By First Light

by PhantomProducer

After comes after; stories go on, even after the happy ending. When the hero is also a man, and the world around is faced with difficult challenges and choices, he has to find out where he stands. So do the people who care for him, and so does the woman who loves him. AU from "Age of Ultron" on. Part three of the "Of Time" series. Complete.

15. Chapter 15

Back and forth. Back and forth. In the dull light of the window across the street, the figure within kept pacing. It was what he'd done for the last two hours, even when there was a greater need to sit and get out of sight. He'd been running since the day before, and he clearly thought himself safe.

Bucky Barnes grimaced from his perch, level with him in the empty office building across the way. Clearly, the guy was an idiot. If he thought that anything in the middle of a downtown area could be considered safe when a team of highly-trained operatives were on his tail, he was a few logs short of a fire. Or, the guy was certain that he had evaded them, and did not need to worry. Cocky son of a—

It did not matter why. What mattered was that Bucky, and the team he was working with, detained the man. Evidently, the fellow had been working to crack into SHIELD's new security systems, dredge up what information he could and use it to his advantage. More specifically, he'd been going after the newly-resurrected Nick Fury's personal files, and the director did not take kindly to that. He'd already gotten a few files off the main server, bones thrown to attract hackers and deviants, and he'd taken the bait. What he hadn't expected was a response team coming after him. Still, the bugger was fast enough and smart enough to disappear before the agents could lay a finger on him.

He wasn't smart enough, though, to elude the man who once bore the moniker of the Winter Soldier. He couldn't outrun or outfox someone who was trained to hunt down people just like him. And so Bucky waited, kneeling at the opened windowsill of the office building, sizing him up through his scope and watching the fellow track back and forth. Blue eyes squinted, and he scrubbed a hand over his brow. Just one good shot was all he needed, and then he could wash his hands of the whole thing.

Glancing to his left, he looked to the agent who had gone with him on the mission, the one who had clung like a shadow while the others fell back. A bland look was returned to him, laced with annoyance. Apparently, the guy was just as irritated as he was with the lack of clear opportunity being presented. Discreetly, the fellow's brown eyes cut to the window and away, an eyebrow raising minutely as his hand came up. Tapping first his chest and then inclining his head towards the glass once more, he waited until Barnes tipped his chin in agreement. At once, the tact-gear clad man had crawled away, the floor creaking a little as his weight crossed over. Shaking his head at the fellow's departure, Bucky resumed his deep breathing, sizing up the little hacker wannabe through his scope and keeping his rifle high up of his chest and finger to the side of the trigger. One minute went by, then two, and the runaway was still pacing, pacing, pacing. A cell phone came to hand, and he started chattering away, the look on his face a mixture of careworn relief. A few more minutes crawled by, and then suddenly the guy froze in his spot, the cell phone dropping away. Watching him jump and turn his back to the window, presenting him with a wide, still target, Bucky inhaled deeply and moved his finger. The trigger was squeezed fluidly, the distant ping of metal meeting glass lost in the bustle of the city below. At once, the runaway dropped, folding in on himself as he went. Looking down the barrel of the rifle, he spotted the agent he'd sent over coming through the door, his pistol at the ready. Tapping the fallen one with his boot, he soon hooked a thumb-up, signaling for Bucky to make his way over as well. Signaling success.

Blowing out another sharp breath, Bucky rose from his position, blood flowing back into his legs and head as he did so. Removing the specially-designed clip for his rifle, he examined it with interest. The sleeper darts within were incredibly handy; it would've made his job a lot easier in the past, he mused darkly. Before the turn of thoughts could warp into something more soul-crushing and sinister, he canted his head and pocketed the clip. There was the question of hauling the knocked-out runaway, and calling in for pick-up. Meeting by the back door of the building, the agent with him had already hot-wired a nearby car to serve the first purpose, leaving him with the second as they drove their cargo through the city streets. It took some time, and patience, but soon enough the rest of the team commissioned for the operation had gathered in a field well outside the city limits, the detainee secured tightly on a bench seat in the quinjet sent to take them away.

All this went into Barnes's field report, with the exception of his personal feelings regarding his new weaponry. It was the typical cycle of his life for the last three weeks: debriefing, mission work, detain, return, report. The seeming monotony on the surface was oddly comforting, in a way; he was serving a purpose after being at loose ends for so long, and while not ideal, the routine was something he could count on. Minus the interminable stretches of bored disinterest as one or another agent went on in the follow-up debriefings, how they had found the scuff of a boot or the precise coding that led them to completion. It wasn't like the guys were Poirot or something; they were field agents, and they had a job to do. Just finish it and move on. Details were fine and all, but listening to some of the blowhards was nearly enough to make Bucky want to tear out his own hair in frustration. Perhaps if he finished filing his personal report, he could avoid the meeting entirely. But no, an email had popped up on his laptop, Fury requesting his presence early the next morning to expound on the mission and there was no way to avoid it.

Sighing, he just hit the send button, pushing his personal computer off to the side on his bed. Upon taking residence on the helicarrier, he had been assigned personal quarters down the way from the other agents. He was unsure if it was for his benefit or for theirs, but he did welcome the privacy it provided, the twist of hall to his room at the end unoccupied by others. His tact gear had been shed, his weapons returned for cleaning and repair in the armory (his commissioned Glock had jammed during the chase, which pissed him off to no end), and he'd just completed showering prior to typing up his report. Another part of the cycle completed. Pushing back in his chair, he debated whether or not to grab some food down in the mess hall when a ringing chime came through the speakers. Spotting the little icon on the bar below, he could see he was being contacted for a video call. Sneaking a peek at the clock, he blew out a breath. It was about that time, he supposed, and he dragged his flesh finger across the track pad—his metal fingers never registered on it—to open it up.

"Agent Barnes, this is the Black Widow, requesting your weekly report," came a feminine voice, the camera flooded with light for a moment. When it settled, it revealed the glass paneling of a private office, the edges of a dark wood desk bleeding away. In the center of the frame was Natasha, fiery hair loose and waving away from her face, her pinked lips curling into a grin. She had folded her hands atop the desk, all business-like in her appearance. The glint in her baby blues, though, held something different.

Bucky arched a brow, smirking withal. "You missing me yet, Romanoff?"

A spike of aching shot through him, gone in an instant as his own words rebounded in him and replaced with humor as she playfully rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, however am I to survive without the company of James Buchanan Barnes?" she asked facetiously, her deadpan expression and biting tone off-set by the dramatic press of her hand to her forehead. "Dear Lord, how I suffer so."

He snorted at that, his smirk losing its hard edge. "Somehow you'll have to manage. At least this week; I could only be there a grand total of maybe fifteen minutes before I'd have to be back for morning debriefing."

"What a shame," Natasha crooned in mock sympathy, a look of mild dejection seeming to crop up. A moment of quiet passed, in which both of them pondered the truth behind the teasing tones of their words. However, soon enough the redhead was shaking her head, as if to throw off the strange upsurge that had taken her over. Clapping her hands together, she pointed at him with both index fingers, circling them in a 'speed it up' gesture. "Progress report, go."

Noticing the way she was shifting slightly off-center, as if she were making room for another person, he cleared his throat.

"Is Steve going to be in on this, too?" Bucky wondered. It had only been three weeks since he joined up with Fury, but Steve was always present when he did his check-ins. The fact that he appeared to be nowhere in sight made him curious.

It was her turn to spike an eyebrow, the spark flooding her gaze again. "...This is the 'pre-progress report' report. Surely you knew?"

He blew out a breath, dropping his chin and letting his hair fall over his brow. It was growing out again, and would need a trim soon, but he wasn't concerned with it. No, he was occupied with the way her focus seemed to fly from his eye line to the strands, tracking the passing of his fingers through it as he tousled it out of the way. Her concentration fired something deep within him, and he tugged harder on his hair to distract himself from it.

Not that he totally resisted the flash of cheekiness that had accompanied it.

"So you did miss me," he retorted, unwitting charm coloring his expression. Rotating his left arm, as if to work out the kinks, he let his tone take on a serious lilt. "What do you want to know, Natasha?"

She shrugged, cupping a palm in the air. "I need the unfiltered report before Steve and you inevitably let the conversation deteriorate into gabbing about the good old days."

Groaning openly at her derision, he did as she requested, filling her on the last few days' events. Soon enough, Steve did come into the room, bustling forward so quickly that he nearly missed his chair entirely and almost tipped right onto the carpet floor. Pink tinged his cheeks at the clumsiness his haste had exacerbated (his equilibrium was rarely off nowadays, so when it did catch him, it was embarrassing), and so he instead apologized for his tardiness, jerking his hand towards the screen and requesting to be caught up. Between his report and Natasha's running commentary—her illumination, as she put it—he had gotten them up to speed.

"And things on-board are working out, too?" Steve wondered, as always, with Romanoff at once cutting her gaze to him, intensity lacing her irises. Bucky let the corner of his mouth curve; it was nice to know that at least someone else besides his therapist was concerned for his well-being. He was being a little unfair, knowing full well there were several people who had a vested interest in seeing him succeed, but he couldn't help the thought.

"So far, so good. The team I'm assigned to is a decent unit. Got a couple kids who are a bit green, but it's manageable." Granted, he realized that he was technically green himself, but Bucky Barnes had far more experience in the field than some of the recruits he'd come on board with. The last mission finally saw a few them getting their minds together, so that was positive, at least. "I've had to keep to the sidelines so far, lot of sitting and watching. Gotta wait for that media speculation to die down, or so Fury says." A wince decorated his face, showing just how little he liked the idea and its implications. "It's driving me up the wall, but, well, don't really need that firestorm right now."

The captain scratched at the back of his head, skewing the cropped strands.

"No, you don't," he reaffirmed, sharing a sideways glance with the Black Widow. "We've been trying to make some headway with Klaue's repossessed assets and files about the threats he made, but there's no documentation. Other than he was one of the buyers for some of the equipment out of Sokovia. He walked away with a few good pieces, but where they are, we still have no idea."

Bucky chewed the inside of his lip. "Have to keep an eye out, then. As always."

"Yes," Natasha concurred. With conversation at a standstill, with two brooding super soldiers on the line, it fell to her to break the silence that had accompanied the statement. "Keeping yourself occupied?"

Welcoming the distraction, Barnes crossed his arms over his chest and nodding. "Got another movie on the agenda for tonight. One thing I'll say for this modern age: film streaming is great." A fast, complicit look was shared with Rogers, and he shrugged once more. "Shorter one, gotta be up by oh-four hundred."

"Which one?" she wondered, stepping in just as Steve opened his mouth to say something. Quickly, he snapped his jaw shut, watching with plain interest as the two discussed the chosen movie for the night. Upon hearing the title, she chuckled under her breath. "Think you'll be able to get through it without getting confused?"

"Here's hoping," he responded, tilting his head to the right and flicking his fingers at the screen. Warmth invaded his tone, and thawed some of the ice in his eyes as he considered her again. Missing (or ignoring, the captain was unsure which after the fact) the blond eyebrow spiking at both of them, Bucky murmured, "Too bad you aren't here to be my guide."

Leaning back in her chair, Natasha slid a finger along her jacket pocket. "Well, you know which number to call in case you do."

"Good. Better keep the line free then," he recommended, smile becoming a touch more genuine. The blond eyebrow had been joined by its partner, nearly disappearing up into the hairline as the pair wrapped up their exchange. Pleasantries and farewells were passed, with Natasha choosing to take her leave at that moment. The fiery redhead sauntered off, strength and surety in her form as she moved. Eyes trailing after her, Steve lowered his brows, sneaking suspicion hot on the heels of his dawning understanding. How had he not seen, how had he been ignorant of what was going on under his nose? Sure, there was a thought of maybe, but it seemed to have gone into definitely territory.

Huh.

Lost in his own private reverie, it took a moment for Bucky to notice the steely, teasing stare his friend was giving him. Once he did see it, he narrowed his eyes at him.

"What?" Bucky asked, voice sharper than he intended it to be. Steve shook his head, expression seemingly innocent.

"I didn't say anything," he intoned judiciously, the slight impishness in his voice unmistakable beneath that. Off his friend's disbelieving eye roll, he snickered silently to himself. Letting the moment settle, he adopted a thoughtful look, his bright eyes flicking to him and to the door that his teammate had exited through. Slowly, he breathed through his nose, knowing he was about to broach an uneasy topic. "So, Natasha..."

At once, the ex-assassin's spine stiffened. "What about her?"

"Nothing," Steve replied, a hand raised in supplication. Placid assurance did not cover the sudden spring of worry in his eyes, the concern under the layers of teasing. "Just be careful."

Bucky was just short of scoffing at him, not sure how the insinuations made him feel.

"Okay."

At once, Steve's eyes froze a little more, the blue gaze frosty.

"I mean it," he reiterated. It was no flippant thing, no laughing matter, and though Bucky had been his best friend for years, it did not negate the caring he had for Natasha. Idly, he wondered if his torn feelings were how Hank felt about him pursuing Holly, back in the day. Letting his hands rest on the table, he absentmindedly twirled his wedding ring, blunting the hardness with honesty. "For both of you."

Spying the unwavering truth layered under the words, Bucky was taken aback. He had known that there was a danger in all the things unsaid, in all the things denied, but he hadn't thought that the clarity would be so obvious. Steve had both of them in his sights, knew the potential risks, and knew that they may not outweigh the rewards. If there were any rewards to be had in his person, he mused darkly. Romanoff was no fragile glass sculpture, but she wasn't infallible, either. If…whatever it was between them went badly, the repercussions would hit not only him and her, but others as well. Rogers waited, let him digest all that was unspoken in those few moments. Another minute passed, and then Bucky nodded somberly.

That, and he brought his metal hand up, tilting it and giving him a mocking salute.

"Yes, sir."

The captain canted his head to the side, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "Alright. Now say it again, with less attitude."

The ex-assassin snorted, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Don't use me to practice your father routine."

Steve gave him a little half-grin, his irises no longer as icy. "I gotta get the time in somehow."

The conversation wound down from there, with promises to check in the next week, as per the agreement. The two old friends wished each other a fond farewell, and Steve sat back in his seat as the screen went dark. The grin on his lips curved again, his mind processing all that he had been told, all that he had seen in Bucky. It was a far cry from those early days, the haunted look in his eyes diminished enough to let his genuine light shine through. Little by little, he was gaining a life, gaining his life, and it was so good to see less suffering and heartache in his person. Blue eyes cut to the left, to the seat that had been vacated by his teammate, and the grin turned into a smirk. Less suffering and heartache for them all, it seemed. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he closed out the computer before him, shaking his head.

"He always did prefer redheads," Steve mused quietly as he closed the laptop, rising from his seat and preparing to go home.

xXxXxXx

The last Saturday in January was cold, bitterly so. It would have been an ideal day for just wrapping oneself up in a blanket, hunkering down in bed, and not leaving the nest except to forage and to use the facilities. However, that was not on the docket for Holly Rogers. For once, she would be the one leaving the house, called away for a mission of her own. Granted, it wasn't as if she'd suddenly been asked to lead a group of enhanced individuals into battle. No, she had made a promise to meet up with her friend, Sarah, in New York City. With her now engaged and Holly being selected as the matron of honor, they had a few things to go over and discuss. As well as that, she had a wedding dress to shop for, and she had chosen that weekend for it. She was having a little vacation away from D.C., her mother joining her, and Holly invited for the ride. Now that her best friend was actually within an easy driving distance, she did not wish to pass the opportunity up.

Steve had expressed his concerns prior to the date, ones that were valid—his position in the world affecting her, the higher risk of her being a target now that she was visibly pregnant and married to him, and his inability to go with and protect her. Understanding his unease, she nevertheless was determined to go. She was no princess that would just let herself be locked in a tower, unable to live life. Certainly, she admired and craved safety, but just because she had taken his name didn't mean she was going to give up acting like a regular person. Her self-defense bouts may have been benched for the time being, but she remembered enough of the routines that she knew she could protect herself if she had to. And, Holly had told him with a wide smile, who said that she would go alone?

That morning, she indeed was not alone as she motored down the highway, her Buick crunching over the salt and dirt on the tar. After she'd dressed for the morning, a black Jeep had rolled up the drive, parking off to the side of the garage, the driver swinging out of her vehicle. Stumbling by, the blue-haired companion of her choice waved with her free hand to the captain, drinking deeply from her travel mug of coffee and throwing a large duffel bag into the backseat. Not alone, not at all; she had Kay coming with, a trained agent and friend who could watch out for her easily. Taking her choice in stride (he was just grateful she hadn't insisted on going off on her own, to be honest), he kissed her farewell, bidding her go once she promised to call and let him know she'd arrived in the city safely.

For several long minutes, the two women did not speak, instead listening to the CD that had been placed in the player and letting the music wash over them. With the character of Eliza singing about falling in love with Hamilton (she knew she would get obsessed with soundtrack when she first heard it, she had just known it would happen), Holly took a sip of her water, her thumb tapping at the steering wheel.

"We should go over the plan again," she piped up, drawing Kay out of her reverie in the passenger seat. Shrugging a shoulder, she reached over and turned the music down enough so as to not inhibit the conversation. "I mean, not that it's like planning D-Day or something, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure we have this locked down."

Amused by the reference she had made—for all the modern pop culture she would inflict on her husband, he would get his own back in little ways, as well—Kay nodded at her request.

"Suppose we should. Mainly I'll just blend when you're trying to go incognito, follow discreetly and step in where I'm needed," she outlined, unbuckling her seat-belt. Reaching into the back, she unzipped her bag, combing through the myriad of items within while Holly groaned at the proximity of the agent's butt to her face as she did so. Snorting, she crowed with satisfaction as she found what she was looking for. Sliding back into her seat, she dumped the item into Holly's lap and giggled. When the other woman glanced down, looked at the fan of fake, dark hair spreading over her thirteen-week belly and legs, she rolled her eyes. Picking it up between her forefinger and thumb, she tossed it back at the agent, laughing a little as she caught the wig deftly. All part of the disguise that would be assembled. Holding up her free hand, Kay continued, "Trust me, I won't infringe on the girls' weekend."

The light grin on Holly's lips faded somewhat,

"It's not...okay, I don't think you're infringing," she tried to clarify. Honestly, she didn't think that at all; she rather liked Kay, once they got past the prickliness and distrust of the early days. If Kay had thought that she was horning in on her life, she would set the record straight. "It's just...a lot of factors of this weekend are a little uncomfortable, that's all. And it's not all about the potential danger. Big part of it, but not all."

Tossing the wig over her shoulder towards her bag, Kay smirked slightly. "Still haven't adjusted to the celebrity factor?"

The marked rise of distaste in Holly's face almost made her laugh outright, but she held back on it while she answered.

"Frankly, I don't think I ever will," she replied truthfully. The position Steve held was one of prestige and honor, earned after dogged determination and hard work, even if it had been started as a source of Allied propaganda. For seventy years, he was revered for his talents and his duties by the world over. The notoriety of his position had followed him even out of the ice, and would continue to follow him so long as he carried the shield. The attention he got out in public, when he was openly recognized, still jarred, would continue to jar a person who had known nothing but obscurity until being thrown into the world of heroes. Holly exhaled softly. "I can accept it as a matter of course of being married to Captain America, but it doesn't mean I bask in the attention. Too many people ask too many weird questions, about things that don't concern them."

Comprehending the seriousness of the proclamation, Kay nodded silently, raking a hand through her loose hair. Her mind wandered to her own relationship, to her affection for Sam, drawing the parallels that could be made, the differences that separated them from the very public couple her friend was part of. While she was not ignorant of the glances and whispers that had started to follow her, the knowing looks given to her by his fellow teammates, Kay Szymik was still an unknown entity to the wider world, just another face in the sea of spies and workers for SHIELD. Taking a look out the window again, she let a facetious smile grow.

"Anonymity, it's a good way to go," she murmured, all at once glad that Sam had agreed to her condition of keeping everything to themselves. Hiding, he'd called it recently, and that memory of the flash of disheartened placidity in his eyes soured it, but she refused to regret it. It was still just them, to themselves, and that was what mattered. Holly flicked her gaze off the road to her for a second or two, guessing at her line of thought and shaking her head.

"When you have it. Which I enjoyed for the, hmm, month or so we had it. This was back when Steve and I were just friends, mind you," she grumbled, trying to keep the blunt edge from her voice but failing. She could see the tiny sliver of amusement that Kay had in her expression had slid away, and she felt bad for being the one to crush it. It wasn't intentional, not totally. However, she wasn't about to mince words on the matter; the denial would only last for so long, after all. Attempting to soften her previous statement and return the mood to something more pleasant, she forced a laugh and said, "Again, I accept it, but it can be tough to deal with when all you want to do is buy your pads in peace and someone decides they absolutely need to ask about how often Captain Rogers raises 'Old Glory' with you."

Though a seasoned agent, Kay's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline at that pronouncement.

"Seriously?"

Holly inclined her head solemnly, a knowing glint in her gaze.

"I have never switched check-out lanes faster in my life. Got a free package of peanut butter cups and a formal apology from management when they learned what happened and kicked the dude out, though." Lifting a shoulder again, she maneuvered the car to pass an Oldsmobile that was going at least fifteen miles under the speed limit. Tipping her chin up, she theorized, "Guess I gotta get into the ball cap and glasses look for the weekend, and make myself look like a shiftless hobo between shops."

Knowing all too well Holly's opinions about the team's propensity for that civilian look (and truthfully sharing it herself), the agent smiled wide. Canting her head, she took a moment to consider why it was used fairly consistently before she aired her suppositions aloud.

"It's the go-to because it works. It's shocking how unobservant people can be when they choose," she observed, both women snorting at that fact. For a minute or two, silence descended, and then Kay's brow quirked again. "You took a bribe from a grocery store?"

The other woman held up a single finger, in a clear, 'now see here' gesture.

"Recall what I was buying, and you'll understand why I was able to take it." Sidelong glances were shared and she scoffed, "They were lucky I wasn't walking out with the dude impaled on a pike, then."

A spark of curiosity flooded the blue-haired woman, and she narrowed in on the driver.

"Did you tell the captain?" she inquired, feeling a little evil for prodding the potential beast that lay behind the confession. However, she was surprised to see the brunette struggle to hold back a beam.

"Yeah. Considering it happened very early in the relationship, and we hadn't progressed to that point, he'd gone beet red when I described it to him. From both awkwardness and anger."

The agent tsked in mock sympathy. "Poor guy."

A glance was directed at her, and a hand flapped superfluously through the air. "He got over it eventually."

A wicked grin bloomed on Kay's lips, and her eyebrows arched slightly. "Once you figured out the answer to the question?"

"Shut up," Holly retorted, sticking her tongue out at her companion. Kay's answering chuckles were lost as she turned up the volume on the radio, the musical compilation that she was given pumping through the speakers. Within a few hours (and after a fueling stop, because the driver was not about to pay city prices for gas; they were outrageous, in Holly's opinion) they had passed over the invisible edge, the magical cross from highway and country to bright, blaring city streets. Weaving through the interminable traffic, Kay found that the car was being directed towards the Avengers Tower. A quizzical, worried look was shot from her to her friend, with Holly's return one stoically concerned. The agent did not all the gritty details of the fallout between Tony Stark and the remainder of the team, but she'd heard an abridged version from Sam. Not that she couldn't have handled the truth, but because it was still too fresh, still hurt to discuss, even for him. As such, she did know that the captain in particular was essentially banished from the billionaire's presence. It stood to reason to think that the captain's wife would endure similar treatment due to association. Her compatriot confirmed her worry when she whispered that if her personal access codes were denied, she had a hotel number on standby in her phone. Pulling up to the underground garage entrance, Kay held her breath as the other woman tapped in her digits, fingers crossed as they processed. A collective sigh of relief went around when the application on her phone lit up green, the voice of the smooth AI used by the Avengers welcoming them to the building (the fact that he had greeted Kay by name as well was mind-boggling, but she shook off her surprise relatively quickly). The plan was to get in and parked on the lower levels, go upstairs to their quarters and drop off their overnight bags, allow the agent to disguise herself, and then go out again. The endeavor with the out-of-town friends was projected to last the day, so the only time they would spend in the Tower would be the hours that they slept. Holly was determined to merely sleep and go as early as possible the next morning, so they wouldn't be a nuisance. So they wouldn't make so much as a blip on Stark's radar, the agent translated that as, but she did not correct it. That part of the plan went off without a hitch, even with the brunette stalling by an empty parking spot in the private area of the garage by the elevators. Raising an eyebrow, she stopped besides her, her mouth twisting as she saw the defaced shield insignia on the pavement, remover having buffed through the paint. A hard, angry cut of it slashed through diagonally, and was faded at the edges. It had been some time since the removal attempt, but it had not been fixed, either. Shaking her head, Holly swallowed hard and pivoted purposefully towards the elevator, paying it no more mind. Kay was only steps behind her.

Once in the private apartments upstairs, Kay assembled her clothes, trading out her clean jeans for some dirtied and ripped ones, a pair of red leggings peeking through. A heavy sweatshirt was donned, a green parka shrugged on after. False glasses perched on her nose, a pair that looked like the fake, plastic frames but in fact had a digital hook-up to SHIELD and connected wirelessly to a commissioned earpiece. The dull black wig was tugged on once her blue tresses were drawn up and secured, fingers combing through it to look more natural. Earmuffs and a beanie completed the ensemble, a decoy bag perched on her hip. She looked like a college student, or so Holly had told her when they met in the elevator nearly half an hour later. Just as she had designed it to be; if there were any attempting terrorists out there, they wouldn't suspect someone who looked like she'd gotten lost on her way to courses at NYU to be a bodyguard. Chipping at her nail polish to add to the look, she instructed Holly to exit the building twelve minutes after she did, to give her a head start and to lend credence to the ruse they were constructing. With any luck, she would not be noticed by the crowds, and would blend in seamlessly as the other woman went about her day. Complying, Holly stared at her phone, counting down the minutes and doing random Internet searches to pass the time. Soon enough, she was out on the street, no sign of a green parka anywhere. Walking down the block, she stepped up to the first cab she could find, being whisked away through the streets of Manhattan.

Deposited outside a small cafe down the street from the bridal shop, Holly pulled out her phone, tapping out a quick text to alert her friend to her arrival, trying to get it finished and her hands back into gloves as swiftly as possibly. Across the street, she caught the flicker of green as it escaped from a cab, the voice lost in the people passing by, the reassurance making her breathe a little easier. The vibration of the answering text pulled her attention, but responding was forgotten when a bright, happy tone shouted to her. Whipping her gaze back up, she smiled broadly as the petite whirlwind of blonde curls dodged between passersby, running up to her and practically jumping into her embrace.

"Holy crap, it's been ages," Sarah Collins breathed, hugging her as tightly as she could. Holly reciprocated as much as possible, given the extension of her belly and the pressure.

"Too true, Sare," she told her, squeezing once before letting go. Another set of arms moved around her then, a friendly greeting on the lips of Jane, Sarah's mother. The older woman patted her bleach-blonde hair, wishing her hello fondly. Though it was rare for the two to be in company, Holly didn't have any problems with Mrs. Collins. In fact, it helped her make sense of the balls-busting and the cat-killing curiosity that her friend had; Jane was all that and more, experience coloring it all and enveloping it in a five-foot-three package. The mother and daughter had come up the day before, flying it to see a few of the sights before devoting their time to poke around some of the shops there. Controls were turned over for the day, and she intended to enjoy the ride with the two ladies.

After the third store, and the fourth dress, though, Holly's eyes were starting to burn. (And her stomach was growling, but hunger had become something like second nature to her, anyway.) She had never been gladder to have skipped that step in regards to her own wedding. Online shopping was a godsend, in her opinion. And speaking of her opinion, Sarah had turned on the pedestal in front of the mirrors, asking for hers on the mermaid gown she was strapped into.

"What do you think?" she asked, palms running up and down over the see-through insets over her stomach. Holly's brow furrowed, and she shared a glance with Sarah's mom. The older woman looked pained, her polite smile worn off and twisting into a frown. Catching the exchange, the younger blonde sighed. "I know, I know. I was just trying something new, but I don't think this is it. My dance competition costumes have more material than this dress."

Aside from the sheer material of the corset, there were a couple of panels of the same on the skirt, and the scooped neckline dipped dangerously low. Letting her expression become deadpan, Holly witnessed the lightning-wink her best friend had shot her, informing her that she knew exactly what she was getting into in trying on the dress.

"Oh, thank God," her mother exclaimed, a hand placed over her heart in a mocking, overjoyed manner. Her hazel gaze sparkled as she continued, "I think your grandmother would have a stroke if you picked that one."

"I didn't say I didn't like it, Mom..." she trailed off, hands lifting in a placating manner as Jane's jaw dropped. At once, she reassured her, "Just kidding. This is not what I'm looking for."

The attendant waiting on them held out her hand, helping her off the pedestal and preparing to guide her back to the dressing room. Sarah was biting her lip by that point, a bit of disappointment on her features; she didn't want to leave another store empty-handed. Watching as her green gaze strayed over one of the model dresses set up in the alcove, Holly cupped a hand in the air.

"Well, you could always try the ball gown again," she suggested, catching the flare of excitement spike under her friend's doubt.

"I don't know, it's so...princess-y, and I ain't never been a princess," Sarah responded, putting on an exaggerated form of her accent and making the attendant wince slightly.

"Says the woman who wears tulle and sparkling sequins while pirouetting gracefully," Holly jested, knowing full well what her friend was like. A dancer, yes, and graceful, but she also could fire a rifle better than anyone she knew and could get elbow-deep in gutting a deer carcass. Still, it was obvious how much fun she'd had in the previous dress she'd tried on purely on a whim, and she couldn't see the harm in it. "C'mon, you liked it, we liked it, give it another shot."

Jane nodded in commiseration, and Sarah exhaled sharply, as though entirely put upon. Shuffling out of sight, the petite blonde had given Holly the chance to sneak into her purse and take out the granola bars she'd sneaked in with her. In between the other salespeople and attendants walking in and out, she would snack on them as discreetly as possible, covertly handing off a piece to a grateful Mrs. Collins. Shifting of material and Sarah's tap-tap of borrowed heels came from around the corner, the last of the bar shoved into her mouth and ingested quickly. The ball gown had returned, the beaded bodice shining in the lights around the room. The pattern of the beads trailed onto the skirt, the satin gleaming around her hips and legs as she turned. To add to the effect, the attendant had pinned a veil into her hair, her blonde curls encompassed by the sheer material. It trailed down her back, adding to the short train as it swirled around her. Jane's eyes rivaled the dress in with the glitter in her irises, the rising, happy water in them showing just how pleased she was to see her daughter in something so gorgeous. To see how gorgeous she was in it. Deftly, tissues were passed around, a few pressed into Holly's palms as well.

"Aaron's gonna cry, I bet," Jane said, a chuckle in the back of her throat as she cleared away her tears. Sarah's own eyes were welling up a little, and she dipped her chin.

"No...do you think?" she wondered, lifting her gaze to meet Holly's in the reflective surface. At once, her smile broadened, and she nodded.

"I'm already tearing up, so you know it's good," Holly said, pointedly wiping away the pooling tears in her eyes, which she knew she couldn't blame on hormones entirely. Her best friend, her second sister in a lot of ways, looked so beautiful. She would definitely knock Aaron's socks off with that dress, and own her wedding day in it. So it was with pleasure (and not a little bit of relief) that Sarah conceded that she had found the right gown, finally, and would place an order for one right away.

Though splurging a bit on the wedding dress itself, Sarah had no intention of subjecting her bridal party to the same expensive standard. Using her phone, she showed Holly the type of gown she wanted for them all—blush, floor length, and thankfully available at a chain bridal store. One of which happened to be several blocks over, and it was just her luck that Sarah had scheduled an appointment there as well. Suddenly strong-armed into her own fitting by two very crafty and devious Virginian women, Holly found herself praying for strength to get through it. It was done with minimal fuss (because she was definitely not going to show herself off to the majority of the store while struggling with a size too small, thank you very much), with some good advice given by the attendant working with them. Since the wedding was scheduled for the end of August, she ordered up two sizes from her typical one, knowing she could always take the dress in, if needed. The delivery would be out over the next few weeks, and she knew she would have to type a memo into her phone so she could remember to get it herself.

Soon enough, Holly had proclaimed herself to be starving, and the two Collins women chuckled, detouring at once for a small diner down the street. Apologizing for her rudeness and hunger, Mrs. Collins brushed it off, assuring her that carrying a human tended to do that to a person. Sarah had only shrugged in agreement, not batting an eyelash once even as the meal and the side order for her came, and she didn't so much as eat as inhale them. Not that it was so different from her normal eating habits, anyway, the blonde joked; Holly snickered, knowing full well that Sarah very often did the same, too. Conversation turned to work and family, with Jane asking after Holly's run with pregnancy and whether she'd chosen to take up any birthing classes or not. Sarah wondered about life at the base, about her treatment in her department and the people she worked with. In turn, Holly was curious about the progress being made for Sarah to start her own studio, and was pleased to note that she was looking into spaces for rental over the next month or two, supplementing her time with more competition and adult classes. Roughly partway through the meal, Jane had excused herself to the bathroom, leaving the two friends alone for the first time.

"Thank you for coming out," Sarah mumbled around her bite of food, Holly chuckling as she drank quickly to clear her mouth.

"Thanks for being so accommodating," the brunette replied, tipping her head towards the windows of the diner, to the street and city just outside the doors. "New York is a drive."

The other young woman huffed, as though it were hardly anything to comment on. Her green gaze, though, glimmered with good humor.

"My mama and I have been planning on coming to the Big Apple since September. This side-trip just happens to be to your benefit," she told her, affecting an airy tone. The two friends grinned at one another, and Sarah reached over, slinging her arm companionably around her shoulders. With sincerity, she went on, "I have been missing my bestie lately."

"Yeah, I can imagine," was the immediate, sardonic retort, but the humor faded as Holly thought about it more. "Really, I have been, too. It's been...it's been tough, over the last couple of months."

Letting her fork rest upon her plate, she dropped one hand to the swell of her belly, and a thumb traced along the scar above her eyebrow. Sarah let out a slow breath. Though it had been some time since they'd seen one another in person, she did keep in touch with Holly, and while details were never fully given (it was better in the long run, if she knew less about the situations at hand), she was intelligent enough to understand there had been more going on than could be said. There were difficulties with friends, with the team, and of course there was the baby to consider as well. Did something else happen in the short time between their last ranting session and that day?

Carefully, she inquired, "More with Steve, or...?"

The grin Holly gave in answer was bitter at best, and she canted her head to the side.

"Just the world we live in, among other things."

Unsure of what she could really say to that, Sarah patted her shoulder. Deciding after a few moments of silence that ballsy confidence and a show of faith was needed, she did that.

"You got this," she announced, knowing the depths of her friend's strength and reminding her of it. "You keep your head and not worry so much, and you'll be alright."

Holly snorted; that old refrain, again. Still, she smirked. "Easier said than done."

"Easier done than said, if you actually follow the advice for once," Sarah riposted, curls bouncing as she emphatically shook her head. Pulling her arm away, she brought up her forefinger, poking it directly in the center of Holly's forehead. "Use this, and this,"—the finger moved down and motioned above where her heart was, before lowering again and jabbing towards the baby bump her friend sported—"and keep an eye out for this. Seems simple enough."

A decisive jerk of the head, and the young lady was satisfied with her reasoning, taking up her fork again and shoveling in a big helping of potatoes. The brunette stared at her for a long moment, something akin to disbelieving laughter pushed out her nose before she followed her friend's example.

"Theory, practice, look it up," she muttered out the side of her mouth. Chewing occupied them both for the moment, and then she bumped shoulders with her, smiling genuinely. "Thanks."

"Anytime," was the reply. Glancing up, they both noticed Jane finally making her way back to the table, and Sarah deliberately changed the subject. "Now tell me: you got names picked out? Because let me just say, Sarah is a fabulous choice. Boy or girl, doesn't matter."

The sun had fully set by the time they'd all finished dinner, but the city remained bright and bustling even in the freezing cold. After bidding Sarah and her mother farewell—after promising to meet them for breakfast before she would head back home—Holly wound her way through the crowds, eyes sweeping tiredly left to right. Wrapping up tightly in her scarf and coat, she buried her hands into her pockets, keeping her head down and her fingers tight around her canister of pepper spray. Nothing about the walk seemed untoward, but she had to remain watchful; after all, it wasn't like she could forget that she wasn't a target, in some circles. Proceeding up the block, she nearly jumped when the parka-encased arm slipped through hers, but when she spotted the flick of false black hair and the bright, almond-shaped eyes under square-frame glasses, she relaxed a little. Kay, as promised, was right there with her, having followed on her heels. Her unobtrusive vigilance had yielded very little, but the disheveled nature of her appearance when she returned (salt and dirty snow on parts of her coat, the wig askew under the knit cap) made her start to pick up the pace. At Kay's prompting, Holly stepped up to the curb, taking the first free cab and directing it back to the Avengers Tower. In actuality, she told the driver to drop the two women down the block, the agent giving a concurring nod. At once, the disguised woman chattered to Holly about a nonexistent work day, and the latest gossip about a couple of celebrities that neither of them actually cared about. Following her lead, she would hum or crow in answer to her words, pressing hard against the opposite door in case she would need to make a hasty escape. Within minutes, they were dropped off, fare handed over and the cold air washing over her yet again. Up the block, in the looming shadow of the Tower, the pair of women pushed through the people milling, sidestepping until they could make their way around to the back entrance. Security codes and clearances went through, JJ greeting each of them by name as they slipped inside the building. Once it latched into place and they crossed the main floor (the lights inside at half power due to it being off-hours), Holly started to feel the jump of nerves lessen. But only just.

They were halfway up the building, changing elevators, when she finally got up the gumption to inquire about the state of her friend and protector's person had gotten to.

"Are you alright? Was it bad?" she asked quietly, mindful of JJ's silent presence and knowing that what she said could be drawn upon later. Pitching her voice lower still, she let her mind embrace the possibilities as she pressed, "Was it...?"

Unzipping her coat and wiping at a streak of mud and salt with the edge of it, Kay flashed her a tight smile.

"'Mfine. It was a mugging gone wrong," she explained, wrenching both the wig and hat off at once. Tucking both away into her scuffed bag, she shrugged. Dusting off a fist playfully, she added, "Gone wrong for the muggers, at least."

Holly's eyebrows rose. It wasn't surprising that Kay had gotten the edge; she was an Inhuman, after all, and had ten times the strength of the burliest guys out there. Not bad for the slight girl with blue hair, her posture seemed to indicate.

Clearing her throat, Holly needed clarification. "That was all? Nothing more than that?"

The surfacing mirth in Kay's dark eyes dissipated a little, her head canting to the left.

"Well, I question their intelligence for trying their hand on someone on a well-lit street." It was a bold move, to be sure, and one that made her pause. Even if she was alone, she wasn't exactly an easy target. Thinking back to the sloppy approach, the fast snagging of her bag, and the smash of their heads when she pushed the two fellows together and letting them drop to the sidewalk, she emphatically had some questions of her own. To do so, she would need to pull a string or two, which she was willing to do. "I'm definitely going to look into some records, now that the cops have been involved and my statement was filed."

Absorbing the fact that it had progressed to Kay calling in for an arrest and making a statement to the police, Holly closed her eyes, leaning back against the cool wall of the elevator. Hopefully, it really was just two dumb muggers trying their luck on the wrong woman, but the queasiness did not subside until she had set foot on the captain's floor. They had agreed to check up with one another before heading off to bed, with Kay proceeding downstairs to the guest apartments. Once inside, Holly armed the alarms for the quarters, exchanging her thawing clothing for the sweats and t-shirt she had packed for the night. Lying on the bed, she tapped out a message to her husband, letting him know of her safety and bidding him to have a good night, no matter where he was. His return one was of similar sentiment, and she grinned to herself. In the quiet, she stretched out on the wide mattress, attending to the sounds of her own breathing, to the whisper-soft current of air coming through the vents...

The chiming at the door that was never, ever used. They had been installed after the knocking policy had been reinstated, but generally, it hadn't been used. A couple loud bangs on the door, and JJ supplying an identification was enough. The bell was formal, polite. And downright suspicious. Screwing up her brow, she stared into thin air, as though the AI would look down upon her and ask her what was wrong. No, a vocal prompt would be necessary.

"JJ, who's ringing?" The silence that followed the question was unnerving, and Holly inhaled shakily. "JJ?"

The AI remained unresponsive, the silence punctuated by yet another bell ring. Light tapping came after that, more insistent as she hesitated. Swallowing, she rose up from the bed. Rational thought, she had to think rationally about what was happening. JJ wasn't answering. The only time the AI would not at least affirm its presence was if it was commanded to privacy, muted, or offline. She had not imposed any of those commands upon it, which meant that the system itself had been over-ridden. Understanding that, her heart still hammered in her chest as she scooped up her collapsible bat, thumb poised over the extender button. The bell rang once more, and she breathed out harshly.

"Damn it," she muttered, reaching a likely conclusion as she picked her way down the hall. And the conclusion she was coming to was making her stomach churn in nervousness. Kay was doing research, Steve was miles away, Sarah had absolutely no way to access the Tower, and nobody else knew she was there.

Except for the security system, that linked into the expansive AI, who answered and obeyed one person above them all.

'Please don't be who I think it is,' she was pleading inwardly, not wanting a confrontation. Not on her own, not on the only night she was in the Tower. 'Please let it be a lost intern or something.'

As she wound through the living room and up the entry hall, the knot of dread twisted. Nearly on tiptoe, she sneaked up to the door, attempting to peer through the peephole. The little fish-eye glass revealed a bowed out figure, his features distorted as he tucked his hands into his pockets. She froze, uncertain of whether she should try her chances and run back to her room, or greet the man on the other side.

"I know you're in there," he called out after several beats of further silence. Taken aback, she let her eyebrows quirk. As if sensing her question, the fellow spoke up again. "I can see the shadow of your feet from under the door."

"Son of a..." she grumbled under her breath. She was not in the right frame of mind to do that, but it seemed it would happen, one way or another. Still holding the handle of the bat loosely, she tapped through the codes. The door unlocked with a heavy clicked, and after drawing in a calming breath, she swept it open. Attempting a neutral expression (going too far either way on the emotional spectrum could get her into trouble), she murmured, "Hi, Tony."

Her first impression of the billionaire was how utterly exhausted he looked. It was like the weight of the world had been dropped onto his shoulders, pushed down until he was flattened, and then someone asked him to hold onto a six hundred-pound barbell on top of it. The lines in his face had worn deeper, and the brown eyes were lackluster. Impeccably groomed as he was, and dressed cleanly—it had to have been a lab day, given how he was sporting the layered tee and the jeans—he seemed so tired. It was no less than what Holly was expecting of Tony Stark, after the previous month's fallout. His gaze ran along her as well, stalling when he hit her expanding waistline and widening a bit. The stillness after her greeting ran on, the seconds passing almost painfully as they looked at one another, and then anywhere else.

"Hello," Tony finally responded, jerking his head as if the silence had stung him. Swallowing, Holly let the hand holding her bat crook behind her, keeping it hidden. What on Earth was Tony doing there? Well, of course he owned the building, and could go where he pleased, but why was he seeking her out?

"Can I..." she tried, clearing her throat to knock out the strain. "Can I help you with something?"

He shook his head, scratching at the back of his neck. "Just wanted to check in, see if everything is alright."

Was that all? She didn't buy it, and to be honest, he really didn't seem to be committed to selling it. Still, if he chose to pursue that route, that was his choice. And it seemed rude to stall longer, staring instead of answering.

"Can't complain," she confessed, lifting a shoulder. A corner of her mouth quirked, and she tried to joke, "I thought you would have kicked me out when you realized I was here."

The toe of his shoe was evidently quite fascinating, as he did not bother to look up at her or even reciprocate with a jest or quip of his own. His hand fell to his side, the fingers curling and uncurling languidly.

"I thought about it," he almost whispered, his jaw quirking. Holly blinked, mouth going dry in an instant.

"Oh." The blunt honesty had smacked her in the face, and the wave of sorrow and bitterness poured over her. A sickening spike of cold was followed by a flush of heat in her, and the hand holding the doorknob went to rest at the swell of her belly. Protection, the primitive part of her brain was labeling the action; she was shielding her unborn child from the spring of animosity she was being shown. It had been a mistake, she mused, a huge mistake to take refuge in the Tower, even if it was only for the night. It had been a gamble, going there, and it was one that apparently would not pay off. Taking a physical step back, Holly could only blurt, "Well, if you don't want me around, I can go, book a hotel."

At once, Tony's head snapped up, his dark eyes meet hers fully.

"Don't," he stilled her offer. An exasperated sigh floated out of him then, and he gestured superfluously at her. "I'm not going to throw a pregnant woman out on her ear because of...things."

The palm perched upon her belly pressed a little harder into the fabric of her shirt. Only for the baby's sake would she be tolerated; while not a declared enemy, she knew for a fact that it would be too much for Stark to consider her a friend. In his mind, she surmised, she amounted to a betrayer, siding with the people who had wrought so much pain in his recent past. And distant past by proxy, as well. It was too bad, for she actually did like Tony. For all his idiosyncrasies, for all his faults, he wasn't a bad man, and his life had been a rollercoaster from one event to the next, from childhood, basically.

As she had stated at the time, the entire situation was just a suckfest from beginning to end. And she had no idea how to help fix it, other than to remain polite, honest, and just try to not step on any toes. A brief second passed in which she wished Pepper were there; building a bridge with her would have been less stilted, perhaps.

"Well, thanks for that," she replied, doing her best to keep her tone pleasant. The slight edge beneath her words was heard, if his minute flinch were anything to go by. Tipping her head towards the interior of the quarters, she tried again. "Do you want to come in, have some coffee or something?"

Holly took another half-step in, that time angling herself in such a way that would it would be seen as an invitation. A polite invitation between friendly acquaintances, as it was meant to be. Tony shook his head in denial, straightening his spine.

"Thanks, but I've already downed espresso in prep for tonight. Wrapping up a couple projects," he told her, his rejection swift and mildly given. A flicker of warmth rose in his irises, but it fell just as quickly. "I just wanted to stop by, and well...see how you were."

See how she really was faring, or see the truth of her condition for himself, to make sure he was not being told lies? It was something she could not help but wonder. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Either way, she found herself nodding, the gesture as reassuring and kind as it could be.

"I'm fine, Tony." Upon seeing the lack of duplicity in her face, in her eyes, the billionaire inclined his chin, taking a step back himself.

"Good. You need anything, just forward your requests through JJ, it'll get taken care of," he instructed, his tone level and matter-of-fact. The finality of the statement settled on them both, and he pivoted on his heel to go. He occupied himself with his handheld, tapping it and exhaling softly.

As he walked away, Holly couldn't help but think that how far he still had to travel. Though willing to actually speak to her face-to-face, it wasn't done with the ease and spirited nature of the past, she could comprehend that much. Stark always had a crack, a joke, a lilting verbosity that could not be ignored. It was missing, or suppressed, in her presence, all stiffness and edges that made her sadder still. She didn't want that for Tony, didn't want him to be so ill at ease with them, and with his choices. She didn't want that for any of them, for the friendships that had been strained and for the team that had been weighted down. Watching the barest slump of his shoulders as he crossed to the elevator, the spiking of his hair as a weary hand passed over it, she sighed.

Unable to stop herself, Holly called out to him.

"Tony?" Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as he paused. As he slowly turned back towards her, she felt her heart beat faster, language garbled in her mind as she struggled to think of something to say. Forcing her brain to squash the doubts and fears, the worries and the torments, simple truth was able to break free. Lifting her fingers, she waggled them in farewell. "Good night. Good luck."

Holly did not expect an answer from Stark; indeed, she had thought he would only give her a jerking nod and stumble out of there. To her surprise, she watched as the smallest smirk decorated his lips, and his hand came up to wave back at her in a lazy salute.

"Thanks, kiddo," he muttered, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his handheld. A few taps with his forefinger and then she heard JJ's voice calling out to her from just inside her door. Startled by the reinstated access, Holly looked back towards the AI's calling, telling it that she would be back in shortly. Turning out to the hall again, she witnessed the closing of the elevator doors, the billionaire whisked away and leaving her to her own devices again.

Progress, she told herself as she let her own door swing shut and she locked up for the night. It was progress, and more than she could have hoped for.

---

A/N: Chapter Fifteen, or as it could be alternately titled, "The OC Cavalcade/The One With Some Feelings." :-P

A lot going on in this chapter, I know, but feel free to discuss. Work has been kicking my butt this week, but no worries, I've got this!

Even from far away, things are moving forward with Nat and Buck…we'll see where they go. Progress is being made on all sides. :)

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references mentioned in the text (Hamilton: An American Musical, Agatha Christie's works involving Hercule Poirot, etc.)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!