the news did not leak, not from him, anyway. Not before they were ready for it to be discovered publicly. He could do that much.
"Yes, it will," Pepper agreed, taking her phone back from him.
"Already done, sir," the AI confirmed aloud. It took a beat, and then JJ spoke up again. "And Colonel Rhodes is calling as well."
Spotting the denial that had surfaced in his expression, Pepper canted her head to the side and spoke over him.
"Accept the call, JJ." She glanced over, a tired grin playing over her lips as she watched his brow furrow in confusion. "You've got some catching up to do."
"I'll call him back later," he contradicted the command. Straightening his tie and smoothing his jacket down, he sallied up to her. "Made you a promise, didn't I? Late dinner, dancing, the whole nine yards?"
"That you did, but..." she trailed off, his lips capturing hers in a firm, soulful kiss. The kind that he gave to tell her what he couldn't, to show what he couldn't. The kind that affirmed her place in his heart, that affirmed her as his heart.
"Pep," he entreated her, his tone just shy of beseeching. "It's...it's what I need to do."
If he was going to carry on, he had to start right then, without wallowing or deeper self-pity. He craved her compliance, her aid, in the matter. In the morning, he could deal, iron out the details, get in touch with his therapist (yet another issue to add to his pile, even if he would disguise it in clever euphemisms and theoretical talking points). That night, he needed her. And so she nodded, taking his hand in hers and leading him out the bedroom door, one painstaking step at a time.
A/N: And now the team knows, too. I know it's more pregnancy stuff, but I didn't want to relegate the team announcement to just a block of text. I will do my best to not focus solely on the events of the pregnancy from here on out, I promise. Not abandoning it at all; it's just one part of the greater whole!
Little bit shorter chapter this round, but I thought that this was a good stopping point. In the next, we'll get deeper into January, and we'll get to hear about Bucky and his transition to working for Fury, amongst other things. ;) Here's hoping the site won't be weird like it was last week, oh dear...
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references in the text (Keep Calm and Carry On, Hamilton: An American Musical—which I have been obsessed with for months now—etc.) Also, a little nod to the cartoon, Avengers Assemble, with the thing about Falcon's mom making cookies for the team. For some reason, I really want that to be a thing in cinematic canon, but it's doubtful it will ever happen. Don't own that, either.
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!
EDIT: In case anyone is curious about what went down after Holly and Steve rushed upstairs...I wrote a one-shot about it. ;) It is over on AO3, under the same username as here. It is entitled Back on the Block. Check it out if you're of the proper age, maturity, etc.